Incest The Mom Memories" by 'alwayswantedto' collection

[sarit11]

You took my hand and put your arm around me, pulling gently. Comforted, I leaned against you and we nuzzled heads. Long minutes passed as we swayed together, the tea forgotten. You pulled away all too soon and leaned back onto the arm at the far end of the couch, still holding my hand, and pulling me with you.

“Close your eyes and rest,” you said.

My head landed on your chest. You patted my hair with one hand and stroked my back with the other. It was nice and I was soon at ease. As the minutes passed, the strain drained from my body and I sagged heavily upon you. I felt so safe and loved in that moment. I began to drift off.

My eyes fluttered open, I don’t know how much later it was but the movie was still on. My breasts were pressed into your stomach and your hands were still on my back, stroking. I smiled and thanked God I had been blessed with such a good son. I sighed contentedly, and then noticed your hands were caressing my bare skin!

My dress was unzipped and the bra disconnected. Your hands scratched my back, sweeping wide in overlapping circles that crossed either side of my spine. Although you didn’t touch me inappropriately your fingertips dipped dangerously near the side of my breasts. Nevertheless, it was soothing and I relaxed, enjoying the, evidently platonic, embrace.

Slowly, I became aware of your hardness pressing into my stomach. I had seen your bulge many times through the weeks that I teased you, and had imagined your cock while you stroked it just a few feet away in the bathroom, but I had only felt it through your jeans. Now, pressed in all its glory against my tummy with only your pajamas and my flimsy dress dividing us I realized my imagination had fallen short.

It pulsed into my stomach as you breathed and moved a little as your arms crossed from one side to the other over my back. I was torn. I loved the soothing feel of your hands on my back but was more afraid of the seductive lure of the tumescence pressing into my stomach. I knew I had to get up but couldn’t bring myself to move and kidded myself it was because I didn’t know how to extract myself without embarrassing you. You solved the problem when your hands abruptly reconnected the bra and zipped up my dress.

“Wake up, Mom. It’s time for bed,” you whispered.

I feigned waking, supposedly unaware of the large tube steak pressing into my flesh, conscious you had saved me from myself and that I lacked the ability to resist had you made an inappropriate advance.