CUM, YE MOTHERFUCKERS, CUM

CUM, YE MOTHERFUCKERS, CUM

By Oediplex 8==3~
This Oedipus opus is dedicated to my mother, Dell

PREAMBLE

Greeting to all Oediplex OediPals, both sons and mothers who ever thought about committing incest with their parent or child, most especially those who did share that intimate act. This piece of writing is produced to make you cum. But it has a second purpose as well. I am working on building a network of all those who are interested in the subject of mother/son sex.

In past I have written many stories in this genre and I believe that they were well received, if you could overlook my weak grammar. This has allowed me to make contact not just with those who enjoy reading such stories, but some folks who’s real situations are as hot as the best fantasy out there on the Internet. Some of these have allowed me to help them tell their true narratives. Any who contact me are provided information as where they might find these accounts.

I seek to share high quality erotic on the subject of mother/son incest with everyone that I can reach. We all need a cum. To that end . . .

I have included in this work the true ‘The Confessions of Oediplex’ my real story. Sadly, I am but a want-ta-be motherfucker, having never actually had the opportunity to do so. Or rather, the opportunity I had passed by unrealized, which is the second part of this writing, the part created to make you cum. (Patience you’ll get there, but you’ll miss the best part if you skip ahead.)

That lost opportunity is recreated in fantasy below as the consummation of having sex with my mother. It is based on the real circumstances of our lives, but extends in fiction what might have been, if things had taken just the slightest turn differently. If they had, this is how I believe I would have gotten to fuck my mom. It could have really happened this way. The names are not changed, as I am not innocent and she has now passed to paradise. The story action is written from her perspective which I think makes it hotter, though I begin the narrative with the set-up of our circumstances.

The best part is this, if you will contact me – your email definitely will be answered and you will be provided with information that will lead you to having many more orgasms from exquisite erotica available no where else. I am not promoting a commercial site, but a society of like minded people that read this genre because it turns them on. Some of my other stories (like “Pandora’s Box Got Me Mom’s Box” – available as well) were produced to inform folks of some of the material I have. But there is so much more in store for any who will consider themselves Oediplex Oedipals.

So read what is below, then write me for more. I promise a cum to all who would call themselves my pals.

Oediplex 8==3~ Connecticut 2004,

The Confessions of Oediplex

Why I wanted to, but never got the chance to fuck my mother.

I believe from my study of the subject of incest, that the familiarity of family life breeds (pun) not contempt so much as neutrality. The exotic, exciting, erotic, romantic feelings are directed to those who are outside the genetic-unit. Though, interestingly enough, they may very well resemble a family member. In other words, ‘birds of a flock don’t often fuck, but birds of a feather will tend to nest together’.

When I was in sixth grade, we moved to Connecticut and the split level house was such that sounds carried more than the old one. Also I was staying awake later as I got older, and began to hear strange sounds from the recreation room in the floor below, after I had been sent to bed. The voices of my parents, in odd patterns, moans and muffled cries. Then one night I was sure that I heard my mother saying, “No . . . no . . NOO!” My parents had highly emotional fights and I thought that perhaps my father was getting physical with her, though he had rarely ever done so.

I crept down the stairs and peeked over the banister to see what was going on. My dad was squatting in front of my mother who sat in an easy chair, she had slid down so her behind was at it’s edge. His boxers were at his feet and her nightgown raised to her waist, he was between her legs. I ask if everything was okay. After an initial moment of surprise on my pop’s face, that passed though irritation to understanding, he assured me that they were fine and well and I should go back to bed. Mom was red faced and said nothing, but she appeared to not be in distress. I returned to my bedroom with mixed thoughts as to if I had witnessed them having had an altercation or sex.

A few weeks later the same scenario played out twice more. These times, however, I saw the flash of uniting genitals before they realized they were being viewed. My father was quite brusque and firmly ordered me back to bed in a commanding voice that conveyed his annoyance with me and my hampering their activities. But my mother spoke also, to me reassuring me that all was okay and encouraging me to go back to sleep.

Now I was sure it was intercourse. A couple nights in the following month I sneaked down to peek again, but was afraid to get caught and so only watched for a few moments to observe their private action. The last time I even arrived just as they were climaxing together and stayed just long enough to observe the aftermath. Then my folks no longer did it downstairs but behind the closed door of the bedroom.

My Oedipus Complex comes from years of masturbating outside the door of my parents bedroom while I listened to them. My mother was quite verbal when she had an orgasm, and it was “yes, yes, yeess!” then. But she had a conservative upbringing. Even so, my folks had pre-marital sex in the parlor of mom’s Sorority house (behind the upright piano). So when she was building to the climax, it was like she was resisting the feeling of loving sex, and it was “no, no nooo . . .” before she would give into the overwhelming climax my dad brought her to. Several times each eve that they fucked mom would be very vocal when she came, though it wasn’t every night they did it, but often. So that is where my love of seduction themes comes from, my mommy’s “no!, no, noo” then “yes, yes, yeess!” when orgasming.

In my youth I fantasized about most anything half pretty and wearing a skirt. In my sophomore year of college, something, I’m not sure what, began to swing me to older women images (teachers) and particularly mother/son stories for my turn-ons. By my Senior. college year I was totally into incest, mostly mother/son. The observation I made about the books which served to fuel my rod, was that those with incest were of people who loved and cared for one another. The rest of the porno literature made more of the physical mechanics and how many beds and combos could be done with the stock of characters in the story.

The non-incest were, for the most part, too dry, no emotion, lacking of feelings for the partner. The best part of making love is the relationship. Cheap meaningless sex has it’s place, God knows I’ve never gotten enough of it myself, but screwing the most forbidden, seducing the loved one and the conquest of lust over morals and propriety, and future complications (i.e., don’t tell Dad), that is my cup of tea, my fantasy, hot button, turn on, fetish, kink, deviation, perversion, decadence, etc.

I would call most of my real sexual experiences pedantic or pedestrian if it didn’t make it sound like I was a pervert of the kind I’m not, no foot fetish here. Each of the three ladies I wed (that was no lady that was my bitch) knew what kind of pervert I really am, and were perfectly aware of my proclivity to mother/son incest fantasies before we wed. Generally they had no problems with that and indeed we role played too. So my three divorces were due to other problems, none sexual.

At one point my mother might have actually been coming on to me. In reflecting back on the period of when I when I was home from graduate school during one summer, I recollect several times when we kissed in greeting her tongue would French me. I was a bit befuddled by this, never imagining that my conventional mom might have the same kind of imaginings I had about her and I doing it. I thought that she had been making an error in her affections. Kissing me like she would dad, but unintentionally with her son. In retrospect perhaps it was no mistake but rather a testing (or tasting?) of the waters, of whether I might follow through on my fantasies.

There was one time, which never happened, but might have been the occasion that I finally got to fuck my mother. Here’s what I think might have happened.

When I was fresh out of grad school, in my first house, as a young professional and single, (having recently ended an engagement with a gal in Indianapolis); my mother asked if she could come and visit me, alone. Knowing now, what I later found out from my dad; that at the time, that they had stopped making love several years before, I can imagine she was very horny by then.

Added to the quite possible discovery by my mother (possibly at sometime in the past) of my incest pornography with mother/son sex themes (I didn’t try too hard to hide it), then it is conceivable that I might have gotten to fuck my mother on that visit. Which never happened, as before she had set a date to visit (and of course I had no idea of the potential of that stay) I met my first wife and we were very quickly engaged.

No matter what, at that point my mom would have not interfered. She wanted grandkids. But my father told me one thing about my mother that would have been critical, if we had started down the path of incest. Dad told me (after mom died of cancer at 54) that she was a goner if you ate her pussy, then she had to have it in her, she couldn’t allow herself to cum that way for some reason, she would say “Put it in, put it in, now!” That explained the vocalizations I had heard at their door. While my father was in a talkative mood that night and similar evenings, I wrung all the information on their sex lives and my mother’s body that I could from dad.

I could say I pumped him, but that would give a different misimpression! Get this, when I told him that night that I had the hots for mom for all those years, he said he had wished he’d known; that he had such power over her that he could have arranged it. I assumed he meant during that period after they had stopped making love and that I was as yet unattached. Where is a friggin’ time machine when you need one! Someday I will write a fantasy of the visit that never happened. I’ll let you know!

Well here it is, read on for your promised climax of the story,
mothers are encouraged to have more than one climax.

The Seduction of Jocastrix
How Oediplex might have gotten to fuck his mother, if only . . .

Her son’s tongue slithered over her clit again in his serpentine style that drove her to the peak of sexual excitement and she reached the point of no return. “Put it in,” she gasped and uttered the words in a breathy most urgent plea, “put it in, now!”, was all she could say as she repeated her begging.

Dell had reached the point of no return, she must have a cock in her cunt, even if it was the penis of her son. But even better, that it was the organ of her beloved David, the devoted son who now was filling her long emptiness and the longing they had both had hidden for so long. She reached the point of no return and gladly welcomed it as she welcomed the tool of her boy, as she was well deserving of the cum to come.

She had reached to point of no return. And this is how she reached it.

Dell was a typical suburban housewife of a commuter husband. He made a six figure income and life was very comfortable in Connecticut for them. But they had been estranged in sexual matters for nearly three years. She was sure that her spouse, while his interest in sex had waned with older middle age, was occasionally getting a piece from the attractive secretaries at the office, though not his own – as she did trust that particular woman. Dell also suspected there was a call girl once in a while.

The situation was a source of bitterness, but otherwise life was sweet and she really had no other options she cared to pursue. She would not give up on a marriage that, aside from the lack of sex, was exceptional. There were no men she cared to take as lovers, sometimes she was propositioned, it embarrassed her. She was not without desire and needs, and the clunky vibrator of those days helped to relieve things when she resorted to it.

But it wasn’t a penis. So she was a frustrated lady with a reasonable figure and a sex drive at peak in her late forties. There was one other man alone she might consider having sex with. Except that he was her son David. She only had those musings because she had found a regular parade of pornographic books between his mattress and springs when she changed the bed linens. The sheets were so stained with the yellow of his semen she had switched from white to a matching pale lemon for his bedding.

She couldn’t help notice the titles when she did this chore in his room. “Mommy Does Sonny”, “Her Son Was Her Lover”, etc. David had never approached her or even let on in his conversation about his desires. But he must have a powerful Oedipus Complex thought Dell, as all the books were of the same genre. She had begun to read one or two out of curiosity when she as sure she was alone in the home and would not be interrupted.

It was easy to find the good parts, the books’ spines were cracked by repeated opening to the section where the mother and son consummated their passion. The greasy fingerprints from the Vaseline lubrication were evidence of his masturbation, as if the volume of Kleenex in the wastepaper basket some feet away was not enough of a telltale. She noted that over the years David had become proficient at tossing tissue and getting it into the receptacle.

Curiosity had lead to reading, reading had led to arousal, being turned on and horny she had masturbated to the fantasies her son had cum to. Thus Dell was introduced to think about what her conservative midwestern background would have seen as sinful, but her liberal arts college education informed her was not an unheard of phenomena. She might never have thought about having sex with her son, save for his dirty books, but she had and her fingers had done the walking while she lay on yellow sheets.

Indeed, sometimes with the confidence of complete privacy and plenty of time, she had gotten totally naked on David’s bed with his books on incest and read and cum so much that she made a huge wet spot on the linens she was about to change. But all that had changed as her son had moved to Long Island to a place of his own, leaving no naughty literature to peruse for self-abuse. Now she was even more frustrated and the vibrator had quit working several weeks ago. But a plan began to form in the back of her mind.

David was in his late twenties, but unattached, his engagement of a the past year having collapsed and none others had been serious, even though he did date. He, like his parents, had most certainly engaged in pre-marital sex. These days, in the Seventies, that was much more accepted as being okay and open, than when she had taken his father behind the piano in the Sorority house parlor to be taken by his father. Dell always had had a strong sex drive.

In fact, she was actually not new to incest, as she had made overtures and willing engaged in losing her virginity to a favorite uncle. They had lived for several years during the Depression on the farm owned by the man who had married her mother’s sister. A sweet fellow, handsome and not able to withstand the temptation of being the first lover of the ravishing, raven hair beauty; who made it clear she was open to his showing her what sex was about. They had several brief interludes, but the Presbyterian pall of guilt curtailed an extended affair. Then she and her folks had moved away when her dad got a job with the railroad as a stationmaster.

So it was that Dell, feeling no sexual loyalty to her husband, being frustrated carnally and not being Simon-pure herself when it came to incest, considered exploring the possibility of having sex with her son. After all, she already knew of her son’s lust and considering his maturity and freedom from any romantic attachments, plus given the fact that his house would afford them the opportunity of intimacy and privacy, there was the potential of their lust culminating in a loving session of steamy sex in that safe setting.

Dell asked David on one of his phone calls to home, when they were the only ones on the line, if she could come and visit him, just herself for a few days perhaps. She promised to make his favorite dinners and help with housework and that they would have a chance to pal around. David agreed to what could not be passed up as a great deal, to have her provide the kind of mothering he missed, being on his own nowadays. But Dell thought to herself that there was perhaps another ‘mothering’ he might get too, if he played his cards right.

[Now, gentle reader, understand at this point in our narrative, that as much as many of us like the idea of seducing our mom and getting her to do that which she might be reluctant to do; the fact is moms are by definition, not virgins. In fact they are sexually experienced mature women who have minds and desires and plans of their own. While in youthly courting we might refer to the old saw that “he chased her until she finally caught him”, the same is not without parallel in the lives of people of more mature ages too.

Women can and often are the sexual stalkers, only more subtle and without allowing the man to know he was being beguiled. So, while in the stories of mother/son incest we might see the mom ready to jump into bed with her offspring, the reality is more likely that if she is of a mind to – it is not in wanton fashion. But rather, she in a cautious consideration, weighs the multitude of factors involved in going to that measure and depth of intimacy with her son. So it would have been with my mother. Dell would have been open to allowing things to develop, without pushing me into something I was not ready for. I was ready indeed, if things had been made clear to me; but unfortunately they remained hidden and we didn’t connect with physical intimacy.]

Dell arranged to meet David in New York City for lunch at a favorite restaurant of his Monday after next. She would catch the train down to the Big Apple, and shop in the morning. Then after lunch she planned to take him to an art museum he had not been to, but would be delighted to discover. Later they would take the Long Island Railroad back to his town and be at his home in time to order pizza. His favorite dinner to be served up the next evening after work. David was eager to have this special attention lavished on him.

Dell got the items she wanted in the morning of that fine Monday in September. The weather was warm and dry, ‘perfect air’ for being naked, it went through her mind. [with a wink and nod to my fans!] They followed through on her plans and had a fabulous time together. The day had been so nice they walked quite a bit, rather than taking a cab. They arrived at David’s place and did get dinner on the way – pepperoni pizza and a good wine.

His home was furnished with family spare furniture. The living room had the old couch from the downstairs recreation room, before it was redecorated; his bedroom set was from his grandmother and some things from Goodwill were scattered about. Comfortable, not too shabby, but a bachelor pad all the same. He had however cleaned the place up for her visit.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

THIS IS DELL. David said in one his stories by Oediplex that he would have me help write the second part, using the ‘nom de naughty’ of Jocastrix. Okay, for as much as I am in his psyche, Jocastra to his Oedipus Complex, I think I can have a say in this story. I might be in heaven, but I live in spirit in his heart and he has my words in his memory and he speaks sometimes with my voice as my phrases are echoed when he verbalizes. So I am going to take up the narrative in the first person. Besides, that makes it a hotter reading don’t you think?

I was pleased and admittedly surprised at his efforts to make the house that he was renting so presentable in honor of my visit. All those years of nagging about cleaning his room must have actually gotten through! We had wine with the pizza, a good Vapoliccelli I bought on the way from the train station. After dinner I told David I had bought a present for him, as well as something for myself, at Bloomingdale’s. When your husband is a top executive with a giant company, money is not an issue, though we don’t spend ostentatiously. I enjoyed the look of surprise and confusion when he opened his present.

“Mom,” he said hesitantly, obviously not wanting to offend me, “I don’t wear boxer underwear like dad. I’m a jockey guy, you know that.”

“They are not your father’s underwear, kid!” I kidded my kid. “They are ‘house-shorts’ not underwear; you wear them instead of a robe. When it’s warm like this evening, you put these on.”

“I normally go nude, when I walk around the house.” he replied.

“So? Are you going to go around naked when I’m here?” He blushed, I knew his weak spots. “Reserve your judgment until you try them. Go and put them on, they’re silk, I think you’ll like them. I got your favorite color, Sweetie.” Cobalt blue, the only pair in the store that color, but such a wonderful soft silk, like a paper thin velvet. I was sure it would be a hit once he had them on.

I continued, “And I’ll put on the new nightgown I bought too, then we will both have slipped into something more comfortable.” Such a corny phrase, yet so appropriate on several levels for the things that I was going to be exploring. I went to the spare bedroom where my suitcase and shopping bags were and got out the nightie I had purchased special that morning. It was a pale blue, complimentary in hue to his shorts. But where his was a solid material, this was a delicate diaphanous silk, so translucent hardly anything was hidden when worn. At home, even with a much more modest gown, I wore a robe. But here my attire was to be different, with a naughty purpose in mind.

Make no mistake, the title of our story says seduction, but I was not the one being seduced. I put on a lacy flesh colored pair of panties of the finest slippery silk. They hid my bush, but teased by making it’s outline clear through the lace. No bra to cover my breasts, the aureoles were quite visible. I was a horny hussy, I had bought the outfit to entice. I am not a wanton woman that would roll onto her back with her arms open and legs spread, but this get-up was designed to have the same effect. But lest you get a misimpression; I was not there to seduce David against his will.

After all, he had never said anything, nor ever made a pass at me; not even responded reciprocally the couple of times I tried to French kiss him in the past year. I knew of his fantasies, yes, but I was not going to lead him into doing anything he was not willing to do, and enthusiastically too. I loved him and would never do anything deliberately to harm hurt him or embarrass him or cause emotional damage. But he did read those dirty books, and maybe he just needed a concrete clue that his mother would not hit the ceiling if he did make a pass at her. If these scanties didn’t do it, then I had made a serious misjudgment of his desires. But I didn’t think so.

David heard me coming down the stairs and was talking even before he saw me. “God, mom, these are really great! I love the feel! You were right! And the color is perfect. Where did you get them fro..uuhh . . .” he stopped in mid sentence as I rounded the corner into the living room. For a tiny moment I thought I had shocked him and gone too far in my ‘undress’ apparel. Then he let out a wolf-whistle and said, “Kooo-kooo-kahh-cheeww, Mrs. Robinsoonn!” The syllables were stretched to give emphasis on his compliment. “The Graduate” was fresh in everyone’s memory, the middle-aged woman and younger man affair.

“Thank-you!” I said realizing I had blushed. I made commented on his shorts to cover my fluster. “Stand up and model those skivvies!” He rose and turned around slowly. I could clearly discern the shape of his cock and the silk draped over the tight firm full buns of the man who was also my son; my honey the hunk. Not a body builder physique, the beginning of a beer belly if he didn’t watch it, but the athletic lines of his dad when we were in our early married life and hubby was still hungry for sex. “Quite handsome!” I returned his compliment.

I sat on the couch across from where David was. The wine and the long day suddenly caught up with me and I had a moment of being quite tired wash over me. I became aware that my legs ached. “Sweetie, would you mind rubbing my legs? I’m afraid your old mom got a bit worn out today hiking around the city.”

“You ‘re not old mom!” Then in the voice of Groucho Marx, “You’re only as old as you feel and I’d be glad to feel you and make you feel young. . . . Sorry! Force of habit, I never could resist a double entendre given a straight line.”

“You have a great sense of humor, Honey. You make me feel younger with your wry, ribald remarks.” He came over and knelt in front of me. He was the image of his father at that age, indeed he had always been like a clone of his dad. I wondered if that was true even down to what hung between his legs, under the blue silk shorts. His strong hands began to rub my right foot. He knew just what to do, the massaging hands worked the tired toes and sore soles of both feet.

Then he moved to my left calve. For him to do the job right I needed to spread my legs. As I did so, I automatically pushed the gown down between my thighs to cover my crotch. ‘Counter productive to being seductive’ I thought to myself and made note that I would need to find a reason to rather raise the hem for him to have a hint of hair down there.

David switched legs and to make easier access. I skooched down the seat of the couch so that my bottom rested at the edge of the cushion. This had the effect of pulling the nightie higher on my thighs exposing my limbs all the way to the lacy panties. ‘Perfect!’ I thought to myself, a good look to make things cook!

As my son’s administrations went to the back of the knees, alternating the massage of his mom’s gams, like a ship tacking on the breeze, I felt my slit begin to moisten with the sensual pleasure and sexual potential of having my son between my legs. Soon I was soaked and the flesh color panties took on a slightly darker tone as they dampened and became translucent to provide a ruddy valley of feminine neatherlands concealed but yet revealed. Not exposed but disclosed nonetheless, a view which David inspected at close range as he continued his voyage of discovery to stroke my thighs in a most exciting manner. His hands smoothed the flesh beneath them as he drew down and then kneaded on the forward stroke.

He had a technique that was practiced. My son’s touch both relaxed the muscles and stimulated my womanhood. I knew he was doing that on purpose and his glance at my face studied my features for this effect. I smiled at him then closed my eyes and tilted my head to the back of the davenport as an approving “Mmmm” purred from my throat.

The double caress of his hands on each side of my upper legs switched left and right and with each set maneuvered higher and closer to the juice laden lace at the apex, the apogee of my limbs and the base of my body and the center of my base carnal appetites. But his fingers stop just short of the fabric and did not cross the line of impropriety. He ended this most relaxing and erotic ritual with a kiss on my cheek that opened my eyes and opened my heart even more to this attentive son of mine.

I spread open my arms and encircled him in a hug before he might withdraw, I would not let him retreat from his most chaste yet very arousing of advances. I drew his head to my chest, his cheek on my one breast, his face in mommy’s tits. He was eye to eye with my right nipple and cushioned on the pillow of my pulchritude. David made himself home in my arms, between my thighs, nestled in my bosom.

I could feel his hard-on through the silk of his shorts, my gown had slid to my navel when he had moved up to hug me and now undies and briefs were all that separated our genitals. He could hear my heart on high volume as it pounded in his ear pressed to my body. I caressed the silky clean hair of his head as his one arm went around my waist and left hand cupped the ribs next to the pout of my right teat.

This position the two of us had engaged in reminded me of something that had happened very long ago but was fresh in my mind thinking about my son and sex. “Honey? Do you remember when you came downstairs on a few occasions back in when we lived on Ridgecrest Drive, and you found mommy and daddy doing it?”

“God! mom, I’d never forget it!” David’s deep voice reverberated in the depths of my lungs and in the delicate shells of my ears both. “I thought the first time that Dad was hurting you. I heard you crying “No, no, NOOO!” and I wanted to go and protect you from him. But when I got downstairs and you realized I was there, dad assured me everything was all okay.”

He continued, “I remember that you had your gown up to your waist and dad’s boxers were down around his ankles and he was squatting between your legs. You were on the old blue easy chair. I was not understanding what was happening, so I snuck down to spy. The next time and the one after that, I was so curious as to why you were making the noises I heard, I had to see what was going on and if you were having sex. But I was too open in looking and got sent to bed with dad being angry. I wasn’t sure why, but it was more than because it was just past my bedtime, I knew that.”

“Yes, your father had been almost about to cum and didn’t appreciate being hampering when humping. Coitus interruptus was not on the agenda in those days.”

“I did sneak down twice more and peaked at what you two were doing when you were making those cries. I was very curious to see what intercourse was all about. You didn’t catch me those times. I saw dad’s penis erect and going into your tummy where it was hairy. I wanted to assured myself that you were not being hurt, plus I had an idea of what was really happening and was lured by the prospect of seeing sex. When you both shuddered in a paroxysm I knew something exciting and important had happened and the hugs and kisses afterward meant the it was all okay and nothing bad.”

“I got news for you kiddo – I saw you, even if daddy didn’t and that is why from then on we made love only in the bedroom with the door closed or when you were away at camp or your grandparents. But I kept quiet because I knew you needed to know that I was not being abused, but that it was a loving act between your father and I. But after that second time I was afraid that your father would catch you again and spank you for spying. So I decided to raise the level of privacy to our bedroom on the second floor.”

David responded, “After I learned the facts of life, and was wise to what was going down, you should pardon the expression . . .” We both chuckled, “I listened almost every night on the stairs, with my ear to the door and ready to bolt back to my bedroom if you came out to use the bathroom. You only caught me a couple of times doing that!”

“Darling,” I sighed and shifted a little with my hips to get more comfortable, “after a couple of times realizing that you were not going to quit being curious, we decided to just let you listen. We had the same problem with your sister, at least she used the intercom. So we knew you were there, we just determined it was not going to put a damper on our sex life.” Speaking of damp, his lump on my mound was keeping me moist. I shifted again, not for relief or easement, but to enjoy the erection rubbing my clit though the thin, twin layers of silk.

“Did you use the Vaseline then when you were ease dropping on your parents going at it?”

“No, I had my underwear on, in case you caught me, and I brushed it up and down on the edge of the step thinking that I was entering your pussy!”

God! All this reminiscing was getting me hyper-aroused. “I sometimes had your daddy do me next to the door when I was sure that you were there, so you could hear real well.”

“Yeah! I remember those times. I could even hear the sucking sound of dad’s dick going in and out of your vagina. And the slapping sound as his balls beat against you. And your little whimpers before your loud screams as you came. That was so totally hot mom!”

I was totally hot and turned on now. He could have taken me then if he had known so and was bold enough. I gasped and rocked my loins again, he reciprocated with a bump and hump of his own. Though we didn’t continue to grind we were both aware of the arousal of the other and of each other’s acceptance of the contact at so intimate and dangerous a level. “Yeah, he was giving it to me from behind, my favorite position, and I could hear your panting through the door too!” I was glowing incandescent down at my genitals.

“Do you want to suck mommy’s breast like you did as a baby Sweetie?” I knew the answer and pulled down the nightie to expose my right boob. The nipple looked like a new pencil eraser, pink and pointed and proud on a ruddy half-dollar cap of raspberry colored pebbled flesh. David’s lips nibbled their way to attach the vacuuming mouth and swirling tongue of his eager orifice. I had a sudden sense memory of the days when he was an infant, milking his mommy while his daddy went down on me and made me rocket.

My husband had been a developer of jet engines for his huge firm. A rocket scientist with the certificates to prove it. But in the love making department he sent me to the moon regularly. After having given birth to our first born, before we could resume normal intercourse, his mouth had acted in concert with the activity of nursing David. These double simulations were some of the most erotic and profound sexual experiences I had ever had and were not to be repeated with the birth of my second child, as she was bottle fed because of logistical considerations due to several factors. Those were the only times I was able to get off through cunnilingus, rather than begging to be fucked.

Now the recollection of that coinciding of nurturing and sexual titillation; the infant suckling at my tit and my husband sucking on my clit at the same time, which had sent me over the brink of ecstasy, cascading into a euphoria of multiple climaxes; that memory reached out and took over my brain as I relived the moment of supreme love and sexual elation. I was giving and being given to, a new bride having the wedded bliss of unbridled joyful sex with my spouse and a baby to cherish and adore at my breast.

My brain was a time machine that transported me mentally and physically to the climax of those moments. My body buck in lust as my phantom hubby make my gonads gloriously happy. As I peaked in remembrance I came in reality and returned to what was really happening. David was still nursing on my nipple and dry fucking me with his hard-on humping on my tummy. Sliding on the slippery fabrics that separated us from intercourse, as his cock tried in vein to poke the spot where the opening of my womanhood was.

My sweet baby, David, was now a grown man, with his penis rubbing up and down on my mons Venus instead of a step. His lips once more on my milk giving mammary, now dry save for his saliva. His cock cumming on mommy, excited to climaxing from our intimate talk and erotic activity. The evening had transported us both to a moment neither of us had planned and both had approvingly appropriated as a natural course of where our conversation and closeness was leading to.

Yes we came together, mother and son. We came together to be in his home alone together. We came together to share the gentle joy of the physical ministry of his massage. We came together closer in sharing about times we were unable to speak of before; until now. Adult to adult we could openly be honest and understand the complex dynamics of the sexual tensions that had existed between mother and son , Dell and David.

Confiding about the times by the bedroom door when David’s father, my husband, had made love for both of the men to me; and I had given myself to both males as well, one physically and the other symbolically simultaneously. And yes, oh yes, we had cum together, back then and now too, now climaxing in a humping of hot arousal not to be denied and which must be shared as male and female as well as child and parent, son with mom, David on Dell. We had come together and cum together, as evident from each of our soaked silks saturated with sexual secretion.

I could still feel his after-throbs, quaking on my tummy so sweetly. Detect the hot damp spot that spread in his shorts and seeped through fabric to be felt on my own flesh, my skin alerted by his ejaculation of man-seed, son-cum, kid-creaming. The moment was given a coda of sighs when the ragged gasps and heavy heaving of our lungs was replaced with our murmurs of reassurance and love and respect. Then silence, as the momentous enormity of our mutual masturbation made us reflect in the afterglow on the meaning of our act of love.

Our intense peak of cuddle-coupling diminished into the most pleasant of quiets and spiritually satisfaction of a higher level of love, having been reached in a totally delightful and satisfying fashion, free of guilt, without guile and open to more exploration later without any recrimination now or ever. Without actually having sexually intercourse, David and I had become lovers as sure as if we had done the deed. But it was far beyond the corporeal connection, even if it had not been physically consummated. We were now more intimately bonded even than some married couples failed to achieve. What a blessing, what a curse! And I knew that tomorrow this blazing course would culminate in convivial consanguinity.

We arose and repaired to our separate bedrooms for the night. It might seem silly to have separated at that juncture, but at the time it seemed natural to not move to a mutual mattress and more likely more mating. So we slept, and well each, on our individual pallets, at peace with our peccadillo of incestuous passion, no regrets nor fears of reproaches in the morning light to disturb our slumber.

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In the morning we were dressed for breakfast, David in his work suit to go to the office, I in my clothes suitable for housework. But this day David returned my French kisses, brushed my tit and gently squeezed my buns as he did so. I fixed him a cheese omelet, folded to make a suggestive split with a single sausage link slyly laid in the groove and a glass of milk to drink as well. Eggs and meat with dairy; the male shape and female products were graphic and metaphorical in meaning. David laughed and enjoyed the dish, saying, “Mom, you know what I like! It’s Dell-icious!”

I bent down and whispered in his ear as he left for the job, “Tonight, I am making your favorite dinner and also giving you something you have long wanted to eat too!” Then Frenched him again. His eyes told me that he clearly understood that the evening was be most memorable for both of us. His hand slid up my legs between my thighs and discovered I worn no panties. I turned instantly wet, but knew he needed to get going. “No dawdling – nor diddling! Best be off to work now, we can work on getting off later!” With a grin he gave me a big hug and a hot kiss and I felt his hard-on press against me, before he turned and exited out the kitchen door to his car.

The day was spent shopping for dinner and cooking, not much cleaning to be done but a little laundry, including the sin saturated undies of last night’s session of indecent indiscretion. I rummaged in his tape collection for mood music, set up candles on the living room mantle. I began to cook the rump roast that was his most desired ‘Dell-icacy’ of mommy cooking for her sonny boy. Then I took a long bath and a short nap. By the hour he was due, the table was set and scene of seduction set-up, the meat and potatoes were hot and ready and so as moma! I’d let him pop the cork on the champagne, I’d pop his later!

When David arrived I loosened his tie and gave him a big kiss but no tongue. I patted his butt and told him to put on some jeans and a tee shirt. He put his hand up my frock and discovered the cotton panties I had on. I grabbed his arm and firmly disengaged my boy from man-handling me. “Later!” I said arching my brows and smiling to reassure him that the promise of the morning was not forgotten, “dinner is getting cold, pot-roast, your favorite!”

He said “YES!!” and charge up the stairs to change.

We sipped the bubbly, the conversation was sparkling, the sexual tension was sparking too. David review the mundane agenda of his day and I recounted my domestic duties. We discussed the headlines of the paper and the latest gossip about celebrities. We skirted the issue of what was up my dress, we were jocular about things with out mentioning what was in his jockey shorts. In brief, we were polite in conversation while our minds were thinking about naughty things in panties. Chocolate ice cream did nothing to cool our lurking lust. It was not the true dessert of the evening.

David helped me clear the table, will wonders never cease, but then he was motivated to have the night’s activities move along. I declared the dishes could wait until the next day if they were well rinsed, for the same reason. “Your new silk shorts are washed and on your bed” I said indicating what I expected next. David dropped his drawers and there they were already on him! The eager little devil! I unbuttoned the top button of my dress and gave him a smile.

“Okay! But while I change, light the candles on the mantle and start the music I put in the stereo and fetch us another bottle of bubbly. And hang up your clothes!” I was still his mother, isn’t that who he wanted to do it with? I thought about that as I went upstairs and stripped. David wanted to fuck his mommy. Why? Why do boys – men – want to screw their mothers?

Is it a desire to return all the love they have had from their moms? Is it a way of expressing their gratitude for all that ma has done for them? Or perhaps to receive the most supreme kind of loving by the one person who would never reject them, that is if she would accept their physical attentions in the same way as she had every other offering from her child? Perhaps to achieve the true integration of parent and child through the ultimate intimacy? Or all of those things together? Who could fathom those psychological depths?

I put on the blue gown but left off the underwear, my bush a dark fluffy delta though the diaphanous material, the nipples nearly naked as they poked the fabric. Why make moma, physically take mother; rivalry against dad, conquest of the parental authority, a power thing? Or was it a sense of bonding, reuniting with the procreative force, a melding with the genetic source? Love, lust, power – surrender; and why were some women will and wanting to be wanton with their male children.

I could answer only for myself. David was desirous of me and I was horny as hell. He was loving and safe, handsome and loved by me already. I put a luscious red lipstick on and light blue eye shadow. He was my sweet boy, now a gentle and kind man. Funny, and attractive and well mannered, as I had hoped that he would become, as I raised him to be. Now he developed into the person I had worked for him to mature into, and I was proud of my kid. I was willing to reward him for having turned out so well. To provide a payback by a layback, a liaison in praise of my son, the gift of sex with me for his happiness; and mine, I deserved it too.

I went downstairs, there was a perfume in the air from the scented candles, the soft music played, the bottle was open and glasses were poured. My son rose from the couch and came toward me, his blue shorts slightly tenting at my all but nude body. He wrapped his arms around me, an enclosing hug. I felt warm and safe and protected and loved. He kissed me so softly and gently, a romantic and tender peck, immediately followed by a more robust buss, then a deep French one and I responded in like with enthusiasm to each.

We sat on the sofa and just looked at each other, saying nothing, sipping the wine, kissing occasionally. Then one of my favorite songs came though the speakers. A tune that I had used to teach David how to slow dance. Place his hand on the middle of the lady’s back to lead firmly, the other clasping hers and guiding the direction as they swayed. David stood and took my hand to draw me up. He remembered, no words were needed, we move to the center of the living room, the coffee table had been thoughtfully moved out of the way by David as I has been upstairs musing about mother/son incest.

David’s arm went behind me and we move together in harmony, confident male and compliant female. I liked being controlled in this fashion, the music set the rhythm, the man directed the movements, but the woman created the mood. We melted together as one coordinated team, though it had been sometime since we had last danced together, the cooperative activity a turn-on; an exhilarating motion made a little tipsy for the wine and so much fun as I had had in quite a while.

He held me tight, I could feel his leg between mine, chest to breasts close and amorous and little kisses now and then. He spun me and dipped me at the end of the third song. I held up my hand to indicate that his old mom needed a breather. We sat again. We toasted, the glasses clinking, our lips kissed to seal the toast in celebration of our union. After a few minutes of some small talk, David looked like there was something he wanted to say. He opened his mouth then closed it, thrice. “Go on you can say what you want, David.” I reassured him.

He dropped his eyes, when he raised them and spoke it was in a soft voice. “I’d like to do something I’ve never have had the chance to do.”

“Yes?”

“Could we . . . dance naked . . . ”

“I never have either . . . that would be something new we would share together. It would be very special, I’d love to.” I said and stood. He stood too and then ever so gingerly lifted my gown high and completely off. He hooked his thumbs to his skivvies and dragged them over his hips and they fell to the floor. We moved dream-like to the open space and the music, as if timed, began a slow languid melody, no lyrics, an instrumental; neither of us spoke either. We drew one another close.

The heat of bare flesh was sensuous and searing, soft and smooth, and oh sooo seductive. My nipples brushed against his chest hair, his erection browsed my pubic bush. The tummies touched and our arms embraced as we clenched to make the contact full bodied. David’s hands were on my bottom, slightly clenching the globes. I put my palms on his shoulder blades to feel the strength of his back.

Our lips were doing a dance of their own. They brushed and puckered and bussed. Tongues sipped and tasted and visited each other’s abode back and forth, playing a game of tag and tangle, tasting the sweetness of one another. Even our noses got in on the action, an elegant Eskimo invitation to intimacy. To catch our breathe after several minutes, we danced cheek to cheek as my cheek-buns were squeezed by my son and his hips scrunched his hard-on between us.

I was dripping and I felt a distinct dampness at the tip of his penis. Suddenly, I was perspiring profusely and David broke out in a sweat too. This made everything slick and even more erotic. We started to move our hands over each other’s backsides, up and down, from ass to neck, with palms sliding and fingers gripping. We lip locked but never stopped moving to the music.

His tongue entered my mouth a slithering, insistent, incestuous invading snake. I welcomed David’s oral digit that sought to explore the contours my mouth, mastering me there the way his cock would soon conquer my cunt. I signaled my passion and submission to his lust with my open jaw and clutched the back of his head to draw him to me in a French kiss that made me feel faint from desire.

I’m not sure when the music ended as our wriggling and swaying had taken on an inertia of it’s own. We were moving our bodies up, down, left, right; legs and torsos and genitals grinding in slippery erratic erotic rubbing. We could get enough of each other, as if we were trying to meld together into one being by uniting our flesh as we melted from the friction we produced. I might have seen steam rising from us if my eyes had been open.

Then it was time for the joining of bodies in the way God has granted physical species, in animal fashion, in sexual heat, in carnal passion. My legs began to buckle and David, instantly attuned, supported me and half carried me, literally sweeping me off my feet back to the couch. He set me down with my hips on the edge, my back supported on the soft cushion seat, my head looking down at my son between my spread legs as he began to kiss and sucked on my nipples.

I ran my fingers through his hair, as he helped himself to his mommy’s mammeries. He no longer suckled as a child but made love as a man, his lips and tongue gorging on the pouting points of pulchritude. They grew to half an inch, red berries bursting from creamy full mounds of moma’s bosom. He was no novice in nibbling on a gal’s knockers; at first, nice and tender – then serious and intense. His tongue thrummed the protrusions in vibration and lips pulled them out even further, alternating between the two. A mouth that tried to draw out my soul, as it once sought to take in my life giving milk.

Then, as his father had, as he had witnessed from the steps thinking to be hidden and secret; he began to move his mouth lower and lower. Sweet kisses and long licks leading to my navel, but not stopping there. I realized what he as after, and thrilled to once more have cunnilingus which I crave. I spread my thighs even wider and lifted my crotch to meet his mouth on my labia, as David went down on his mother.

There too, my son was no stranger to the nether parts of a woman. he started with long slides of his talented tongue along the sides of my thighs, teasing as I anticipated the centering of his administrations. Then they did converge on my vagina, with the pink fat worm working into the ruddy folds, working toward the delicate pearl at the top. Closer and close to my clit did the digit flit, ’til finally it hit. What a sensation, made all the more exquisite with the anticipation!

He did figure eights and strummed. He did the alphabet which did a number on me. He suckled and made long licks. Then he blew me – I mean literally – first he drew back and blew through pursed lips to make a little breeze which cooled me there in my hottest spot. Next, he put his wide open mouth on my pussy and exhaled hot breathe to re-steam it. The several times of alternating cool blowing and heating exhaust drove me to new heights.

Then my son’s tongue slithered over my clit again in his serpentine style that drove me to the very peak of sexual excitement and I reached the point of no return. “Put it in,” I gasped and uttered the words in a breathy most urgent plea, “put it in, now!”, was all I could say as I repeated my begging. I had reached the point of no return, I had to have a cock in my cunt, even if it was the penis of my son.

But even better, that it was the organ of my beloved David, the devoted son who now was filling my long emptiness and the longing we had both had hidden for so long. I reached the point of no return and gladly welcomed it as I welcomed the tool of my boy, as I was well deserving of the cum to come. Yes, I had reached to point of no return. There was no turning back, incest was not new to me, but this was even more beautiful than with losing my virginity with my uncle.

I sensed David moving to get in position, just has his father had taken me, before our child’s eyes years ago. I was spread open for the sacrifice of my womb to the son which had been born from it. To have him return in an act of love to the womb he had been conceived in, to shoot his own sperm in there as had his father before him. I ached in my vagina for a man, I longed to be filled, I desired my son to be the male I mated with. I wanted my David to make me cum and to cum in me, flooding me with the burning seed of his semen.

In a way, I thought, in one moment of clarity, the kind that arrives in an instant sometimes; I was not really cheating on my spouse. I was not having an affair with a new man, but still loving someone I – we – had always loved. It was genetically an identical cock that was to enter my cunt, not a different penis, not a different masculine body; the same physical shape but now in it’s youth again, as when I had first met my husband. There as no threat of my loving my hubby less and he would not miss the sex he seldom provided me. It was not cheating him, but I would no longer be cheated of my needs.

I felt David’s penis point at my pussy through the fur of my crotch. He rubbed it up and down several times, plowing the labia, brushing the tip against my clitoris, drawing lower to the dripping portal and teasing there before another stroke, still not entering. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Put it in! David, fuck mommy, Fuck me honey! put in NOW!! Then, with a swing of his hips the head entered, it centered, withdrew a little and once more made progress, about half way. With the passage opened and his dick lubricated, David pulled back slightly, then lurched all the way in. I all but came.

God! It felt sooo good to finally have a man’s organ in my body once more! He was hard and hot and smooth with the vigor of youth. My son was long enough and deep enough to reach bottom, fill me and fulfill me completely and emotionally as well. I felt such a overwhelming renewal of love for him to have wanted me physically and so grateful we could finally be united this way. He pulled out slowly and with gentle thrusts began to stroke into my vagina. The lips of my labia encompassed him and I felt as tight as if I were a virgin, it had been sooo long.

David got into a good rhythm, and was hitting my G-spot with the knob as his pelvic bone mashed against my clit and his balls banged my anus. Everything was perfect and incredible. I had such lust now for this man, my son, my lover. Though not possible, I wanted to get pregnant by him, so far gone was I in the depths of my incestuous depravity. I craved his spurting into me, to have the hot white seed of sin spume into my womb. I began to thrust up to meet his hammering.

We pounded together harder with that initiative, a fuck machine of two moving units, our mutual motion in unison. Now he was hitting my womb’s entrance, the nubs were getting bumped by the head of David’s dick with each concussion of cock fully up cunt. I looked at his face scrunched in exertion and ecstasy, eyes closed and mouth open gasping for air. He never looked more beautiful to me, since he had been an infant. He was close, so was I, as my own eyes rolled up and I began that peculiar ritual of my odd orgasmic psychology.

Whenever I was building toward my climax, it’s as of I was resisting the feeling of loving sex, as if my conservative upbringing was trying to hold back the climax. “No, no nooo . . .” I said aloud, but the impending paroxysm was not to be held back, the cataclysmic convulsion of my cum had been reached. I shouted “Yes, yes, yeess!”. I felt David, my son, his prick deepest in my pussy throb and shudder and let go with a huge load, as my cunt too flowed with copious fluids of copulation. The flood poured out of my hole and down my crack and soaked the cushion but good.

David was so turned on he didn’t go soft. (Ah youth!) He continued to hump and I continued to cum, I couldn’t stop cumming. Wave after wave of wonderful feelings washed over me. Peaks skipped to peaks and the valleys were but small gaps between. Finally, he let up. David wiped the sweat from his face and helped me to sit back on the couch. The dear boy, who had just proved his manhood beyond a doubt to his mother, went and got a glass of ice water from the kitchen and a towel to dry my profuse perspiration.

We didn’t say a word but sat there grinning at each other in happiness and silly giddy love. When we had gotten our breath back, I took David by the hand and took him up to his big bed. There I made him lay down on his back and knelt over him from the side. As I began to suck his dick I could see from the corner of my eye his wide smile and eyes closed in pleasure. I knew that by going down on him from sideways my mouth was in the same orientation as would my pussy be when I mounted him momentarily.

It was not long that he was up and ready for me to ride him. I extended my leg over his body and bent to kiss him, a French frolic of lips and tongues. My mound brushed his hard-on, the stiff wand snaking through my bush. With wiggle and waggle I got the end in the entrance and slid the lance home. With practiced measure I had not made in many years, I fucked my son while bending forward to let him suck my tits. I climaxed again, but David had held out for another position.

He instructed me to get on my hands and knees. I did so facing the headboard as my lusty son got behind me. My ass stuck out and my pussy was totally exposed for his assault. As straight and solid as if we were just beginning he guided his rigid rod right into his mommy’s hole. This is my favorite position, I was reminded again of the time I had been fucked, with David just on the other side of the bedroom door and I listening to his panting. Had I fantasized that night it was my son, not my husband that was screwing me doggie fashion? Perhaps, but in any case now we were doing it for real and I could feel his hot gasping ragged breath on my skin as he reached around and clung to my tits!

I loved the bouncing of his hairy testicles on my clit as his big prick pounded my pud. My labia rubber-banded back and forth with the in and out stroking of David’s delicious dick. His tool mercilessly took me as his own, I was but a vessel to be filled, to be flooded with his will and love and semen. I gave myself to abandonment, he could have me any time, right in front of his father if he wanted, I just wanted sex with my son. Sin with love, lust with adoration, incest with surrender; that is what we had, what we had wanted, what was to be.

Then I felt the big cum of the throbbing, pulsing, shooting of David’s sperm into my womb’s opening once more at my very core. This triggered my own climax. Now, not any “no . . no”s or time for any “Yes”s; just, “Ahh! Oh oo UH! uh uh . . . oohhh . . .ahh . . . ” And David crying “Yess, Mommy! yes . . . I love you … I’m cumming in you, mom! OH! oh! ooh .. uh uh . . .”

It was special, it was spectacular, it was suppose to be. It was too long in coming together, to come together to cum together. But I knew that this lust was going to burn for the rest of our lives together and it would not be long before we came together again, as we cuddled together and finally fell fast asleep.

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Thanks mom, for helping me to write the story of our affair that never happened. I suppose I ought to write the story from my perspective sometime as a companion piece, but that will have to wait. If my Oediplex OediPals want the best of both real mother/son incest stories and top flights of mother/son fantasies they can email me; oediplex@hotmail.com , I promise a cum to all who would call themselves my pals.

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Where I can, I am posting a ‘mental image’ I have of me and my mother at the time when I began to listen to my parents making love. Fortunately, the world’s most erotic artist of mother/son sex, Pandora’s Box, has provided an il-lust-ration of that image. My mother is in her mid-thirties and in top sexy form. I am a well endowed youth fucking her. While not actually of the two of us, it comes close to what we looked like back then and the fantasy which I have had for over forty years. If it is not posted at this site, write me for where you may view it and the many other drawings that have made this fabulous painter famous for his incestuous art.