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I had been divorced for several years and lived with my quiet son, Kurt, in Westfield County. I guess you could argue that I could have been a better mum, but it was difficult because the hermit-like behavior my son exhibited was something he inherited from me. I grew up in a big family and was the odd one out; an intellectual loner who preferred her own company.
I was not the youngest of my brothers and sisters but I was the last to get married. My father told me that if I had been a boy, I might have gone through the rest of my life single, and that I was fortunate that even as a female nerd, men were still interested. When it came to looking for a partner, one gender was less fussed then the other and I put that down to biology.
I don’t remember having much in common with Tom, whom I eventually married. I was 30 and I was thinking about my body; how long it could last. My mother’s ovaries stopped producing eggs when she turned 40, but she had already produced 7 children before that, so I guess that was a relief.
On the whole, it was my parents who wanted me to marry Tom, saying I wouldn’t find anyone else, not if I didn’t dress and look like a lady. On my wedding, they got to see me how they wanted; in a dress, glasses removed, hair open and cascading and a big smile on my smile. I was completely unrecognizable and hated it but couldn’t help but feel special at the same time.
My sex life was not anything special, but I did enjoy the experience. When we weren’t arguing or avoiding each other, the sexual tension was always there, building up. I realized that I could still hate someone and want to have sex with them at the same time. Tom must have had other lovers before me because I learned how to fuck him through his guiding hands and his many creative ideas underneath the sheets.
In the end, sex was an instrument for relief and it did not improve our association in anyway. We actually were finished with each other not long after Kurt was born, but remained a unit for his sake. That lasted quite a while; approximately 20 years. Kurt didn’t seem bothered about the whole thing which might have been a good thing had I been able to read his mind and confirm my assumptions. At the back of my mind I figured he was thinking like I used to as a young girl; that my life was out of balance.
I was a 50 year old women and a lot of things had changed after my divorce. I was still very much a nerd, but I felt wiser and more comfortable in my skin. I had always been tall and skinny, and now I was the same, except my hips had gotten wider, my thighs a little thicker and my body just seemed to curve in all the right places. I was told I looked like Deanna Troy from Star Trek, and had a soft voice like hers too. I could see the resemblance despite my long red hair and freckled nose.
Often, I found myself in front of the mirror in my room, bathroom or hallway, attending to my growing vanity and spawning new facial expressions and poses, just to see how sexy I could look. It was almost as if I was trying to close a missing gap. I had not had sex in years, but that was not to say I did not touch myself; on the contrary, I had become accustomed to satisfying my tingling urges regularly.
My doctor told me I had stopped producing eggs around the same time as my mother, but my hormonal levels had gone up. He recommended I take certain tablets to bring those levels down so I went into the chemist and tried that prescription. After a few months I stopped my medication and went back and bought some other drugs which had the opposite effect. But just for a while. I knew my sexual urges were psychological, bursa yabancı escort and tried not to masturbate as we lived together in a small flat, where privacy was the most precious thing. Luckily, we were good at avoiding each other; I would often be in my room, Kurt in his.
We had a small, narrow kitchen, which was enough for one person at a time. If I was in there, Kurt would wait for me to get out, or if he was feeling impatient or irritable he would come in and squeeze past me. I have to say that I would often wait with my stomach against a panel intentionally longer than I needed to, just to have some fun. He would come by and grunt some disapproval as he was pressing his body against mine on his way to the fridge. His legs felt strong against my protruding fanny; and rough. At first I did it to try and salvage some friendly horse play that might have existed when he was a child. I observed that our physical association had declined over the years. He was a 20 year old man and was probably considering moving out at some point. I was understandably becoming an obstruction in his life, which was apparent by his behavior. We weren’t the type to greet each other in the mornings with a kiss or even a hello, and eye contact was at an all time low.
It wasn’t until I started reading erotic stories online that I discovered new things and helped ease me into other perspectives through the many possible sexual scenario’s out there. All of them probable realities. I was interested in the theme of incest in particular. I thought some of the stories were tackled with a lot of attention to detail and although it was a taboo subject, I found it all very appealing. One author stated that when two promiscuous adults cohabited together in enclosed spaces, it was only a matter of time before fireworks erupted inside both of their pants. Of course, he explained that a few other ingredients were required to work as a catalyst before incestuous relationships could develop. Having a low income, living with a single parent, being insular; all of these things only helped to lead towards previously unwanted thoughts.
I admit, I could not relate to these authors but I was compelled to keep reading. I agreed with some of the comments early on about how disgusting it was for family members to fuck each other, I thought it was completely depraved. How could a mother and son have carnal desires for each other? Some of the sex described was so intense and extreme that I had to blush through all of it. But my opinion did not change the fact that every time I logged on to the net, that was the first place I visited. I tried other genres like romance and sci-fi but found they just didn’t carry the same punch as incest.
I felt wary of giving the site all of my attention just in case my son walked in on me, which I knew was never going to happen. I did not want him to get the wrong idea that’s all. At the same time I was curious about him and what he was up to all day long in his room. To get an idea perhaps I needed to look for stories relating to mother and son. Eventually, I created a user name called SexyQueen3 (one and two were taken) and browsed through the alphabet. What struck me was the endless list of stories relating to incest. Only stories for ‘couples’ exceeded it in number. This suggested that I was far from alone in taking an interest in this subject and felt a bit more relieved as a result.
Life at home was routine as usual. Kurt was invisible, but I was moving around the flat with a lot more intention. If we ever ran into one another, I would put my head down and bursa sınırsız escort keep walking. This was identified in one story as ‘coy mother syndrome’ — a sign of rising sexual tension between two related parties; namely a guardian and her offspring. I disputed this, as communication had never been a strong suit within the family in the first place. Funnily we were both highly intelligent individuals but we could not share our minds with each other. On a sexual front, I assumed we were like two promiscuous oils that wouldn’t mix, only slide against one another. Regarding the conditions of presentation, he would probably think I would only cramp his style and I would think he was overly naive in his theories and philosophies. We just never connected but I had to admit, I had not really put in the kind of effort required to at least say I tried. My attempts were usually fairly tame and forgettable.
I tried to remove myself from the mode of thought melting into my brain as a result of all those stories but I found it difficult; mostly at night when I was trying to sleep but kept tossing and turning. My hands were comforting the space between my tightly shut legs. The words and lines of other minds infiltrating and revolving around my head, in clearly identifiable glowing fonts. Each line in their own style, such as Arial, or Malandra. They all wanted to be heard and demanded to be acted out.
I could read the words now:
“He drove his cock into his mother’s tight little cunt and she shrieked in profuse delight.”
“Being acutely aware of his needs, she lay on the sofa without a stitch of clothing and her big ass up in the air, aching to be plugged.”
“Later, she sucked his cock under the desk and he would squeeze her head with his thighs if he wanted her to stop — it was a signal to let his mother, the secretary, know that he had to take an important call.”
I covered my head with a pillow and then another but it was hard to stop it all. It was similar to the Matrix where green neon code was running in vertical lines up and down the screen. Except in mine, it was incestuous dialogue and it ran in any direction it pleased. I rubbed my wet pussy a little and felt more breathing was a little intense and ragged. But for a moment the thoughts had receded. So, I stroked harder and deeper and realized the more I touched myself the clearer my mind became as a result.
“Ohh.” I moaned.
It felt so fucking good. I brought my legs in closer to my body and then darted my head out from under the covers like some shy forest animal; my eyes open wide like a lemur. The coast was clear and the door was open but no one was stood outside. Kurt sometimes shuffled past at night to visit the bathroom. I was under my sheets anyway, so he could not see anything he didn’t want to, perhaps only the outline of my resplendent fanny. It certainly was my proudest feature and my hands often gave it glowing reviews in between all that squeezing and stroking. If he were spying on me, my shifting around might be construed as unusual. As my lust heightened I peeled open my sexy legs and removed my knickers with an effortless flick so I could expose my bare pussy; give it more room to breathe. Once it migrated by its own accord down to my ankles, the flimsy pair of sultry cotton whites slipped over the edge of my mattress and past the shifting covers, landing somewhere by the foot of the bed. In a typical late night session, I had a tendency to simply hook my panties to one side of my puffy vulva, but this time I felt like more of a daring slut. Anything that could heighten the sensation görükle escort spreading throughout my vaginal area was game.
I arched my back and felt the hem of my nightie slink over my ass and down to my waist. In the same action my perfectly shaped tits pressed into the foam mattress, and my buff looking backside poked out. My fingers met my pulsating flower and irritated it more with a few passing strokes. I could feel it dripping at the thought of things I should not have desired, but my slick fingers were eager to continue their exploration regardless. It was like an unauthorized dig but it was necessary. I tilted my head back and moaned as my strokes became more and more intense. I had to gulp to address the notable rise in my breathing. Despite the distance between our rooms, I was still worried about opening my mouth to breathe while I was in the process of masturbating. My irregular breath could otherwise be heard from the corridor outside.
“God.” I muttered erratically.
My throbbing pussy was sending out pangs of sheer lustrous shock waves throughout my entire body. Certain end points of my body such as my nipples were crackling with electricity and felt like it was elongating, threatening to grow as long as Pinocchio’s many lies.
“Mmmm, so good.”
My bed sheets slipped away and settled in a heap by the floor. I kept stroking my pussy and provoking it to give me more. My fingers penetrated my hot warm cunt in and out, faster and faster, going in as deep as my fingers would allow.
Every now and again, my fingers pulled out and made their way up to a cum hungry mouth. I drooled as I licked each finger one by one, the sumptuous taste of my cunt was a delectable treat. I licked my wet sticky fingers and returned them to my thatch; my eyes were flickering, and my head tingling. I made sure my rug was looked after tonight, with the kind of due attention and care reserved for more responsible activities. These were the hands that raised my son; that cradled him, fed him and cleaned him — Now I used them to strum erotic concerto’s with my sex mad pussy and it was great!
“Mmmm.” I moaned.
I brushed my rug hard and lengthened my stroke pattern to cover everything from the clitoris to the hole between my ass pillows. My body began to convulse as I came to my climax and my head was banging into my pillow; teeth biting its edge, as my entire frame tightened and then exploded inside.
I slumped down, all my muscles exhausted and my body sweating and clinging to the bedding. My heart was pumping and the cold air on my back was layering the heat from every pore of my being. My head was itchy and my hair, wet and matted. I grinned as the cum juice from my orgasm soiled the sheets.
“Oohh my sweet lord.”
Sweet! It felt like three sessions in one; two more than I expected but thanked the gods for nonetheless. A draft carried the smell of my porn juice up to my nose. It was a smell that never failed to please me. I lay there, my chest heaving, my nightie disheveled and crumpled over my waist. The night breeze felt great against my exposed pussy, so I kept my legs open. My door seemed to be open wide but there was no one there. I picked my bed sheets and covered myself. I had just satisfied myself in the most delightful way. Regular masturbation had not been as successful and I felt like I didn’t need to use the old fantasies anymore. I had spring cleaned my technique; optimized it for a better orgasm. I could not believe how wet I was. Furthermore, I had no inclination to clean myself up. I just wanted to lie there like a dirty whore, feeling cum dripping out of my hole and allowing the cold air to dry it off.
The auditorium in my mind began to revert back to normal; the big red curtains closed and the crazy visualizations of incest and taboo faded away. It had been sated for another day. Finally, I was able to get a good nights rest.
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