Incest The Mom Memories" by 'alwayswantedto' collection

[sarit11]

It was wide open, covered only by the screen. “Be very quiet, Ben. We’re going to do something very special tonight but you’ll have to control yourself. Are you in?” I nodded. “Good. Get down on your knees.” I knelt before Mom. She came closer, and closer, until her trimmed bush tickled my face. I pressed my nose against her belly and let my tongue slip past my lips, curling up into her furrow to taste hers. Mom’s hands curved around my head and pressed my face against her with gentle pressure. Her hips rotated and she sighed as my tongue entered her pussy. A minute later, Mom was slipping and sliding steadily up and down my face, her fingers gripping my hair tightly. Except for the sound of her breathing there was only the rustle of the trees from the light breeze. I braced my hands on the back of Mom’s thighs but she moved hers down to bat mine away without slowing her churning hips. A new sound entered my ears: Mom’s wet pussy working around my stiff tongue. Abruptly, Mom’s hips went into overdrive. “Oh… oh, oh, ohhh… uh huh, uh huh, uh huh… oh, yes… yeah, yeah, yesssss, yessss, yesssssssss.” Mom was not losing control. Her words were whispered and the intervening sighs muted.

Slowing, her hips were slowing, she was stepping back, falling to her knees, panting heavily, her hands covering her sex, arms closing in front, squeezing her boobs together, back arching, head falling back, looking at the sky. “Yesssss, oh yessss.” Mom flopped forward. I sat back on my heels, cock wavering in front of me, still hard and ready to go. I waited patiently, sure that it would now be my turn. I turned to look back at the bedroom window, suddenly nervous. Mom hadn’t been loud but if Dad was awake, could he have heard her? I couldn’t see any movement or any sign of lightness that would indicate someone standing in the window. I whipped my head around when Mom’s lips covered my cock. She was sucking me, the fingers of one hand now circling my root while the other slipped down the underside of my shaft and onto my balls. I dropped my hands to the side of her head and thrust forward slightly, betraying my eagerness. Mom’s mouth pulled off my cock and my hands were smacked roughly away. Her mouth regained my helmet and slid down my shaft. I kept my hands to myself. Up and down, twisting, sucking, fingers squeezing and stroking, nails scratching, tongue rubbing, flicking my tip, swirling around it, mouth sucking, for so long… oh, so long.

I moved my hands toward Mom’s head but caught myself before I ruined everything. God, I wanted to hold her head, to fuck her face. Why was she teasing me so? I pushed forward, afraid of the response but unable to hold back. No reaction, just Mom’s mouth pushed more firmly over my shaft. I pushed forward again, gently, provoking a gargling sound as my cock pushed against the back of Mom’s mouth, but still no recrimination. I moved my hips steadily, slowly at first, just a bit ahead and back, but fucking just the same. Fucking Mom’s mouth! Fucking her face! I moved so steadily it was hard to realize I was pushing forward in longer and longer strokes and moving faster and faster. The sucking sounds from Mom’s mouth were louder now, as was the wet gargling sound, but I didn’t turn around to see if they were being registered by anyone else but us. This was too good not to focus on it completely. Not a single neuron in my brain was willing to direct its attention elsewhere. How could she take such long strokes in her mouth? Incredible. She was so wet, her mouth and my cock sloppy with saliva, making it so slick. So fucking good.

Faster now, it wouldn’t be long, my hands resting on the top of my thighs, slipping around underneath to help lift my cock into Mom’s face. Oh, god, yeah. Mom’s hands on mine, pulling them away from my legs, toward her, onto her head, clasping them over her ears, letting go, leaving my hands in place, holding her head. I pulled Mom’s face onto my cock, thrusting, holding in, pulling out, thrusting in, holding, oh god… I was coming, coming, coming, leaning over Mom’s head, kissing her hair, keeping her mouth on my spurting cock, mumbling, “I love you, love you, love you.” I was still, chest heaving, gasping for air, cock slipping out, over Mom’s lips, hands running down Mom’s back to her ass, hugging her. Mom was pulling away, her back straightening. I did too. She reached out and took my flaccid cock in her hand and began stroking it. Nothing happened for a minute or too, my manliness failing me, but then it struggled to rise, to once more venture into the breech. Mom leaned over my valiant, half-hard erection and… drooled saliva all over it! She worked it in with her hands, then bent and drooled on it again, then again.

Mom walked on her knees past me. I turned to follow but she stopped, hunched over, knees and calves together. She looked back at me. “Ben,” she whispered. “Yes,” I whispered back. “You have to do this very quietly, understand?” “Yes,” I replied, though I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “You’ll have to keep me quiet too, understand?” “Yes.” Now I was really in the dark. Mom turned her face to the ground, reached behind herself with both hands, and pulled her cheeks apart. Ahhhhh, now I understood. Was this what Gwen and Mom had secretly understood? Was there one more statue to make? I crabbed my knees forward, fitting in behind Mom, my cock now rapidly hardening to the consistency of a steel pike. “Spit on it,” Mom’s voice instructed, though I couldn’t see her face. I bent over and spit on my cock. “No, on me.” Oh. I redirected my face and drooled spittle over Mom’s ass where I thought her asshole was. I used my finger to spread it around, searching for the little gateway. My finger slipped right into it. Had Mom prepared for this before she came downstairs? I had seen her anus before and it was a tight little pucker, not partly open like this.

[sarit11]

The thought added tungsten to my rod. Mom, laying in bed beside Dad with something in her ass, preparing it for her son. Oh God, I so wanted to fuck her there. I brought my cockhead into contact with my left hand and slid it forward through my palm to the index finger, still embedded in Mom’s little hole. Pulling it out, I replaced it with the most concentrated bundle of nerves in my body. It was so tight. My cock bent with effort but was still denied entry. “Push,” Mom’s whisper was strained. I pushed forward but my cock simply bent even more. Using my hand, I kept it straight while I shoved forward again. There. Her ass was giving way. I think. I kept up the pressure. Yes, I was sure it was giving way. I wished it was a full moon so I could see better. Is it? Is it going in? Yes, there it is, but so tight… my god, shove. Yeah, oh yeah. Mom was groaning. I leaned forward and reached down with my left hand to find her face, slipped my hand under it to cover her mouth. Mom groaned and my palm vibrated with its slick tones. I pulled my cockhead out and drooled on Mom’s hole again. Even in the moonlight, I could see that it was bigger.

Encouraged, I pressed my hardness in again. Mom’s audible groan split the night. I lunged forward to cover her mouth but not before another groan escaped Mom’s lips in response to my sudden move as my cock burst through the gate. I was in! My cock was in Mom’s ass! I let Mom accommodate to my girth before moving gently to and fro, a fraction of an inch in and back, then an inch. I kept doing this until the grunts vibrating my palm abated, replaced with the occasional murmur. I lengthened my strokes and within a few minutes I was fucking Mom’s butt just like I would fuck her pussy. Mom’s throat was behaving so I pulled my hand back and used both to hold her hips, pulling her ass back as I thrust forward. Soon, it almost felt like a common experience, so I varied the speed and depth of my strokes, rewarded by Mom’s reaction through her breathing, love whimpers, and soft moans. She seemed to like it when I suddenly thrust in hard and held it so I got up on my feet and straddled her ass, gouging my cock in as deep as I could, in long, slow twists. Oh yes, she loved that. And so did I! I humped her in a series of five or six lunges followed by a grinding pause, then repeated it all.

This went on and on and on until I finally realized that we were both getting way to loud. I pushed forward and drove Mom flat on the grass, gripped her cheeks and began fucking her ass very hard. I had to release one cheek to cover Mom’s mouth again. I pulled her chin up to point her face toward the bedroom window where Dad was sleeping. Releasing the other cheek, I grasped Mom’s hair and started on what I knew would be the final part of this ride, at least for me. I love that final run where you know you couldn’t stop if you tried, that you’d come anyway, so you just go with it and the woman you’re with knows it too and tries to match you so she can come with you. I could feel Mom doing that. I leaned forward to whisper encouragement in her ear, to tell her how much I loved her ass, and how much more I loved her. We lay spent on the grass for ages. The first hints of dawn were evident when we finally dragged ourselves to our feet. ————————————— “Mom. What are you doing?” Mom had pulled back my covers and was pulling me by the hand. “Where’s Dad?” I asked, my eyes frantically looking past Mom’s nude body. “He went out to see Eric. Come on. Get up.” I stumbled to my feet, still groggy from sleeping but relieved that Dad wasn’t in the house.

“Where are we going?” “To bed,” Mom said. “I haven’t made love in the morning for years and years.” “Mom, this is crazy.” However, my mind was already losing the battle to my cock as I followed Mom with faltering footsteps, my eyes running over her body. Did I mention that Mom had wonderful legs? “Mom, Dad could come home any time.” “Don’t worry about that.” I did. I worried about it until Mom flopped on her bed and turned onto her back, legs opening and arms beckoning. We made love several times that day. All morning and into the middle of the afternoon. Long, tender, unhurried love-making, probably the best sex I have ever had. After one exhausting session, Mom pushed me up and slid down underneath me to take my cock into her mouth. She sucked and tickled my balls until I began thrusting into her mouth, the visions of filling it with my seed already bringing me to the brink of realease but before I lost complete control, Mom suddenly shifted up and plunged my turgid pole into her eager cunt. I was startled at how easily it swallowed my my cock, which felt larger than it had ever felt before, but my thoughts were soon lost as I arched my back to dig as far into her moist suction as I could get.

Mom was so unworried about Dad’s potential return that I stopped worrying about it too, even initiating the last session over Mom’s mild objections. We made love like that a lot over the next two months. I would stay in bed until Dad had gone to work. Before his car even pulled out of the driveway, Mom would enter my room, naked, to pull me away to her bed. The hallway would always be littered with her clothes.

[sarit11]

Sometimes, Mom sculpted but her interest had waned. We would talk or go for a walk or bike ride instead, that is, when we weren’t making love. I was shocked when she told me the cancer had returned. Well, as it turned out, it had never really left. One day, Mom admitted that she had found out a few weeks earlier. The doctor simply announced that the cancer had spread. Mom didn’t want it to ruin the last few months she had on earth, especially with me she said, so she didn’t tell me at first. But now, she said, it wouldn’t be long before she became quite ill. She she was right. Mom passed not much more than a month later. Dad started to drink. Nothing I said could persuade him to stop. It was a shame, an enormous waste, but there was simply nothing I could do to stop it. We didn’t seem to have any connection at all. One day, I managed get myself to enter the studio. There, I found one last statue, one of me taking Mom from behind, my bent cock just entering her ass. I was astonished that Mom had made such an explicit piece. What would Dad have thought if he’d come in here? Or, had he? Is that why he was drinking? No, I was sure he hadn’t.

He would have said something to me. And for sure, he wouldn’t have left the $200,000 in cash sitting in an open box on one of the tables. I covered the statue and put it in my car. To anyone else except Dad and I, it was just a younger man fucking an older woman in the butt. It was probably commissioned by Gwen and Nick. I would call them and see if they wanted it. That’s what brought me to Gwen and Nick’s estate. It is a beautiful place with a large, old brick mansion surrounded by an inner circle of pleasant lawns and gardens enclosed within acres of rolling hills and forest laced with walking trails. It is a sanctuary for the soul and just what I needed. Over tea, the invitation was casual yet compelling. “I think you should spend some time with your mother’s works. They’re all out there,” she waved her hand to the grounds to the east side of the estate. “I’d love to do that, if you wouldn’t mind,” I replied, surprised at my eagerness to accept the kind invitation or, perhaps more truthfully, to avoid going home for a few more hours. “Not at all. It’s just what you need for a few days at least.” “A few days? Oh no, I couldn’t do that. It’s very kind of you to offer but…” “But what?” Gwen cut me off. “What else do you have to do? Go back home to be on your own? Your mother isn’t there, she’s here in our gardens.

No. You stay here and spend some time with her.” And that was that. Gwen wasn’t the kind of woman to be argued with. I moved in to a beautiful room upstairs. Meals were provided by servants who seemed to be at my beck and call. They bought clothes for me in the local village and I stayed for a week, sitting amongst Mom’s statues which were concentrated in one particular lawn encircled by a flower garden on three sides and the entrance to the forest on the fourth. Along the pathway leading into the forest, I found several more of Mom’s creations. At dinner, the only meal that everyone attended together, Gwen pressed me for details about how each piece was conceptualized. I confess, I wasn’t very forthcoming and I did feel a little guilty withholding information from such a generous host but I considered it a cherished memory, for Mom and me alone. I spent a week there before I met Nick and Gwen’s daughter. Yes, I did say daughter. The revelation didn’t surprise me, nor did her beauty.

Nick was quite a handsome man and you could tell that Gwen had once been a patrician beauty. Jenny was a few years older than me and looked very much like the younger pictures of her mother that I had seen throughout the house except for her hair which was worn in the same tawny style that my mother had sported toward the end. Jenny and I seemed to have a natural affinity for each other without any awkwardness. Jenny knew when I needed to be alone and when I needed company, she was very easy to talk to. I think she understood me and, given her origin, I knew why. One week turned into two, then three and, before I knew it, I had been Nick and Gwen’s guest for two months. Jenny had made a habit of bringing me a light lunch when I was sitting in Mom’s garden, often setting it down on the bench in the middle of the lawn and leaving without disturbing me as I sat on this or that bench around the periphery. There were statues of Mom sitting on the lawn in various places and some of her later ones prone on the grass, usually with a statue of a younger man nearby. The statues were arranged in a progression from a woman sitting, then prone, then the younger man and the older woman together holding hands with their arms around each other, then entwined in an embrace, making love, fucking one behind the other and, second to last, the last one with my bent cock trying to gain entrance to Mom’s ass.

The latter was less than accurate because Mom was wearing a dress that she had pulled, or the young man had pushed, up and over her buttocks, giving the impression of an impulsive act when, in reality, Mom had been completely naked at the time. The first statues could have been any woman with a younger man but I recognized intimate details of Mom’s body, including the growth below her breast. As the works progressed around the lawn, however, it became unmistakably clear that the woman was Mom and the young man was me. The detailed renditions of our faces left no doubt, especially on the final statue. The other statues were all situated on the grass but the last one was set on its own bed which, upon inspection, looked like the rumpled sheets on a single bed, a hospital bed. The young man was curled up behind the woman, cradling her head in one hand and stroking her stringy, sparse hair with the other. A tear threatened to fall off the cheek of each one. It was incredibly touching and never failed to make me cry. It had taken three weeks for me to notice the statue of the older man standing in the trees observing this last statue.

[sarit11]

I don’t know how I missed them. A quick survey around the garden revealed other statues, hidden behind larger flowering plants, some peering around the edge of the bushes but three were sitting in chairs. I recognized the chairs first. One was the wicker chair Mom kept in her bedroom, another was one of our dining room chairs, and the third was identical to our kitchen chairs. Only then did I recognize the older man as my father! Mom had created these works. Was it her fantasy that Dad observed her making love to their son, or reality? I pondered this question for days and days, scouring my memory for any hint that Dad had been watching us, especially the night when Mom had given me her ass. I couldn’t find a shred of evidence but then I couldn’t refute it either. Dad could have sat in our dining room before that night and observed us in the living room. My eyes had been drawn upstairs but he could have already been in the dining room. It would have been easy to climb out of the upstairs bedroom and enter through the window in the dining room. And the other chairs? How hard would it have been for Dad to come home after leaving for work and sit either in the kitchen or upstairs in his bedroom.

I wondered if that’s why he drank? I concluded that Dad knew about Mom and I and that she knew that he knew. What I wasn’t so sure of was if Dad had consented to it. Looking back on it, Mom had clearly seduced me. Towards the end, she initiated sex with me often on the weekends when Dad was around and about in the house. She became more and more brazen as if she didn’t care about the consequences. It was this conclusion that led me to Jenny. Long ago, when I had first come home, Mom had mentioned a young woman she had befriended in the clinic, a woman whose beauty she had noted, a woman named Jenny. Were my Jenny and Mom’s Jenny the same woman? Her tawny, bushy hairstyle may have been the inspiration for the new look Mom had adopted. Had Jenny confided her story to Mom? Was this the origin of the spontaneous magic moment when Mom first placed her hand on her breast to show me how small the lump was, and the instigation for the subsequent investigations, or should I say, explorations? I was convinced that the two Jenny’s were the same and that she had told Mom a story about the love between a young man and his mother, probably her own parents.

Perhaps, dwelling upon the story, Mom began to desire a similar experience for herself in her final days. Jenny was approaching me now with the usual tray of fruit, snacks and juice. She had been about to set it down on the circular stone table at the center of the garden as she normally did when she changed her mind, straightened up, and brought it to me. Jenny handed me the small tray and sat down on the grass before me. There was no room on the bench beside me because a statue of me was sitting there gazing at the prone figure of Mom on the grass. I ate in silence, regarding Jenny with a blank expression on my face. She leaned back on her hands and waited for me to finish or to say something. When I was done, I set the tray down on the grass beside me. “You met my mother at the clinic, didn’t you?” Jenny nodded. “You told her about Nick and Gwen?” “Yes.” “She was intrigued?” “Very.” “Did you suggest she take up sculpting?” “No. She said it was something she’d always wanted to do and that she was good at in school.” “I see,” I nodded, thinking. “You asked Nick to follow up to see if she had done it?” “No. I came across your website and asked Nick to support her.

If I did it myself, she would have considered it charity.” “So, I owe it all to you.” “Yes,” was Jenny’s brutally frank reply. “Well, the beginning anyway.” “I suppose thanks are in order,” I sighed. “You can pay me back, you know.” With that, Jenny rolled over onto her stomach, her head on the grass canted back so she could look at me. She reached behind herself to grasp the hem of her summer dress and pulled it up until it was stretched across the bottom of her buttocks at the top of her slightly parted legs. A dark patch of pubic hair stretched down between the triangle formed by her legs and the apple-like cheeks of her bottom. “You owe me,” she whispered hoarsely. Maybe it was because I hadn’t had sex for so long, maybe it was because Jenny was so beautiful and we were so fond of each other, or maybe it was because we understood one another so well. I don’t know the why but my erection was instantaneous and I didn’t hesitate for a second. I stood up and shoved my shorts down to my ankles. I didn’t bother trying to get them off over my running shoes, I simply sank to my knees between Jenny’s feet, still wearing my shirt. She raised her butt up and the dress fell over her buttocks, baring her ass.

[sarit11]

I moved forward to impale her with my hardness but Jenny suddenly twisted around to face me with her widespread legs, welcoming pussy pushed up and forward, ready for action. “I want a son of my own,” she cried in a thick, passionate voice. I stared down at her already moist pussy. “Alright,” I muttered, my cock aching for entry. I leaned down to bring it close, so close I could feel her heat on its tip. “Wait,” Jenny cried. “Look at me first,” she demanded. I did. “Promise that when the time comes you’ll stand back and let him have his turn.” I stared at Jenny, my mouth wide open, as the full reality of her offer exploded in my brain. “Promise,” Jenny yelled. “I’ll give you everything you need, but only if you promise.” “I promise,” I muttered, then with more force, “I promise!” I reached under Jenny’s thighs and lifted her pelvis from the ground, my cock skidding between her inner thighs, bouncing from one to the other until I found her slit, nudged inside, and slid home with gut wrenching need. “Ahhhhhh, yeah,” I cried, and started fucking my new soul mate with wild abandon. It was a hard, desperate fuck. You couldn’t call it making love, that came later.

Jenny responded as if she was in just as much need as I. How long had she waited for the right man to come along, the man that would willingly sire his own cuckold and honor his promise to relinquish his throne. As I pulled on Jenny’s straining thighs, I was surprised that I looked forward to the day, even cherished it. I would never do it for any other man, but for my son, that was different. I think it was right after those thoughts that I first croaked, “Oh, Mom, Mom.” Jenny went wild. Her hips bucked up to meet mine with as much force as mine slammed down to pierce her. I think she really got off on being called 'Mom’ and I later wondered if she had always wondered what it would be like to fuck her own son, just like her mother had done. Whatever, the mutual hammering was extremely intense and I wasn’t really surprised when we were done to find ourselves in the middle of the lawn under the central stone table, gasping desperately to recapture our breath. Jenny waited while I pulled up my shorts. Hand in hand we sauntered back to the house. Nick and Gwen were sitting on the large stone patio behind the mansion having their afternoon wine.

Gwen was watching the birds in the nearby trees with her small binoculars as she often did. Jenny smiled at them as we climbed the stone steps, her hand stretching back to hold mine, towing me behind her. “We’re going to be married,” she announced in the most nonchalant fashion you can imagine. “We’ll be upstairs celebrating.” Nick and Gwen smiled and I nodded my agreement as if it was a foregone conclusion. As I entered the large house, I looked back just as Nick’s hand settled on Gwen’s knee. As Jenny pulled me into the house, the hand slid up and under Gwen’s skirt. Days later, I discovered something else that might have had something to do with Dad’s drinking. The second to last statue depicted Mom prone on her back, her hands on my buttocks urging me forward with the tip of my cock just entering her mouth. Mom had done this on several occasions but she had never let me come there. Instead, when I was ready to unload, Mom would always slide her hands around to the front of my thighs and push hard, forcing me down and arching her hips up to capture my by then already drooling cock between her legs.

Mom always wanted me to come inside her. That is, until the end. Then, she let me come in her mouth. Not on her face, mind you, just in her mouth. So what was so strange about that? Her tummy, that’s what. Mom’s stomach in that statue pouted way too much. It looked almost swollen. I had noticed it before but thought it was an expression of her realism. Now, I suspected another reason. Mom was pregnant, and intentionally so! She wanted to have a child with me but that was when she was well, when she thought she was free of cancer. Looking back, Mom had only let me come in her mouth after the first tell-tale signs that the cancer had returned. She carried that secret to her grave but Dad may have found out from the doctor after her death. Maybe. That swollen stomach haunted me. So why did I think that? Because when Jenny and I spent the afternoon making love, I clambered over her chest just like in the statue with Mom. Jenny let me put my cock into her mouth and lovingly teased it back into something a man could be proud of. She insisted, however, that I put it in her pussy, as she did over the next few days. That recollection, while sitting on the bench regarding the statue of Mom and me, triggered similar memories with Mom. Jenny demanded that I come in her pussy because she wanted a son, and now I believed that’s why Mom had insisted on the same thing. Oh yeah. We did have son. In fact we had two: twins.

[Mf123]

This is a collection of stories written by AlwaysWantedTo,
His stories were some of the best ever written, and there were so many of them. Enjoy.

1. “Painting” Mom - Mom needs help to make her sculptures more realistic.

2. A Mother Remembers - While she waits for her son.

3. Brushing Mom’s Hair Ch. 1 - Something comes up while doing Mom’s hair.
Brushing Mom’s Hair Ch. 2 - Dad sleeps while son brushes Mom’s hair again.
Brushing Mom’s Hair Ch. 3 - Son enjoys more than Mom’s hair.
Brushing Mom’s Hair Ch. 4 - Son is keen to braid Mom’s hair.
Brushing Mom’s Hair Ch. 5 - Son braids Mom’s hair for Mother’s day.
Brushing Mom’s Hair Ch. 6 - Father’s Day.

4. Canoeing with Mom Ch. 01 - Son learns new techniques from Mom.
Canoeing with Mom Ch. 02 - Mom learns something new from son.

5. Crosswords Ch. 01 - Mom doesn’t want Sis and I to play.
Crosswords Ch. 02 - Mom didn’t want Sis and I to play.

6. It Started with a Slip of the Hand - Mom’s reaction surprises son.

7. Mom Recycles on Earth Day - Mother enlists son to mitigate tragic loss.

8. Mom Tries Belly Dancing Ch. 01 - Am I ready for Dad, son?
Mom Tries Belly Dancing Ch. 02 - Aunt Beth.

9. Soaking Mom - Son dribbles on Mom.

10. Staying on the Farm With Mom - How a wash tub kept me out of the war.

11. The Inheritance - On deathbed, grandfather spells out his will.

12. The Mom Memories Ch. 01 - Son discovers a collection of incest confessions, one of them about his father and grandmother.
The Mom Memories Ch. 02 - A new letter, this one about Frank.
The Mom Memories Ch. 03 - Son and Mom feed Dad. A letter from Francis, and one more letter about his father.
The Mom Memories Ch. 04 - Mom agrees to more roleplay, and a Letter from Calvin whose mom cuts his hair.
The Mom Memories Ch. 05 - Mom and Son do Anal and a letter from Grant, who rubs his mothers back after a funeral.

13. The Platform - Mom and son share a hidden deck in the forest.

14. Down Memory Lane With Mom - Son helps mother relive her past.

15. Tanning with Mom - Loving son helps mom improve the texture of her skin.

16. You’ll Get Used to It - Son shows Mom and friends what to expect at the airport.

17. Voodoo Moms - Sons get mom dolls.

Thank you very much Sarit Garu, but this is not the whole collection.
The particular part I was searching for is still missing. In sure I've read it on literotica, but it got deleted. The 'Evan's story' from "The Mom Memories" series is very much special for me.

[Renjith]

Super bro

[sarit11]

 2. A Mother Remembers

by alwayswantedto

All characters are 18 years or older.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So beautiful. The manicured grass sloping gently toward the trees, a mixture of seven shades of green interspersed with bits of yellow and red. It was peaceful, by design. My heart filled with joy, and sadness too, knowing you will soon be here, finally, with me. Oh, my son, I have waited so long.

I remember the first time I became aware of your attraction to me. Your father, who had been away on business, called from the airport to say he was bringing a client home! I scrambled to prepare something better for dinner and then, still in my black exercise leotard, raced around the house, tidying, cleaning, and dusting. My frantic pace didn’t disturb your lolling recline on the couch except to force an occasional crane of your neck to see the TV.

Finally, I stood, exhausted, facing partly away from you toward the window. That’s when I noticed the television in the corner hadn’t completely captured your attention, the reflection in the window revealing the degree to which my pose had trumped the football game.

Still out of breath, I panted harder than necessary for an excuse to stay still, hand braced on my left hip, right jutted-out, and lifted my right hand to push my bushy, shoulder-length hair up and away from my neck. The truth really penetrated my mind then for your gaze fixed upon my right breast which my raised arm profiled quite nicely.

Unconsciously, I let my arm drop to let my breast sag a little, pushing it outward into my top, and your eyes widened. Or at least I thought they did. Maybe my mind was assuming more than the reflection could provide but in that precise moment I rediscovered how it felt to be admired as a woman despite my dress and the state of my hair.

My hair! I turned, unexpectedly, by your reaction.

“They’ll be here any minute,” I cried, and bolted for the stairs.

You scrambled to cover yourself and, given my hasty exit, probably thought you had been successful but as I leaped up the stairs the clear image of the erection tenting your pants seared itself into my brain.

I’m still sexy, even if Don doesn’t know it.

I had been working out for months — almost a year, really — but Don paid less and less attention every week. I noticed the glances of other men but dismissed them when he didn’t confirm their admiration. Writing it off to wishful thinking on my part, I refused to give up and doubled my efforts. But at night, as he snored beside me, I convinced myself I was losing him to a younger woman. Why else would he ignore a female body so conveniently at his disposal when it was in the best shape it been in for twenty years?

So months later my body, in even better shape, continued to draw looks from strange men and now it had even attracted my son. I didn’t quite know what to do with that information or the strange warmth it brought to my heart and body. I tried to dismiss the latter feeling but couldn’t deny I had held my pose far longer than necessary, despite my surprise, and had purposely lowered my arm to make my breast more noticeable, one of many long-forgotten feminine wiles.

I berated myself, wondering how a mother could be so desperate as to seek sexual attention from her own son. I told myself not to overthink a brief moment and that I had no reason to feel bad. My looks had returned and I had reacted, nothing more and nothing less, and so had you, bless your heart. I put on a nice dress, one that emphasized my refurbished figure, and told myself it was because I wanted additional confirmation from Don’s client.

That confirmation came in spades. Clive paid so much attention to me it angered you. Do you remember that, I wonder? It was so long ago. It struck me that you were actually jealous but I dismissed the notion at the time as being ridiculous. Why would you be jealous? There had to be another explanation for your rudeness.

Don, of course, didn’t even notice. I didn’t know why, then, but I thought I did.

[sarit11]

Don worked late even more often after that. He was usually home by nine but sometimes would inexplicably return to the office and not come home until eleven or later. I tried not to be suspicious but one Saturday I ran across his office mate while shopping downtown. Herb asked if Don was with me or shopping for a Xmas gift on his own. I’m sure my surprise escaped before I could compose myself but Herb gallantly didn’t acknowledge it.


“Of course,” I replied. “He loves to surprise me,” I answered.

Don had told me he had to go over some important papers with Herb for an important meeting on Monday. Jealousy initially hit deep but then I rationalized it away — don’t we always do that? Of course, I reasoned, Don was doing just what Herb suggested, buying a special present for me.

When Don came home I snuck out to search his car. There was no present. Of course, he could have taken it to his office, or arranged for it to be delivered later, but I was done with rationalizations. I was hurt and angry. Mostly angry.

Soon after that I began wearing lightweight bras that provided lift and emphasized shape. Within a week I was going braless under a t-shirt covered by a blouse, or under a blouse covered by an open sweater. I knew the relative freedom of my breasts would draw your attention too but I didn’t care. At least one man knew there was a treasure to be found at home!

I can’t believe I was thinking like that but in my defense I was an emotional wreck and felt sexually defunct. I was at the end of my stick. If only I knew how much worse it would get.

Evoking desire in other men proved too easy but, despite my accidental discovery, your attention was more elusive. Of course I knew, though it was taboo, most young men would at some point notice their mothers, if only because of proximity. I had caught you looking once and assumed you had done so more often but were adept at hiding such a forbidden interest. Therefore, I sought confirmation of my womanly prowess in your eyes just to make myself feel good, to be wanted.

Weeks went by where my thoughts were consumed by how to snag your attention with seemingly innocent poses designed to draw attention to my breasts. I repositioned furniture so I could surreptitiously utilize reflections to monitor your reactions and discovered, much to my surprise, that my lower body drew admiring glances longer and more often.

[sarit11]

I wore shorter skirts and dresses without pantyhose and sometimes went without underwear so the shape and motion of my buttocks would be easier to discern, but only when Don wasn’t home. I oiled my bare legs and practised crossing them, pausing briefly to maximize the effect when they were open, and tensing my calf muscles unnecessarily to make them look sexy whether crossed or not.


Amazingly, Don didn’t notice the short skirts or the motion of my breasts. Nor did he question why the coffee table was six inches closer to the couch. I often rested my feet on the table in the evening but now braced them on the edge rather than laying them flat, to tighten rather than relax the muscles in my legs. With feet closer to the couch my knees rose higher, allowing my dress to slide down my raised thighs to reveal more glistening, well-oiled leg than was appropriate, even in the privacy of home — especially when my son was present.

I should say, my attentive son, for my weeks of effort had paid off and I measured my daily success not just in the count of surreptitious looks or even in the achievement of an erection, for that was expected. I now sought to prolong your arousal as long as possible, keeping you downstairs doing meaningless chores.

Then I sought your help with my crossword puzzles and, of course, got you to sit beside me. I kept you there for hours, feigning intense interest while using the bottom of the magazine to work my dress higher. At times, it neared my crotch and I was glad the magazine hid its raunchy state from your father’s eyes, should he ever bother to look. When I was stuck, as happened often, I lifted the magazine closer to my face to scrutinize the clues leaving my thighs open for your leisurely inspection. Sometimes I dragged my dress so high my panties were exposed. I went further, lifting one foot from the table to wiggle my toes and tense my calf muscles but the main reason was to stretch my panties tightly across my pussy.

It was shameless! I knew I was being a horrible mother but couldn’t stop. In the afternoon I rented as watched series in which an aristocratic mother repeatedly satisfied her married son. She was evil but I was only playing a harmless game. It was fun, and okay because nothing had actually happened.

Like any addict, I didn’t realize how far gone I was, not even when I began removing my panties after dinner before sitting down to do a crossword. I knew you were aware something was up because I was too worked up to keep the tension out of my breathing.

[sarit11]

The first time you smelled my excitement your whole body stiffened in surprise — everywhere, not just there. You stuttered and blushed when I queried you for word suggestions and tried to leave but I laid a hand on your forearm and pleaded for you to stay until the puzzle was done. I teased you wickedly but relinquished the joy of torture when I sensed you were about to come, actually come, in your pants.


Even then I didn’t quit.

Did you know I followed you upstairs that night to listen to the rapid patter of your masturbation? I knew you were thinking of me, though you didn’t mention my name, and it made me feel very sexy. That was the first time I slipped my fingers inside myself while thinking about how much I had aroused you. Until then I had limited myself to a few rubs but that was no longer enough. I pushed three fingers into my wet cunt to mimic the size of the bulge I had witnessed in your pants. When the speed of your hand and your moans betrayed the imminent culmination of your arousal I reached my own release and felt closer to you than I ever had, except perhaps at birth.

I should have quit then. Any reasonable mother would have, even if she had been insane enough to reach my state of degradation. Instead, the next night, I used the crossword magazine to push my dress high enough to bare myself, and then raised it, tilted toward the lamp, and Don, to hide my exposed state. Of course, nothing was hidden from you, not my slightly open legs or my carefully trimmed fur which glistened like my legs but from my own dew. I let you stare for several minutes and then parted my legs further to show a little pink, but only briefly. I didn’t try to stop you when you groaned loudly and jumped up.

“What’s wrong?” your father asked, but you were already running toward the stairs. He turned to me but thankfully I had lowered the magazine and tugged my dress into a more appropriate position. “What’s wrong with Donny?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, seeming worried. “I’ll go check.”

Despite my apparent concern, I sauntered up the stairs. I knew Don wasn’t watching and I wanted to give you time to get started. I felt very sexy and wanted to enjoy the feeling of warmth rolling outward from my center, the spread of my own condensation dampening my inner thighs, and the power my son’s escape ingested within me.

[sarit11]

I was too late. You had been in such a hurry you hadn’t fully closed the bathroom door and it was obvious you were already coming. I should have left but stayed to hear the whole thing after you rasped a single, magic word.


“Mom.”

It was too late then to make an escape so I braced myself for the inevitable confrontation between mother and son, the first acknowledgement that I knew you were masturbating. I would have to brush it off but could I when it was so obvious what had triggered it?

And would I? Could I trust myself when you opened the door, perhaps still stuffing your semihard cock into your pants? Would I grab it and stuff into myself instead of my fingers, as I wanted to? Could I control myself, force myself to do the right thing? This was no longer a game, I realized with a sinking feeling, yet I stood fast instead of running and braced myself for the most important face-to-face of our lives. I didn’t know what would happen.

But you didn’t come out. There was silence, then a sigh, and that magic word again…Mom. You were at it again. Once was not enough for your mother! I inhaled your love, seeping through the crack in the door, and swayed on my feet, dizziness briefly overcoming me. The floor creaked and the sound of your hand stopped.

I stood rooted to the floor, unable to breathe, or move. My ears tried to pierce the wall and I noted with horror that my hand had lifted my dress and slid between my legs to cup my sex. I tried to pull it away but instead let the pad of my longest finger push into my slit. Long seconds passed, followed by a quiet grunt and the sound of the renewed movement of your hand. I turned toward the wall and leaned forward until my forehead pressed against it, the nearest I could be to you. I pushed my fingers inside and started working them in concert with the sound of your hand.

[sarit11]

You bought me a thick magazine of the toughest New York Times crosswords the next day. Do you remember that? You’d think I would have recognized the danger in that but I didn’t, or at least, I didn’t acknowledge it. I thought it was so cute that you found a way to make me ponder for every word that I let you inspect my fur every night that week. I took my time getting to it but that made the game more fun.

The sight of the pink didn’t make you lurch into coming as quickly and I liked that. We sat next to each other, one hard and one wet, for ages, until you eventually went upstairs to masturbate and I inevitably followed. We did ourselves in unison, unbeknownst to you, almost every night for two weeks.

I didn’t do it on purpose, it just happened on one of those nights when my fur was finally exposed. Delicious tingles danced around my pussy and it twitched. Though my nose was supposedly buried in the crossword magazine I registered an immediate reaction from you. Peeking sideways under the magazine, I noticed a complementary surge in your bulge and that encouraged me to do it on purpose. I hunched my pelvis, thrusting forward the tiniest bit, just enough to flex my mound without any apparent outer movement. I forgot I wasn’t wearing panties. If you were captivated before, you were lost then.

I told myself you didn’t know I was doing it on purpose, or that I had knowingly dragged my dress up my legs and spread them in the first place. Incredibly, I believed you thought I was innocent and unaware my sex was so blatantly exposed, that you were simply the fortunate recipient of repeated, accidental clothing malfunctions. It was a ridiculous assumption believable only to an addict in complete denial.

Things deteriorated from there.

I had been teasing you with sexy, supposedly innocent, poses in the kitchen until you suddenly needed to leave but I grasped your forearm to keep you there.

“Give your Mom a kiss,” I implored.

You tried to pull away but I insisted and dragged your face down for a kiss on your cheek. You were trembling and I felt almost cruel when I refused to let you go.

“Give me a hug, too.”

You resisted.

“Don’t you love your mother?” I asked, pulling your arms around me.

[sarit11]

I pressed against your body and felt the strength of you manhood. It shocked and excited me and I wanted to envelop it with my soft flesh but was afraid you’d run away. When I felt it jerk against my tummy I let you go and acted like everything was okay.


“Thanks, honey.” I turned away. “I’ll call you for dinner.”

After that we began touching during the day, just hugs and pecks on the cheek, and the odd quick kiss, but they became more and more frequent, especially the hugs. Strange that the thing you seemed so afraid to do became your favorite. The hugs became longer and you liked to surprise me from behind when I was busy. We both pretended it was platonic and there wasn’t anything pressing between us.

Perhaps that eased the transition from looking to touching during the evening crossword session. I grasped your forearm one evening when I knew you were ready to go upstairs. I hadn’t meant to do anything more than keep you for a few moments longer but when you took the loose, flopping left page of the puzzle magazine in your other hand, I pulled your right down to rest on my thigh. My bare thigh, only inches away from my wet, pulsing pussy. In that instant, through that small movement and delicate touch, I admitted to us both I knew exactly what I was doing.

It was an electric moment. You didn’t pull your hand away as I half expected. Neither of us moved while we continued to discuss clues and suggestions. Several minutes passed during which our bodies began to react to this new level in our game. My pussy pulsed involuntarily, beyond my control and unable to ignore the proximity of your warm hand. I knew, by the trembling in your leg, that you were also having difficulty controlling yourself. We started to come, together, sitting next to each other and only feet from your father, all from the warmth of your hand on my bare thigh!

You went upstairs and masturbated yourself to another come, moaning my name louder and more often than ever before. I bit my lip to stop from moaning yours in return, realizing I wanted you to hear me, to burst out the door and fill me with your meat. All my fingers fit easily inside that night and I fell to the floor. You took a long time to clean up and I wondered if you knew I was there.

I pulled your hand onto my upper thigh the next two nights. You kept it still but the third night you beat me to it, grasping the left page of the crossword magazine and placing your hand on my thigh. After a few minutes you moved it ever so slightly until your fingers dangled down the inside of my thigh, the tips only an inch or so from my pussy. The next night they came close enough to brush the edge of my fur.

You didn’t try to move closer but after about ten minutes or so, an eon it seemed, your finger pressed into my flesh, then released. A minute or two later you did it again and gradually did it more often. Press and release, press and release, press and release.

[sarit11]

It felt wonderful, so fantastic I almost forgot Don was sitting only feet away. It was the most intense sexual touch I had ever experienced, bar none! My whole body trembled in anticipation of the next press. And then you did it. You changed your touch, pressing in and dragging the flesh of my thigh outward, away from my tingling pussy, opening my secret lips, holding them exposed, then letting them snap back in a flurry of frantic, neural impulses. I almost passed out and briefly lost hold of my side of the magazine. By the time I came to my senses and grabbed it you were pulling my pussy apart again.


I came quickly that night but harder upstairs where I didn’t have to pretend nothing was going on. Of course, you and I knew there was but we maintained the pretense. During the day you didn’t try to touch me any differently, simply hugging and kissing my cheek or pecking me on the lips. But at night you continued to pull on my pussy lips until we both came, right next to your father.

Upstairs, outside the bathroom, the urge to feel your meat filling me became stronger each night. I wanted to beg you to come out, grab my tits hard and press me to the wall, enter me with unbridled enthusiasm, then throw me to the floor and fuck me from behind!

But I didn’t call out, and you never put your hand on my pussy, upstairs or downstairs. Nevertheless, eventually I knew I would beg for it or you would touch me. It was only a matter of time and then our lives would change forever, and probably caught. It was only a sign of Don’s distraction that our shenanigans hadn’t been discovered already. Amazing, really, until I found out why.

A letter from the hospital arrived addressed to your father. Suspecting a billing error, I opened it. It confirmed the date for the start of his radiation treatments and follow-on chemotherapy. Don had cancer!

I stumbled into the kitchen in a daze and sat down. My husband was sick, possibly deathly ill! We had been married for twenty-four years, survived the death of our first child, and raised a fine son. Yes, we had our difficulties of late but I still loved Don. I suddenly knew why Don disappeared at night and sat vacantly when he was at home. He was preoccupied with his fate. No wonder he hadn’t noticed Donny and I playing around! But why should he face this on his own? Why hadn’t he shared this with his family?

Anger flooded through me and the more I thought about it the angrier I became. I was his wife, Donny was his son, and we were a family! My hands trembled and I bit my lip often waiting for him to come home. Boy, I was going to let him have it.

I didn’t, of course. I did just the opposite. Don seemed, if anything, relieved that I knew. He cried and admitted he couldn’t find the courage to tell us. He didn’t want us to feel bad. Can you imagine? He was facing death and he didn’t want us to be sad.

[sarit11]

I thanked God nothing had happened between us that couldn’t be undone and vowed to redeem myself by providing exemplary care for my husband. I noted over the following weeks that you must have made a similar commitment for while I cared for and cleaned up after your father you did the housework, shopped for groceries and cooked most of the meals. I loved you and knew you loved me but we also loved your father.

What had happened between us had nothing to do with him but apparently stopping it had everything to do with him. You continued to help me with my crosswords but didn’t sit near me. The kisses on the cheek and pecks on the lips stopped, as did the hugs. When I noticed, I wrote it off to exhaustion, physical and emotional. The first round of radiation and chemo wasn’t too bad but the second was, the third promised to be worse and the last was reputed to be brutal. Those predictions proved accurate.

Don lost his hair and appetite, dropping about sixty pounds. He was weak, bed-ridden, and the few hours you and I shared together downstairs were a welcome respite. Is it surprising we starting hugging again? How could I not kiss you after months of quietly picking up the pieces when I couldn’t manage?

I was an emotional wreck after Don’s final treatment. While feeding him lunch a few days later he commented on your incredible support during his illness, and mine.

“I don’t deserve it,” he said. “I don’t deserve either of you.”

“Of course you do,” I replied, sitting on the bed beside him, ignoring the now faint pangs of guilt.

“I’m feeling better.”

“That’s good.”

“Enough for you to leave me for a few hours,” he continued.

“What do you mean?”

“I want you and Donny to go somewhere nice for dinner tonight. You both need a break.”

“Don, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It will do you both good to get away from this for a few hours.”

“We’re fine.”

[sarit11]

I stroked his forehead but he caught my hand. I was surprised by his strength.


“See? I’ll be fine”

“You’re still very sick.”

“Please. It will make me feel better to see you get dressed up and have a little fun.” His eyes pleaded with mine. “Please,” he repeated.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Positive. Have a shower and then do me a favor before you go.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me watch you put oil on your legs. I noticed you were doing that a while back and meant to tell you how good your legs look, but…”

I laughed. “You really are feeling better.”

“I told you.”

“Okay, but I’ll take a long bath first.”

“Take your time.”

“I will.”

“And then the oil. You do have gorgeous legs.”

Those words made me feel great.

I fed Don early that afternoon and then took a long bath, disrobing in front of him. I soaked for an hour, refilled the tub, and entered the much later bedroom wrapped in a large towel. I let it slip from my body when I opened a drawer to get clean underwear.

“Oil,” Don said. “Remember the oil.”

“Yes, of course. I forgot,” I lied.

I felt conflicted oiling my legs for Don. Memories surfaced of the hours I spent displaying my legs for you when I thought he had given me up for a younger woman but I hid my feelings and gave him a good show.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered when I was finished.

“I wasn’t bad years ago.”

“You’re sexier now. A mature woman, and a mother.

"Uh huh. May I get dressed now?”

“Please do.”

[sarit11]

Don smiled, weakly, but it was a smile nonetheless. He insisted that I wear my sexiest underwear and put on one of my shorter, shape-enhancing dresses.


“But I’m taking my son to dinner,” I protested.

“He won’t know what’s underneath.”

“I should hope not,” I replied sharply.

“I can picture you walking into the Brio on our handsome son’s arm.”

“That’s an odd thought.”

“Is it?”

“Kind of.”

So you and I went to the Brio, since your father suggested it. I meant to hurry home but we enjoyed ourselves so much I lost sense of time. It was late when we returned, to a disaster, as it turned out. Despite his apparent strength, Don was still quite sick and had fallen trying to get to the bathroom. It took us an hour to get him and the bedroom cleaned up. The exhaustion, so quickly forgotten, soon returned. It was after midnight when I descended the stairs to find you watching a late movie.

“I thought you’d be in bed.”

“I made tea.”

“Oh, Donny. You’re a godsend.”

I drank the tea and watched the movie in silence. I can’t remember what it was but do recall being conscious of you sitting next to me unaware of the sexy underthings I was wearing. It stirred feelings within me I hadn’t felt for many weeks but they were accompanied by an incredible guilt.

“We shouldn’t have gone. He’s still sick.”

“I know,” you replied. “But he wanted us to. We did it for him.”

“That’s true. God, I’m so tired.”

“Why don’t you go to bed?”

“I’m more weary than tired.”

[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.

[sarit11]

By noon the next day Don seemed better again and that night, after supper, he asked me to oil my legs for him again. I did so, langorously, on the bed beside him. While his attention was focused on my calves I glanced at his groin to see how much he was truly enjoying the show. To my surprise, he was soft, completely flaccid!


Why, then, did he want me to act so sexy in front of him when he was so obviously not interested, or capable of doing anything about it if he was? Why would he torture himself? I didn’t get it.

“Will you put on the pleated grey skirt with a white blouse?” he asked.

“If it makes you happy.”

I picked out a bra but he stopped me before I could put it on.

“No bra.”

“No bra? Alright,” I agreed reluctantly. “But I’ll have to get changed again.”

“You can put a sweater on after.”

“Okay.”

I dropped the bra and chose a pair of white panties.

“Not those. The black ones.”

“Don!”

“Alice!” he countered, and laughed.

“I can’t parade around the house in little more than a thong.”

“Only you and I will know.”

I shook my head.

“Humor me,” he pleaded.

I relented. “Alright, but I don’t see the point.”

“The point is I want to think about you walking around like that.”

“Whatever get’s you off.”

When I was dressed, Don said, “Beautiful.” His smile faded briefly and then strengthened. He waved his hand dismissively and said. “Now go have dinner and let me rest.”