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My mother came to my bedroom in the middle of the night. I don’t know what time. It was dark, and I was fuzzy with sleep.
It was the same bedroom I’d had as a boy. But then, in 1989, I was twenty-five. I’d left home six years before but was back in the house because my mother needed support. She was fifty-two. My father had left her. He’d run off with the clichéd ‘younger model’ — a fit thirty-something I boned a year after this incident I’m recalling took place. Fucking my dad’s girlfriend was a revenge tactic of mine. I did it because of the upset the old man caused my mum. But that’s another story, and I digress…
I’d had a call from my sister telling me what had happened and that our mother was in what she described as, “Quite a bad way.” My sister had a young family and was constantly busy running around looking after the small people while I, on the other hand, had nothing to do. I was between jobs, and not trying too hard to find one.
So, there I was, back in the old bedroom, my mother a vague shadow.
When I asked what was wrong, she said, “Can I get in with you?”
It had been a single bed when the room was my domain, but they’d put in a double when I gave up the space.
Surprised yet still bleary I asked her why.
“I don’t want to be on my own,” she said.
It was the way she added the, “Please,” which made me tell her it was okay.
“I … I should put something on,” I said. “I’m naked, mum.”
The shadow flitted across my sight-line as my mother came to the bed.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”
Maybe not to her, but I had a different opinion. The grown-up me felt awkward and embarrassed, but the speed at which my mother moved meant she was under the covers with me before I could express my concerns.
“Cuddle me,” she said after shifting around.
“Mum, I’m naked,” I told her again.
“Please,” she said.
Again, the way she said it affected me on an emotional level I couldn’t ignore.
Which is how I came to be spooned against my mother’s warm buttocks, whatever it was she was wearing a thin membrane of nothing between us.
I didn’t mean for it to happen, of course — but my dick thickened and grew.
My hard-on, solid and thick, pressed between the cleft of my own mother’s bottom.
“Oh dear,” I heard my mother say.
Heat rushed into my face. I was grateful for the darkness, mortified by my body’s response.
Cold and hot at the same time, I tried to ignore the swelling, easing away from my mother as she asked, “Is that you?”
“Mum … I … I’m sorry,” I said, stammering it out.
“It’s all right,” she told me. “I understand. It’s my fault, really.”
I protested because I didn’t want her to feel bad. My mother already had enough going on without blaming herself.
“No, Peter,” she said. “Don’t worry. How about we change about? Turn over. I’ll cuddle you.”
What I really wanted was for her to get out. I was already thinking about the next day. How would I face her after getting a stiffie because she was warm in my bed?
But what I did was rollover onto my opposite side, my mother moulding her frontage against the curve of my back.
“Thank you for coming home,” she breathed after a couple of minutes.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“I’m a mess. I’m sorry,” my mother murmured into the dark.
“You’ll be okay.”
I felt her move as she nodded and said, “Of course.”
We lay there together, me fully awake, hard-on slowly abating.
Then, two things happened simultaneously. My mother said, “I love you,” as her fingers curled around my dick.
Yes, okay, a shocker. I couldn’t believe it.
How could I?
My mother touching my cock? On purpose?
Of course it wasn’t a deliberate move.
But it was.
Shocked, I gasped out, “Mum–“
At which she cut me off by saying, “It’s all right. I’m supposed to help you. You’re my son. This is what a mother is for. To help her boy.”
I did think about telling my mother her values were somewhat off-kilter. Wanking off her own son wasn’t what she was supposed to do. That was not the kind of helping hand I expected.
I coughed it out again. “Mum,” I said.
“Shush,” she told me.
And, as much as I’ve worried over it since it happened, it felt so sweet to feel her hand caressing my cock — as damned as I am for allowing it to go on — I just let her get to it.
Why I let my mother stroke my erection is an easy question. It’s an obvious one.
The answer is very complex.
And I don’t have an answer, really.
I suppose I was in shock.
But I also know it felt so good.
I was stiff with arousal. It was dark. I’d only just woken up. I was disorientated.
But it felt so good.
Her hand stroking my length.
Her body against me.
Her fingers squeezing my cock.
“Let me,” my mother whispered.
So I did. I stretched my legs so her hand could move more freely.
“God, you’re lovely,” bağcılar escort my mother sighed.
She worked her fist over my cock, squeezing and stroking, her breath coming in gasps as she pressed her breasts against my back.
For several surreal minutes my mother kept on at my cock. Then, without me knowing how it came to be, the bedside light was on, she had her nightie ruched up to her throat, the backs of her knees were hooked around my arms, and I was looking down at her face, my cock working her cunt as I pounded at my mother’s pubic bone like I was intent on shattering it to dust.
“Oh, oh baby,” my mother squeaked as her big tits rolled and shook. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t expect us to start doing this.”
It was an odd experience. Strange and dreamlike. I was there in body but distant from inside my head. On one level I knew exactly what was going on. I understood who the woman beneath me was, but part of my brain refused to believe it. I recognised her face and her voice. I was aware of everything but somehow divorced from reality. I’d never considered my mother as a sexual being before. I mean, why would I? But there she was, ostensibly naked, her body exposed, her most intimate place gripping my cock.
It surprised me to notice she had quite a figure. My mother was soft where a woman is meant to be soft. She was well-padded in a way which pleased my eyes and my cock, her body ripe and rounded, her thick pubic bush as black and thick and glossy as the hair on her head.
I also knew in that very vague and distant way that we shouldn’t be together as we were. Coupled like lovers. Her body taking my dick.
I had no right to be inside my mother, my shaft smeared with her lust.
But, at the same time those thoughts rushed through my head, no power on Earth could have made me stop fucking into her pussy.
It was sublime.
A joy so sweet I wanted to go on and on and on.
Enveloped in the sense of strangeness I looked down at my mother’s face.
“Love me,” my mother said, catching my stare.
She looked up at me, her face twisted up with what looked to be absolute pleasure, the expression a mirror for the delight I felt inside.
Then she asked, “You wouldn’t leave me like your father did, would you?”
Emotion clogged my throat when I heard her say it.
“No,” I groaned, pausing with my dick inside her up to my balls. “He’s an arsehole,” I added.
Love boiled inside me when my mother continued to gaze at me.
“God,” I muttered, “you’re beautiful, mum. I … I didn’t get it before. I never saw you properly. But you … like this … I see how lovely you are.”
My mother started to move again. Slowly at first.
“I’m so confused,” she said, inner troubles clouding her eyes. After a pause, our bodies locked together, she added, “I’m sorry for being this way. Tonight. I … I just needed a cuddle. I didn’t mean for this. But in the dark. You were so warm. And then I felt your … your … Well, you know. I can’t explain why I did it. I really don’t have a clue.”
We were moving together at a robust pace by then. I was up with my weight on my hands as my mother offered her body, all maternal decorum gone while I worked my dick in-and-out.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” I said, grunting with the sensations.
“Oh, darling, it’s me all right,” my mother replied. “And I don’t believe it either. I know we shouldn’t be like this together, but I don’t want to stop.”
“Me neither,” I told her. “It feels fantastic.”
My mother’s eyes moved from my face. She looked over the front of her body, then gulped as she stared at me again.
“We’re fucking,” gasped my mother, like she’d only just realised.
I kept on going, the bed protesting at the abuse to its frame.
“Oh God, you’re my son! That’s you inside me!”
My mother closed her eyes once more, gasping and moaning for a few moments.
I was excited by the sight of her body, boobs free and rolling, her thatch shocking my senses.
“Fuck me,” she said, face twisted up in a snarl. “I don’t care if this is wrong. Just fuck me.”
To hear my mother using bad language came as one more shock — wave after wave of surprise.
Despite that we were fucking, that I was actually thrusting my cock into my mother, her use of the F-word had a profound effect. So much so that I felt the tell-tale tickle. I could feel the cum starting to boil. If we kept it up at the pace we were going, I had less than a minute left in me.
“I don’t think I can do this for very much longer,” I said.
My mother stared at me while shunting her pelvis so her pussy moved over my cock.
She asked, “Are you going to come?”
At which I grimaced and nodded.
“Yeah,” I groaned. “It’s too exciting. You … Your body.”
I grunted and snorted and tried to ignore the desire to let it all go.
Then, in a moment of anxiety I asked, “Is it safe? I mean, you know … inside you.”
“I won’t get pregnant,” answered bahçelievler escort my mother. “But try to hold on. I’m not anywhere near finished with this.”
I don’t know how long I managed to keep going. Not long at all, I suppose. I tried but lost it because of the look on her face, the sounds she made, the way her body moved beneath me, and, most of all, because she whimpered out, “Love your mother the way she should be loved. Kiss me, my sweetheart.”
I moved in to kiss her when my mother offered her mouth.
Then her tongue was between my lips, her pussy squeezing my dick, our bodies squelching before the cum burst from my cock.
When the stuff spurted into her body my mother fell back, eyes wide as she yelped, “Oh! You’re coming!”
I emptied myself.
My seed flooded my mother.
I gasped and grunted, tongue in my mother’s mouth as the insane joy took me away.
Then, even as the last couple of spurts pulsed out of me, I felt the rush of horror at what I’d just been part of.
Mortified, appalled, anxious, and fearful I rolled away from my mother.
The lust which had overwhelmed had run out of me on the surge of my climax. Logical thought returned.
As my lay sprawled, her pussy a scarlet flash amid the dark patch of hair between her legs, my cum sliding from the gape of her opening, I experienced a deep and abiding sense of shame.
Complex emotions swirled inside me.
“Mum,” I croaked, “what have we done?”
She looked at me for a few seconds. A weird look. Like she didn’t know who I was. My mother’s eyes clouded over as she frowned. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and hauled down the over-sized tee-shirt she used as a nightie.
While she did that, my mother was also moving around. She got up onto her knees a hand reaching for me.
“Don’t get anxious,” said my mother.
She had a tight grip on my wrist, like she wasn’t sure I might try to run away.
“Calm down,” she added. “Deep breaths. Stop thinking too much.”
My mother, her recent meltdown notwithstanding, was a pragmatic, cool-headed person. She had the capacity to accept the realities in stressful situations. She could cut through all the potential for drama, dismissing emotions sometimes as she focussed on fact.
It had been more than a week since I’d seen a hint of her true personality. But here she was, facing the incest and staring down any sense of humiliation or awkwardness which dared to confront her.
“But–” I said.
“It’s done,” my mother put in. We did it and can’t ever take it back.”
She kept hold of my wrist with one hand, using the other to pull the bed cover over my legs and rapidly diminishing cock.
As the stone dropped into the pit of my stomach, I gasped, “How did it happen?”
It was all so unreal. A sudden nightmare.
The images rushed across my mind’s-eye: my mother’s breasts shivering while her eyes gazed up at me; her pussy taking my cock, the dark fur matted with her arousal while her pink core glistened. I heard her gasps and moans.
“Ah, fuck,” I groaned in despair. “Not you. We can’t have done it. This is all made up.”
I was starting to babble as effervescent panic fizzed inside me.
“No,” I snarled, wild and desperate. “It isn’t real. I’ll wake up.”
My mother’s hands went to my shoulders.
She shook me while saying, “Stop it. For God’s sake, listen to me. You think you’re the only one affected by this? Do you really think I’m not in a state of shock, too?”
My throat felt clogged. I struggled to breathe. My world was in chaos.
I mumbled stuff I can’t recall, thoughts tumbling around while my mother shifted on her knees, her face right in front of mine.
Her hands were still on my shoulders, but she’d stopped with the shaking.
Speaking slowly and very deliberately, my mother said, “Pack it in. You’re being ridiculous. This is NOT going to help us.”
“But you’re my mother!”
She winced when I wailed it out.
“Yeah, I know,” my mother replied, sarcasm in her tone. “I was there when you were born, you know.”
What I took to be disgust at my emotional display curled her lips.
“I know who I am,” sighed my mother. “I know who you are. I know what we are to each other. I didn’t plan for this to happen. I’m as surprised as you. I have no idea how we came to be … to be…”
Her voice tapered off before she heaved another sigh.
“Shit, what a fucking mess,” she spat. “Jesus! What the hell was I thinking!”
At that point I went into some sort of mental lockdown. I could see my mother’s face and recognised her but couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. All I heard were random sounds as her mouth moved. Her expression looked fierce as her eyes stared right through me to the back of my skull. I don’t have any idea how long I stayed in that weird state of altered perception. It couldn’t have been long because when the words once again made sense, my mother was still kneeling in front of me, her hands down in bahçeşehir escort her lap and not on my shoulders.
“We just need to calm down and talk through this,” my mother was saying. She shrugged and even, to my amazement, gave a wry chuckle. Then she said, “We haven’t hurt anyone, have we? It’s only you and I know. This doesn’t have to get all blown up. We can contain it.”
My mother stopped talking and gazed at me with this intense, earnest look on her face.
Her eyes examined me for several long moments.
Then she pouted and shrugged and said, “Let’s take a little time for it all to sink in. Then we can talk. Yeah, it’ll be a huge embarrassment,” my mother went on, eyes going wide. “But we’ll have to set that aside and think about how we’re going to be.”
As everything continued to swirl in my head, I managed to croak, “How we’re going to be?”
My mother nodded. “Yes. We could try to supress it. You know, bury it. Don’t ever talk about it again. Erase it.”
The recollections burst inside my mind again.
Choked up by conflicting sensations — horror and arousal — I heard myself gurgle, “I … I’ll never be able to erase it.”
“Me neither,” murmured my mother.
She sighed and looked at me through soft eyes, a tiny smile curving her lips.
“But we do have to talk it through and decide what to do. If we don’t you’re likely to dwell and stew and say something you perhaps shouldn’t. Your sister … Your father…”
The enormity of what had passed between us established itself inside my head. A huge neon sign blazing with accusation as it flashed between two words: INCEST … SECRET … INCEST … SECRET.
Then the sign switched to: YOU … FUCKED … YOUR … MOTHER!
I gulped down on the quick rush of panic which rose up my throat.
“Ah, shit, no, I’d never tell,” I groaned.
Pragmatic as she’d ever been, my mother said, “Easy to say.”
She slumped down onto the bed, laying out, legs bare as the nightie hitched up to the tops of her thighs.
Desire flashed when I caught a glimpse of my mother’s tender skin.
“I’ll stay here tonight,” my mother insisted. “Turn out the light. I don’t know why you turned it on in the first place,” she added, eyebrows arched. “God,” my mother breathed, “when I think about what you saw…”
After shaking her head, eyes closed, another sigh coming out of her, my mother looked at me and said, “Let’s just get under the covers and lie in the dark. We can talk about it without seeing each other. That’ll take out some of the sting.”
I wasn’t sure about us both being in the same bed, under the covers, me naked, but my mother insisted and so that’s what we did.
It took some time, but after a while, comforted because the darkness concealed the embarrassment — just like she’d said — I began to loosen up.
We talked, both of us amazed, both filled with a sense that we’d done something terribly wrong. Neither one of us could pinpoint the moment of transgression. My mother took all the blame for starting it off, for touching my dick and stroking its length, for starting the fire which then consumed us.
But we couldn’t decide who’d instigated the sex.
In the end we agreed it was just something which happened. We’d done it. I’d fucked my mother and she’d fucked me.
“I … I couldn’t have stopped,” I stammered, face burning as I said it.
Silence for a couple of beats.
“Me neither,” murmured my mother. “Once we were … Well, you know what I want to say.”
“But it was a bad thing to do, wasn’t it, mum? We were wrong, weren’t we?”
Longer this time.
“Yes,” my mother finally sighed. “But we didn’t hurt anyone, did we? The only people affected are you and I.”
“So, do we forget it?”
For some reason I couldn’t explain, I was shaking when I asked.
“What do you think? Would it be best if we just put it down to a huge lapse in judgement and put it to bed?” Then I heard my mother chuckle before adding, “No pun intended. About the bed, I mean.”
“We could talk about it sometimes, couldn’t we, mum?”
I could hear her breathing as I waited and waited for a response.
“Why would we do that?”
Even though she couldn’t see me, I shrugged. “We might need to talk, mum. And there’s nobody else.”
I felt the bed move and sensed my mother had shifted position to face me.
“How–?” she started, then fell silent.
I left it for about thirty seconds, then asked, “How what?”
“Uhm … How do you feel about me now? You know, after…”
Not knowing what she meant, I asked, “I don’t know what you’re asking. Feel about you?”
“Well, yeah, feel about me. Tonight, before all this, I was your mother. It was simple. I loved you because you’re my son, and I hope you loved me. Now it’s all sort of mixed up. We … er… know each other more intimately. You’ve seen me in a sexual way. I said some things a mother wouldn’t and shouldn’t say to her son! God, I had you inside me. I … I’ve still got your semen leaking out.”
My cock thickened at the reminder. Arousal flared inside.
“I loved you before and I love you now,” I said, trying to supress desire.
“Weren’t you disgusted?”
Surprised, I blurted, “Disgusted? Disgusted by what?”
“Well, me. My body. I’m over fifty. You’ll be used to something fitter. Young women with tight gym-bodies. Not a saggy old woman.”
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