Incest Stories by Alwayswantedto

[nilr1]

Mom didn't do anything. She acted like I was still just stroking her neck. Her breathing didn't change. Nothing. No jerk away, no yelling. If anything, her tit pressed into my hand.


I slid my other hand from the side of her face and inserted my finger into Mom's mouth as my other hand closed over her tit, gently squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing. I pushed my cock hard into Mom's back and inserted my finger further into her mouth as if it was a cock seeking the bottom of her pussy. For a long couple of minutes I kept that up. My finger sliding slowly in and out of her mouth, hand pulsing over her right tit as if I was squishing a bulb, and my cock rubbing up and down her back.

This was insane. Unbelievable. Squeezing my mom's tit, fingering her mouth and dry-humping her back with my father snoring less than ten feet away. Holy fuck.

It was the sudden snort from Dad that changed everything. Mom jerked upright, hunching over and turning away from Dad to sit sideways on the bench seat. I jerked my head in absolute fear to look at my father, leaning back on bent knees but hunched forward, my bare cock sticking out above the waistband of my pajamas. He was changing his position, turning on his side, facing toward us. His eyes were closed, but they could open at any minute. Move! Turn away. Get out! Why couldn't I move?

Dimly, I was aware that Mom was turning, swiveling around to face me. Her arms reached out and circled my hips, pulling me close, her forehead resting on my stomach.

"Brush my hair," she hissed.

Dumbly I looked down at the hair covering her entire back and falling to her sides, concealing the state of her nightgown. My hand lurched toward the dresser, picked up the brush, and pressed it against the hair in the middle of her back.. Dad's eyes fluttered open but they didn't seem to focus. He smiled at me and closed his eyes. His breathing began to deepen.. My hand pushed the brush down through Mom's hair.

I continued brushing Mom's hair, my strokes lengthening as my fear subsided. Mom's hands had slipped down to the side of my thighs, her fingers slipping around to grip their backs. Her forehead was against my stomach, face hidden. Dad's breathing was almost to snore level, but not quite.