My Very Enthusiastic Relationship with My Son

Well, this is hardly a story, but it’s the description of my incestuous love life with my son. (revised)

I actually have to be frank. I’m not an unusually young mom. I’m not a fitness fanatic who stayed firm forever; I’m fat and old. I hope it doesn’t ruin it for you, but that’s half the point. Despite my age and shape, my son has a sexual appetite, for me, unmatched in any animal wild or domestic. He fucks me beautifully. You might accuse him of desperation. He’s also not a fitness fanatic, but he’s damn handsome. He can get girls. He does get girls. He brings them home in the middle of the night and I see him walk them out in the morning. He shuts the door on them and comes straight to stuff his hand down my panties. I’m like Pavlov’s dog. I mean, I get so wet from watching him walk a girl to the door, that more than once I’ve sucked him into my velvet hole balls deep as I watched out the kitchen window his little girlfriend just getting into her Uber. I get so fucking hot owning his cock while I can see his girlfriends. He’s actually showed me naughty pictures of his young girlfriends on his phone while he fucked me. It turns me on so much it makes me lick his phone. He complains, but he also busts a nut so I guess he doesn’t mind that much.
And these little bitches are so cute, I almost get crushes on them. It makes his lust for me so much more satisfying and gratifying. It’s like I’m competing with all these other younger women and winning. Why, the first time he brought home another girl after we started fucking, I let him do it of course because I’m his mom and I have to let him. But I went to the living room to cry and listen to those fools have sex. She didn’t even stay the night. She left after they were done. Maybe she finished and he didn’t because she drove off and he took me and made long, passionate, cum-spraying love to me that night for 2 goddamn hours. At first, I thought it was that he saw my tear tracks that night and just pity fucked me. I’ve learned from time and experience that my son just absolutely has to fucking have me.
I mean, he eats my pussy like it’s cotton candy. Not just the taste but the texture. It’s like he passes through my pussy when he eats it, like it dissolves in front of him, so he pushes forward on me like his head is coming into my womb—right where it started.
And I suck his dick the same way. Or I would. I always end up passively getting fucked in my face hole when I try to suck his dick. I was always kind of ambivalent about blow jobs before. And I really didn’t like blowing my ex (his father). But I relish tasting my son’s dick in my mouth. And when he sees me relishing it, he gently takes my head and pumps into it. Then, when I succumb to that, he starts thrust-fucking my head, both hands gripping, pelvis hammering, just the same as when he pounds it into my hips. I’m afraid he’s going to break my nose as he uses my head for a fleshlight. His dick plunges, reaching in my throat and it hurts, but now I know that’s the way it has to be. It gives me a sore throat the next day, but it’s not real; it’s not the deed; I mean it’s very much the deed, but I don’t feel fulfilled until I am filled, aggressively, without reserve or consideration, just complete animal fullness. The feeling of his big hands encasing my head, long, deep strokes, pumping, humping, not only hilt deep but crushing, flesh-compressing, hilt deep. I die for it.
And, he manscapes, but not all the way. He keeps some pubes on top. So there’s a pad for the front of my face to crash into. His curlies fill in my nostrils and scent my nose with the love stink of my son. And that’s the way it HAS to be. He HAS to OWN my head, I HAVE to have the curled pubes right up my nose and that pecker head HAS to fill and refill my oral cavity with thoughtless, reckless enthusiasm.
But I will cuss him out if he shoots in my throat. Firstly, that chokes me, and secondly I want to taste it—thoroughly. I’ve got to taste it. When that main load comes in, I work it around on my tongue so I can swallow just half because I have to know it’s in me; I need to know his essence is deep inside of me and won’t come out. But I save the other half to taste, truly, slowly, lingeringly taste. It’s so salty and funky. And THICK. And I milk him for the rest of it. His balls HAVE to be dry to the milligram. My mouth HAS to be a cum receptacle. And I HAVE to be sore from my nose and lips to my throat for it to be the real deed.
Then, I roll back and smack his jizz around and around in my mouth, tasting it over and over on every single tastebud on my tongue. I can’t leave one tastebud unstimulated. I have to record it on my phone because that fool rolls back in a happy and spent daze instead of watching the amazing show I put on for him. But I always show him the video how I savor his spunk for minutes, until it’s starting to lose flavor and my cum-buzz can’t get any higher. Then, I swallow that thick goo and it sticks in my throat. I have to gather some saliva and swallow again to get it to go down. My love pussy’s a hot, wet mess when I’m all done too. The poor thing doesn’t know it hasn’t been fucked. I can often orgasm just from sucking his love pipe and my pussy gets tired from clenching on nothing. So, how would my poor pussy know it never actually got the D? Some readers will fight me on this, but I don’t like 69. I need all my concentration to deal with the intensity of one-way oral. 69 just wastes so many aspects of the two experiences. And I did my downstairs hairs like his figuring he likes it that way. I try to keep it really smooth, but I leave a pad at the top for him. He plays with my muff with his fingertips. And he rests his nose in my hair while he rests his mouth on my heaven. He doesn’t mind at all that his momma is looking down at him while his nose is full of my pubes and his mouth is full of his momma’s sex. 69 doesn’t allow for that moment of eye-to-eye incest-erotic understanding to happen.
I guess you’ll expect to know how we got started, but there’s not much story there. No one seduced anyone and it sure as hell wasn’t an accident like someone slipped. Just one night we sat to watch a movie together on the couch and we fucked instead. We’d been having a great night together, but I don’t think I was flirting. I don’t think he was flirting. I’d had taboo fantasies about him. I’ve had all kinds of wrongful fantasies throughout life. I even acted on a couple in my youth. And I project on him that he’s had some errant fantasies about me. And I guess we just had the same feeling at the same time because when we sat close and made contact, that electrical tingly chemical bursting thing happened and we just started making out like—like nothing. Like I said, there was no seduction, no excuses, no apologies, but as soon as that kissing started we both knew we were going to fuck. And so help me Jesus, my son is good at it. Whenever it happens, his hands take me like they need me, like he’s addicted to me. His mouth devours me like he’s starving for my taste. That evening we started ripping off each other clothes and committed delightful, sinful, indulging incest.
And it’s never dried up by one drop. He takes my clothes off like he’s never seen a naked woman before. He drinks in the sight of my unclad pussy like it’s his holy grail. The way he obsesses over my breasts makes me feel like a centerfold. I’d call it a hormone imbalance, but that would sound like complaining. When you look at me, you wouldn’t get it, but if you could see the sexual appetite he has, it might kinda make sense to you. He still plays with my bras and panties like a boy who’s never touched a girl. I’ve had plenty of overzealous little boyfriends get hyped up on me and squirt early. But even those fools didn’t have this degree of sexual enthusiasm—and my son doesn’t cum too soon. It’s just about fucking right. Fucking right. One of my favorites is my own ankle knocking into my head because that’s where my son put it when he fucked the wits out of me. Or when he bounces his whole weight on top of me, and he grinds it in so everything hurts ... Sometimes, I swear he’s going to crack my hip and I have to hide the pain because I’m afraid the fucking might be half as good if he held back even 1%. Ladies, back me on this: sometimes the right kind of fuck is worth risking a fractured hip, am I right?
I started doing yoga so he can fuck me better. God, I love being stretched in every way. My son is the best stretching partner ever. I’m smoothing out too, but I’m not doing yoga that hard. But I think he fucked me so hard that he fucked the cellulite off of me. And God, he makes me sore in places I never knew of. My ex (his father) used to do jujitsu and he would come home with the most random injuries: bruises and pulls in places where no one gets them. That’s how it is fucking my son. I get sore in the most unthinkable places. I have the strangest limps, from sex! and I can’t wait to find out what’s gonna hurt tomorrow. God, I’m hot just thinking about it.
So, since it’s an incestuous relationship, you’re probably wondering about the orgasms and—other things, safety things. Don’t worry about the other things—we don’t. And the orgasms are unnaturally, inexplicably, fictionally right. You’ll say I’m lying especially for the third version, but I’m not lying.
First version, when my son is going to orgasm first (has to happen sometimes), he just closes his eyes, rolls his head back, and lets me have it all grunting and groaning. Even that is so animalistically satisfying, so virile how he unloads his seed in me, like I’m his vessel to bear him children. It just finishes me off right there and I start cumming too before he’s done oozing out.
Second version, if I cum early, he “punishes” me. He keeps fucking me ‘til he’s ready. This gets me sore fast, but it’s worth it for what’s “cumming.” When he gets there, he pulls out to cum all over my face. But get how this show-off does it. He doesn’t bring his hips up by my face. He pulls out, drops his balls straight back on the bottom of my pussy where they were just slapping, and he shoots my face for distance. No lie. He’s shot me in the mouth, nose, and eyes from that distance. I feel like I glow when I wash the cum out of my hair in the shower. It shows just how much he loves me and how robust and manly he is. It’s the best punishment I ever had. I LOVE my punishments. I wish I had ten of him so I could get bukkaked by him. I want his cum for my make-up foundation, my lipstick, and my eyeshadow. I want pearl necklaces, and pearls everywhere else. Hell, I want a bathtub full of it. I should start freezing his ejaculations, fill up a freezer in the garage and then take a cum bath in my son’s copious semen.
The third version is the best version and that’s with stiff competition as you can see. His instinct for when we’re cumming at the same time is—divine, like an angel of sex (dirty incest sex). If we orgasm at the same time, which is absurdly often, then he looks me dead in the eyes and does it. It is hard keeping your eyes open for a bed-rocking orgasm, ladies, but God is it worth it. Your son’s eyes looking straight into your eyes as hot sperm tickles your uterus. And your cervix gulps and gulps to suck in that sperm. And your pussy clenches down on that pulsing, blood-throbbbing, cum-pumping cock of your kin. Incest is the sweetest sin. If you can, women, you fuck your boy(s) and look ‘em right in the eyes as he looses his seed inside you. There is nothing and will never be anything like getting the baby’s room painted with fertile paint of your own son. I’ve fucked lots people I shouldn’t have: bosses, professor, other girl’s boyfriends, cheated on my ex-husband. Nothing has been as erotically arousing as full intercourse my natural son. But also, no one’s been better at fucking, so it is hard to make an apples-to-apples comparison. Ladies, you may look better than me, but I guarantee you’re jealous of how I get fucked. And gentleman, you can only dream of mastering a woman like my son has mastered every cum-thirsty inch of his mother.