I can't get you out of my head.
For many months now, all I'm thinking about is you. All I'm fantasizing about is you. I help you prepare for college, I cook you dinner, I take care of you when you get sick, but all I'm thinking about is getting your teenage boy cock into my craving pussy.
I don't know how it got to be this way. I guess one day I watched you splashing around in our swimming pool, and, maybe, at first, I thought "I'd love to have that hot body on top of me" and then I thought "I'd love to have my son's body on top of me". Or something. It was more gradual than that.
I wanted to know how you feel. Of course a mother can't just ask her son to fuck her, but a mother can give her son an opportunity. I started 'accidentally' leaving the bathroom door open when I shower. I sunbathed in nude a couple of times. I started wearing a bit more revealing outfits. And… it worked. I spied on you spying on me. Blushing if you saw me in my very revealing nightie. I found my panties in my laundry basket stained with your cum, and another pair, still smelling of me, under your pillow.
And the best part was that I knew it was me you wanted. Most teenage boys are going to want to take a peek at their mothers, especially if their mothers take good care of their bodies, but that's usually because their mothers are the most accessible. As soon as they start dating, they lose whatever interest they have.
But not you, sweet boy. You have plenty of opportunities. I see how your female friends drool over you. I watched your then-girlfriend sneak you away at your seventeenth birthday party, and suck your cock. You thought you would not be seen, but you left the shed door open. I will never forget how you came into that girl's mouth - your head turned upward, eyes closed, expression of pure bliss on your face, with your cock shoved deep into her throat. Were you thinking about your mom at that moment, I wonder?
So yeah, my sweet son, I know you want me, your mother. The only question remains is whether you want me just as a woman, an exotic checkmark in your book of conquests, or if you want me as your mother. I'll take whatever. But I want you as my son, and not just a random hot eighteen year old. I'm craving incest. I want you to tell me "I love you, mom" as you ravage my cunt.
And so this is why I call you here to my bedroom. To talk. My flimsy, almost transparent nightie is barely covering anything and is bound to fall off my tits. You are in your silly Batman pajamas. Wondering why you are here. Trying not to stare at me. Such a gentleman.
"Sit with me, baby," I say and you sit next to me, trying to look at my face but inevitably gazing down.
"I wanted to talk to you about something." I imagined having this conversation with you so many times, and I thought I'd be ready, but my heart is pounding as I talk. "I found a pair of my panties under your pillow today, and I guess... I just wanted to ask what's that about."
Oh how you blush! It's adorable! Your whole body cringes, your eyes actually close for a moment, and now you no longer have a problem not staring at my breasts because your eyes are glued to the floor.
There is silence which I don't intend to break. You will talk. At last you squeeze out, "I'm sorry… I… I…."
I'm waiting to see what flimsy unbelievable excuse you come up with.
"I just wanted to…"
More silence. Your face is beet-red, an expression of pure anguish. At last I break. I can't torture you like this anymore. Besides, that's not what I want… not right now, anyway.
"Sweetie, it's okay," I say and I put my hand over yours. My other hand goes to your face and I turn it so that our eyes meet. "You don't need to be embarrassed. Just tell me, are you… are you thinking about me? Sexually?"
"Y..yeah. Sometimes." His eyes fall again and his mouth gapes open - only slightly. And I know why - when I reached out for you, my nightie slid down. It caught on my nipples, but you can very clearly see my areolas. Just one more brush, one more movement and…
"Are you mad?" you ask suddenly. I shake my head.
"No, sweetie. It's flattering, really. Your girlfriend is very hot, and I know you guys were….doing stuff, and yet you still think about your old mother."
Such an obvious fishing for compliments, I know, but you don't know that. You will learn eventually, but for now, it's so easy to manipulate you.
"You are not old!" you exclaim passionately. "Mom, you are gorgeous. You are the most beautiful woman I know."
It's my turn to blush now.
"Aw, sweetie, that's so nice… thank you."
"You know, I've seen you a couple times… when you were out sunbathing that one time, and all I was thinking about is how great you look. If you weren't my mom…"
I wait for you to continue but you don't.
Well, it's time.
"So what if I am your mom," I say quietly. You look at me questioningly and I see wonder and hope in your eyes.
"Do you know why incest is a taboo?" I ask. I notice that you take a breath when I say 'incest' - are you turned on just by me saying that? I'll need to say this word more often.
You nod in response to my question. You start saying something about children and genetics but I cut you off.
"Yes that's all true, but obviously we don’t just have sex to have children. Incest is a taboo because it changes power dynamics in the family. Sex is about giving and receiving. A mother should not be giving and receiving that from her child because a child does not have a way to say no."
I see your gaze dulling and I'm sure you think I will be turning you down. But that's not why I'm telling you this. I want you to understand that you will not just be fucking a beautiful mature woman. You will be fucking your mother and I need to feel the full impact of that when you do. Of course, I don't say that to you.
Instead, I say, "But you are not a child anymore. You turned eighteen a month ago. You are an adult. Young adult, sure, but you - not I - are now responsible for your own decisions."
You take some time to process this in the context of the situation. At last, you say, "So what you mean is that… if I… if we do it, it will be okay?"
"No. It will not be 'okay'. It will be absolutely wrong. You can't have the feelings you have for your own mother. You can't do the things you want to do to me."
I sit up now and I spread my legs letting you see that I'm not wearing any panties. Letting you see your own mother's dripping wet pussy. I slide my hand over it, just enough to touch my clit, and I begin rubbing in it while staring directly into your eyes.
"You came into this world through this hole, baby. If you want to return to it, if you want to go back to my womb, you can, but you shouldn't."
You are transfixed by my actions, frozen, like deer in headlights. Like a rabbit about to be devoured by a snake. I let the nightie drop and it goes all the way down to my knees. I let you, my son, see my tits. They aren't too big, but they are still firm, heavy, with dark areolas and large pointy nipples. I'm masturbating my clit with my left hand so I grab my right breast and I tug at my nipple.
"You shouldn't suck at the tits that fed you when you were a baby."
And you lose it. You whisper, "Oh my god," or something and you jump on me. Your hands squeeze my tits, and you are licking, sucking, kissing, like you are starving for them. You need my tits so badly and they are all there for you, baby, so do whatever you need to do, baby, feed off your mommy's tits. Because I want you to. I need you to need them.
Honestly, it hurts a little bit. I feel like I'm breastfeeding a wild animal; I am not in control of the situation. But I love this feeling. What you are doing to my breasts - whether it feels good or it hurts, it doesn't matter. It's the look in your eyes, your neediness, your loss of control that is so exciting to me, that makes me want you so badly.
You let go of my tits eventually, and you go down, covering me with kisses. You are a bit more gentle now, but you are - quite literally - shaking with excitement as you approach my pussy. I have been rubbing myself all this time, but now I take my hand away and I spread my legs a little further to let you see it. Smell it. The aroma is intoxicating. You stare at my pussy for some time and then you press your face into it. Your tongue begins exploring, you taste the outside of my pussy lips, you stick your tongue inside, and eventually you get to my clit. And then you do something no one has done to me before: you suck my clit in and you hold it, very gently, with your teeth, while your tongue flickers over it. I don’t know who taught you that, but it feels amazing.
I start making small thrusts in and out of your face. This probably makes it less comfortable for you to eat my pussy, but I can't help it. To make things even worse, I end up wrapping my legs around your head, and I'm now practically mashing your face into my pussy. This feels so good… too good, in fact, and I realize that I'm going to cum soon and there will be no stopping it.
And you somehow wriggle your hand in and you wet your finger in my pussy, overflowing with juices, and you stick your finger right into your mommy's asshole. And I scream out as my orgasm hits me like a freight train.
I want to scream out something completely obscene, like, "Oh my god, mommy's cumming in your face, baby." Go real pro pornstar for you. But, honestly, whenever a woman does that, that means that she's either faking, or the orgasm is just really small. This one, my first orgasm with my son, is the kind where I completely lose control over my body or my mind. It rips me out of my body, holds me somewhere up high for - I have no idea how long - and then gently puts me back in. I have this theory that women (and maybe men, too) aren't capable of remembering their best orgasms, which is why we keep trying to recreate that experience over and over again. This one I definitely can’t remember, and I’ll be recreating it as much as I can.
When I come to, you are lying on top of me. I see your eyes staring at me, and your hand is stroking my face. I realize you are now completely naked (when did you take off your pajamas? So sneaky!) and your chest is on my tits, and there is something very hard pressed against my thigh.
