It’s nice to see people talking openly and honestly about the subject of incest.
The age of the Net is an age of great freedom, where all kinds of ideas strongly impact everyone, and it brings revolutionary consequences that cannot be predicted at this time, and I hope that all people will cherish it.
Now, I want to tell you some real past events in my life.
Remember, this isn’t a novel. Chapter 1: Past Times Remembered.
Wyatt, my sexual development is very strange. I don’t know, maybe it’s because people don’t talk about it, which makes me feel like I’m the only one who is like this. So I would also love for everyone to talk about something real (maybe not everyone, please don’t make it up), and anyway, you don’t have to use your real name online, let alone show your face or leave your voice behind, so feel free to pour it out. I would also like this issue to be discussed as a science (and you don’t have to feel shy about jerking off while discussing it, it’s normal).
To clarify, if people want to get to know me I’m welcome to do so, and meeting is not denied, but you must bring along your mother and proof of mother/child relationship.
The first time I had sexual fantasies about my mother I must have been before the first grade, I still can’t recall the correct age due to the age, anyway very, very young that is.
I distinctly remember that more than once, in a dream, I blurted out, in front of my mother, “Mom, I want to take off your pants and touch you.” When I said these words, I experienced a kind of taboo-breaking joy. Although I didn’t know the word incest at the time, I already understood that it was a very “dirty” thing to do. Talking dirty to my mother, who I was in awe of every day!
My dream mother didn’t show anything, so I unbuttoned her pants and reached for her pussy with an unknown sense of pleasure, mystery, and relief. The place was always her office or a nearby playground.
But I had never seen an adult woman’s private parts at that time, so I couldn’t feel them in my dreams.
There were only a couple of such dreams. Some of the other more numerous dreams of childhood were nothing more than running to the store and smashing the cabinet windows to get something to eat, knowing of course that while dreaming. Or being chased by monsters.
Also I’ve had some gay dreams, usually about handsome child actors in movies of the time, such as Pan Dongzi in (everyone in China in their 30s knows him, right?). I dreamed that he was in a movie with my family. A couple of times I dreamed he was playing with the kids in my neighborhood – playing with their dicks. So I went up to him and touched each other.
Until I was in junior high school, I still imagined some handsome men in comic books, including Lu Bu, Zhao Zi Long, and Yang Jia General of the Three Kingdoms, and imagined that they would all become my wives and wives and that we would go on a trip together. It would be very romantic to have these handsome men with me. Moreover, they are often jealous of me, and I play the role of mediator.
Sexually, it was still fantasizing about touching, not even thinking about sticking it up my ass or anything like that. Because I didn’t have an erection yet.
How these historically beautiful young generals were I do not know, the impression comes from the depiction of comic strips. And then feminize their characters as they wish.
But when it comes to Oedipus, I’m weird. Because I only have these thoughts at night when I dream, and during the day I can hardly find any trace of them. It’s not that I don’t dare to think about it, but I don’t think about it at all, and sometimes I think about it and feel sick.
I was only a few years old and had no moral compass. As for homosexuality, I didn’t think about it when I was sober. I really thought about it during the day when I was in middle school. But at that time, I didn’t know that homosexuals could stick it up their asses, and I didn’t have an erection (I was under fifteen). I remember once inviting a male classmate home to play, we stripped naked on the bed to play, but also to the butt together grinding. But it was just curiosity, excitement + fun, no sexual pleasure.
This makes me wonder if people’s sexual orientation is formed at the age of 11 or 12?
There were some other sex-related things that happened in childhood that would not be a dream.
I used to hang out with some of the girls and play games, and one of the needle games fell into this area. One time I caught my sister and another girl her age exposing their breasts in front of a public restroom, taking a popsicle stick they found on the floor and sticking it in each other’s nipples. My sister was also very young at the time, how young I don’t know, but she was only three years older than me, so she hadn’t developed yet either. When they saw me coming, they instructed me not to tell my mom. That means they knew it was scandalous but still wanted to do it, I don’t know how it felt.
I loved my sister touching my butt, and I remember once pulling my shorts down at nap time and asking her to touch it before I could fall asleep. It just felt good, not sexually minded. My sister said it was bad every time, but did it anyway.
Later on, until I was old enough, my sister was very nice to me. Once in the kitchen when I was a youth, I touched my sister’s breasts and they felt soft and comfortable, but inside I was disgusted. Especially when I saw that my sister even smiled at me.
I can’t think of anything softer in the world than a woman’s breasts.
Until recently, strong sexual teasing could be seen in some of my sister’s letters to me. Once when he heard that I had published an article that was very coaxing, he wrote to say, “…there must be a lot of teenage girls falling head over heels for you, can you send it to me to read so that I can fall head over heels too? …” and so on and so forth. I don’t even feel good when I read it. I wonder what my brother-in-law would think if he read it.
It’s one of the reasons I’m a firm believer in incest!
I could have sworn that my sister is a beautiful woman, and if her wedding make-up photos were published in the newspaper, all those Miss Hong Kong and Miss Asia should go eat shit if they still have a little bit of self-awareness.
But I just wasn’t sexually attracted to her, whereas my mother, who was also beautiful when she was young but has aged considerably since she gave birth to me, I have always been sexually attracted to her, don’t you think it’s strange?
The only difference between my mother and my sister is that my mother is strict, not harsh, and defends her family; my sister is gentle and puts others before herself.
I’ve played similar games with other girls. One girl a few years older than me loved to play with me, and she stuck a lollipop stick in my foreskin and held it there while I inserted the stick into her vagina, then put my pants back on, walked around as if nothing had happened, and then came back and removed it. Of course, I felt a little pain. We called this game “Doctor Shot”.
At the time I didn’t think a girl’s sex organ felt good because there was a lot of dirty water, I thought it was pee, but she said it was butt wash water. I did like the idea of taking a shot in her ass, but I didn’t think about it sexually in my mind, more pleasure came from the mystery.
Our parents were both employees of the movie theater at the time, and our activities were held inside. Since the children of the employees were allowed to come and go freely while outsiders were not, it was empty when movies were not shown. There was also a fence around the outside, and between the wall and the theater there was nothing but birds and weeds growing out of the cracked cement.
The family had a teenage nanny once, and she was certainly an adult compared to me, a very large adult. I don’t remember if it was after my mother had my sister. I was very handsome and quiet as a child, and a girl might have had more than a few ideas. Once when no one was home, she took me to bed, put down the mosquito net, and then stripped down to her clothes and pants, and then she stripped me down too. Then she laid down and asked me to press on top of her and suck her breasts. I sucked two mouthfuls and said there was no milk, not good. She and I sit across from each other with their thighs apart, pulling my cock to her private parts, of course, it is not stuffed into, not even touch, and pulled my foreskin is very painful, I do not want to do it (now I think of it on the regret). At that moment mom came back and knocked on the door, she hurriedly got dressed and warned me not to say anything.
I can’t really remember if I said anything or not. Sometimes I think I didn’t, and sometimes I think I did.
The age is too long.
She probably didn’t have hair at the time, because I don’t remember it. I was intensely offended by the sight of hair on anyone at the time, and I certainly wouldn’t have been unimpressed if she had. This is limited to logical reasoning, not memory.
Then she went to babysit at someone else’s house, and one time I was walking by and saw her with a baby on her back, chopping vegetables.
She laughed and called me over to her, and I immediately ran away while shaking my head as I remembered her pulling my cock. Fuck!
You can know the nature of women from this matter. If any woman is cold to you, it doesn’t mean she’s not interested in sex, but she’s not interested in you. Or is simply faking it.
Sometimes when I read a poet’s description of a fresh and elegant beauty, I pity the poet: she doesn’t like you! If a woman likes a man, she will not be like a heavenly fairy, but like a whore, even cheaper than a whore, she can fuck her without paying money, and she will be very happy after that.
When I was in my twenties, I went back to my hometown once, and I wanted to find out these women to eliminate my regrets, but unfortunately I didn’t find any of them, and I didn’t know how to find them, and I didn’t really feel like looking for them.
There was also a woman, then in her 20s or 30s, who used to visit my house. One winter, she and her mom were chatting while she was sweating, and my feet were cold, so she asked me to put them in her shirt. I kicked her in the tits very dishonestly, and she glared at me with a word of caution. But I didn’t listen and stepped on it again, and she got angry and took my foot out. This one I do remember having that little bit of sexual awareness in it, because I remember feeling so ashamed I couldn’t stand it. Nothing else would have shamed me.
At the age of seven my family moved from this small county to the city where I continued on to second grade. The only age group I remember clearly hits this beginning.
The city was crowded, there was no seclusion, and the city kids didn’t play that game. That’s how it was until I was a teenager. I’m sure the countryside is much more sexually open than the city.
Within a few years, my parents’ relationship deteriorated, my father had an affair, they argued, fought and almost divorced.
It was a horrible thing for a child to have his parents fight, and I had no other way but to cry and shake, and they did it behind closed doors. Inside, there was so much shouting and noise that I thought my father was dead and then my mother, and I was almost scared out of my wits.
They eventually did not divorce for the sake of the children, and then my father transferred out of the country to work, came back to see us once a year, sent some money, and then disappeared when I was growing up. My mother was the only one left at home with us three sisters.
One night, when I was sick and dizzy, my mother asked me to sleep with her. I wasn’t very willing because I couldn’t stretch when I slept with my mother, but I didn’t object.
When I lay down, my mother was padding the mosquito net. I closed my eyes because I was dizzy. After a while, I felt something strange in my lower body, so I opened my eyes and realized that my mother was straddling my legs with her back to me. At that time I was only wearing a pair of very thin shorts, my prick was not erect, but its natural length and toughness also pushed up my pants an inch high, and my legs were together. Mother was wearing a pair of white boxers and a white tank top. She was squatting, one foot on the side of my left leg and the other on the side of my right leg, and because I was sleeping outside, she straddled my legs and reached down to tuck the mosquito netting under the mat to keep the mosquitoes out.
Her bottom, then, brushed against my protruding prick. When she looked back at me, I hastily closed my eyes, but opened them a crack. I only saw her look back at me, then look away, and then use her lower body to intentionally rub on my prick again and again. Seeing no reaction from me, she boldly looked down at my privates for about ten seconds before turning off the light and going to sleep. I wasn’t even an adult at the time.
Instead of being sexually aroused by this practice of my mother, I felt disgusted. Now that I think about it, I feel like such a strange person. Because I remember that I used to sleep between them before my father left. Once I suddenly had lust again, not in a dream, but in reality. I reached out to touch my mother’s thigh.
When my mother moved, I stopped, then gently stroked again, then purposefully moved closer to the base of her thighs. When I touched my mother’s private parts through her panties, her whole body shrank. I was startled, but soon went back to touch her thighs, slowly upward, and my mother shrank again. This time I didn’t dare to move because I thought my mother was asleep before she had the guts to do that, but now it seemed that she probably wasn’t asleep. So I yelled that I had to pee, and when my parents turned on the light, I heard my mother telling my father that I was naughty in my sleep. I pretended I didn’t understand, but inside I was mortified. Of course I never dared to move again. I couldn’t get an erection at that time, and I didn’t know anything about intercourse, but there was a real sense of sexuality in that act.
Is it strange that now that it’s time for my mother to move me, I feel revolted again? If I had been as bold and incestuous that night as I am now, would we, mother and son, have had sex? At that time, our education made me think that sex was shameful, and incest, I had never even heard of it, let alone thought about it.
By the time I was in my mid-twenties, I was no longer interested in homosexuality, and my Oedipus complex had intensified. At first, I would secretly imagine having an extraordinary relationship with my mother, but when I actually saw a part of her body, I felt disgusted (because it was unattractive). Then it became an unconditional love.
Wherever I went to work, my mother always followed me. I was often very annoyed with her, and quarrels were common, but she just followed me. I often secretly wrote articles about incest between mother and child. At that time, there was no Internet, so I would hide them for a while, and then I would regret and burn them as soon as my mood calmed down. And as soon as I turned around and saw my mother, I didn’t feel good again. In fact, when I wrote those things, my heart was not thinking of my mother herself, but another full-figured, thirty or forty years old, pretty face, and non-existent woman.
I once analyzed the psychology of my incest and realized that I was not really sexually interested in my mother. It was more, a resentment and resistance to social repression. I had always lived in a place that repressed humanity and deeply loathed a certain organization. This shameless thing claims to be the mother of the people, and I think the best way to deal with it is to tell us incest enthusiasts to rape this bitch who calls herself the mother of the nation. For it has mentally raped the entire nation an unknown number of times over the decades it has ruled the country!
Of course, there are those who scream at the top of their lungs while being raped by it. These people are either natural born whores and prostitutes or retarded people, so I won’t bother mentioning them.
As for my fellow travelers elsewhere, I’m sure it’s also the result of too much repression, just not as strong as mine.
Orientals are much more morally constrained than Westerners (fuck Confucius!), and the Chinese are far less creative than Westerners. , Chinese creativity is also far inferior to Westerners. So let’s, for the sake of the strength of our country and nation, incest!
Incest is supreme with mother-son incest and the ultimate in anti-tradition and anti-morality. I have a sexual interest in ordinary women, but the sex between mother and child is coupled with an intense thrill of breaking mental chains, shattering all morality, and being mentally liberated. While morality is indispensable for social stability, its hold on the mind is very harmful.
I would suggest that all people try to adhere to a moral code in their behavior and have no scruples in their thinking.
The taboo about mother-child incest or other incestuous behavior stems from two things, though. One is sociological and the other biological. The sociological aspect is easy enough to solve, consensualism plus secrecy will do.
Biologically, we all know that Thoroughbreds are inbred, and while this type of breeding may cause harmful genes to meet and cause genetic disease, it may also cause good genes from both to meet and make the offspring even better, so there are pros and cons. If you can’t stand the shock of a freak, just don’t have kids.
Society is progressing and it is totally unnecessary to keep anachronistic morals and laws. If you can’t afford to fight the law and public opinion, just sneak in with a clear conscience.
I can’t really think of a reason to think of incest as a flood.
The way I see it, if you and your mother or other loved one are in love and she/he agrees, by all means have sex! It’s ideal! I’d be so grateful if you’d invite me to visit that I’d fall to my knees and kiss your feet.
Again, back to myself. Chapter 2: How many regrets my mom had given me
In later days, something else happened between my mother and I. I can’t remember the exact time or order of precedence, so I’ll use a certain day. I write down what I can remember.
One summer, my mother said that a thorn had fallen into her shirt and stuck into her flesh, and she asked me to help her look for it. I wasn’t really interested in incest at the time, and I was impatient to help my mother, but I did it anyway.
That thorn is really there, and it’s also very small, a millimeter or so, and a big chunk of it is in the flesh, so you can’t really find it unless you look hard.
It was impossible for Mother to find it by herself, as it was just below the neck at the collar in the dead center of her vision. To make things easier, my mother changed positions a couple of times, tilting her head back and lying on the bed while I pulled back my mother’s little undershirt, which contained her bra-less breasts.
My mother’s tits weren’t great, a little flat and saggy, but they were white, and the nipples weren’t black, which I hated, but brown and just a little bigger than a fist. She tilted her face up, and I felt a little rush in the small of my back as I felt her hot breath.
When I was twenty-one, I was lucky enough to get a job in a very rich and open city, and my mother came with me. For the first time I had enough money and could buy adult videos on the street.
It was probably unfortunate for me that after my first viewing of a third grade movie, I also ejaculated while sober for the first time in my life. After that masturbation was out of control and I developed a strong interest in women.
One day, while helping my mother serve food, I desperately masturbated and shot my semen into a plate of food before serving it.
I kept my eyes on the doorway, confident that my mother hadn’t noticed. But then something made me suspect that she was aware of it.
Because she actually never touched that dish! Why? I’m freaking out!
Another time, I opened the door of my room wide and masturbated on the bed, I had seen it outside beforehand, the lights were off in the room, and the light from the living room hit the mosquito net shining white, so I couldn’t see inside. When my mother walked past my door, I boldly knelt on the bed and pointed my penis at her.
She looks in, stops, then walks in, and I freak out again. Busy stopping the action.
My mother walked to my bedside and asked me softly if I was uncomfortable, and then lifted the mosquito net. I was completely naked and hurriedly said, “No, no.” Grasping the opening of the mosquito net, I did not let go. She again wanted to lift the tent from another place, I was anxious, in a very annoyed tone of voice loudly refused, mother before leaving. After a while, I got up and when I looked outside again, I realized that the inside of the tent was vaguely visible from the doorway! Good heavens! What is this? Why couldn’t I see anything when I stood outside? Was there a god in the underworld? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the mosquito net? Why did I back out when I wanted to and it was about to happen?
Another day, I feel sick, lying on the couch, my mother came over to ask me, and then said to help me massage, I agreed. She knew something about medicine and rubbed me very carefully, and when she got to my groin, about the time she saw my hard prick under my shorts, she suddenly stopped and turned around and walked away without even saying a word.
If my mother rubbing my prick with her pussy that night when she was a teenager made me realize that she was interested in me, then this time, when she massaged me and saw that my prick was erect, she should also know that I was interested in her.
But we stayed like that until I finally got my first girlfriend.
This girlfriend didn’t come easy, and it was thanks to a couple of deadbeats from my high school.
My mother’s words and teachings to me from childhood made me feel that: looking at women is a lechery, flirting with girls is a bad character, falling in love is a bad job, and molesting women is even more vicious hooliganism.
For example, when my sister said one day that a certain man in her organization often stared at her, my mother said in disgust, “Shameless!” And so on and so forth, from childhood to adulthood, my courtship instincts, though developed, were suppressed. Like a seedling growing under a giant rock, I desperately bent and grew, longing for sunshine and rain.
My older sister and younger sister were taught the same thing, but it didn’t hurt them as much as it did me. Because they could have remained demure and not smiled, and they would have had boys chasing them. And their ladylike demeanor only increased the number of boys who pursued them.
I’d be in deep shit!
Whenever I see a girl I like, I lose the ability to speak, as if I were silent. When I want to pursue or show love, my mother’s shadow haunts me, making me unable to speak a thousand words in my heart, and my hands and feet do not listen to the call to retrace my steps.
While I was all alone, trying to study and work, my friends screwed an unknown number of women. But they had no money. I, on the other hand, had some savings after years of hard work. So I hung out with them again.
All these old classmates were estranged from me successively when they were studying because of my mother. Whenever they came to play with me, my mother called them hooligans. And every time I was asked to meet my parents for messing up at school, my mother even put the blame on my best friends, and they still complain about it.
“Hey, does your mom still care about you? With us your mom won’t come to your door to scold you again, right?” Old friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time get together, and that’s the first thing they say.
I interrupted them impatiently and told them I wasn’t what I used to be. They half believed me, but I quickly proved myself.
I never dreamed they played with that many women in the years I sat in my office like an ascetic abomination.
When they talked about women at the table, I thought it was bragging, with a look of disdain and scorn.
They proved themselves quickly, too. At the second party, each of them called a good woman they didn’t know to accompany them, and by our fifth party, a large portion of the women had already slept with them.
I feel inexplicably sad and unfair, at that time also did not think to play how many women, just want to think of myself than these guys no matter looks and body, education or income, have been more than, but even a wife can not find!
One of my friends saw what was going on in my mind and sympathized, and when he went back from drinking one day, he said, “Ah Xun’s treating us to play with women, huh?” As everyone listened, they probably felt sorry for me in their hearts. At the next party, they introduced me to a girlfriend.
Before that, they taught me a lot about playing with women, “You see women as too noble, it won’t work. You must see every woman as a whore!” “Be dashing, don’t act like a pedant!” “We’ll brag for you. Don’t look down. Women are stupid. They have no judgment. They don’t have any judgment. If people say it’s good, they think it’s good. If we brag about you, you can study for a year.” “A woman must be in bed to get it right, otherwise it’s always a failure!” I’m still grateful for these words of wisdom! But I half believed them and even argued with them.
A friend said impatiently, “You think you’re so innocent? You think you’re noble? I used to be just like you, didn’t I? I almost fucking killed myself!” I know, he used to chase a girl all the way to her hometown, but ended up penniless and living on the street, only to see the girl and another man walking out of a dance club. He was so furious that he went up and beat up his man so badly that he was arrested by the public security, or he relied on his friends to come to his aid for thousands of miles before he was saved.
Now, there is a platoon of women he has played with. These include nurses, doctors, respectable female teachers, and enviable female college students.
Hearing his account, my heart felt like being cut by a knife: “Women, are you really that lowly?” Finally, my friends said to me: “Believe it or not, do as we say!” As a result, less than a week, I got the girl on the bed, painfully venting years of depression!
This was my first girlfriend in my life, and I cherished her and she clung to me, but our relationship was opposed by my mother and friends! It was the first time that my mother and her “hooligans” were on the same side.
My mother expressed extreme distaste for my girlfriend for two reasons. One: the girl’s family wasn’t wealthy, and her parents weren’t of the intellectual class, so she wasn’t a good match for my family; and two: my mother didn’t think she was a good girl, and she knew she’d had a relationship with me. That was only known to my mother when she raised the first objection and I said, “She’s all…that, sh’s…” to try to salvage it. But she didn’t see the woman as making a sacrifice, rather she thought she was being immodest.
Friends objected for very different reasons, saying, “No way? You’ve only played the first one and you’re calling it a day?” “Yesterday I said you’re smart and can learn once you’re taught, but who knows you’re a fucking dumbass.” “I thought you had her pegged, looks like she had you pegged.” My girlfriend came home with me and my mother gave face to her. And the friends were up to no good, they were busy pitching me another girl while preventing us from continuing our relationship. The method was simple, every time we got together, I tried to beat me up for violating the rules and reporting me! Called my girlfriend out and they were all over me violating, report me! snatched away, or declared in advance: “She came we go, have me without her.” Actually, what man doesn’t want to have more than one woman? I’m a man, too, and I’m tempted by my friends’ suggestions, only to doubt my own ability to do so; after all, those years of accumulated shadows are not easily erased. Once I got on track with another girl, I slowly forgot about the previous one.
My friends have outlined a grand blueprint for me to pick up women: after the average woman, they want to take me to see middle-aged women, married women, junior high school girls and so on, and first let me play with all the women they’ve played with before I do so. I am simply happy and crazy!
But things didn’t turn out as well as I thought they would. A group of friends, there are two soon to go abroad to do business; there is a car accident in the sudden death of his parents, unfortunately, he is a filial son, the whole person collapsed; the remaining one to play with women to play to the deputy director of the Public Security Bureau of the female body, the result was sentenced to a hooliganism into the prison, we are also broken up.
With a lot of experience playing with women and the right theoretical guidance, but lacking the help of my friends, I still couldn’t go it alone and slowly fought my way back into the game. The second girlfriend stopped dating before she could get laid. The first girlfriend, on the other hand, married someone from out of town and left. Chapter 3: Kissing her pining slut dry and comforting her lonely cunt
Life became empty and boring again. At this time I had been transferred to work for a year because the company had opened a branch in my hometown.
One day, I was sitting in front of my computer playing a game in boredom, smoking a cigarette while putting up only one foot on the stool.
It’s not unusual for my mother to come up to me and tell me to smoke less. It’s also normal for me to ignore her at all.
But the fifth time she came over to repeat it, it was unusual.
I hadn’t even looked at her before, just playing my game, and the fifth time I looked at her she hastily turned her eyes away and walked away. But I had found her line of sight and looked down, only to realize that my shorts were too baggy, and with one leg up on the bench, they slipped down and actually showed half my ass and balls.
For a split second I was so embarrassed that I wanted to curse.
I was watching TV in the afternoon, and without realizing it I put my feet up on the couch again and fell asleep. My mother was out grocery shopping at the time and had returned by the time I woke up. As soon as I opened my eyes I found her crouching at my feet organizing the things I had just bought.
That place used to hold a flower stand and a few pairs of old shoes, and my mother never did anything there, and the shoes were covered with thick dust.
Thinking about the morning, I couldn’t help but look down at my pants, they were a little gaping and one foot was up on the coffee table, spread wide. Reaching out, I touched it, and before I could get in far enough, I came across cold bird’s balls.
The different look on my mother’s face from the usual proved my suspicion. Her eyes were scattered, and not daring to look at me, she hurried away.
I thought about it for a moment and went back to pretending to be asleep, and my mother actually squatted down at my heels again to organize things with her head down! Head too low, lower than the arm of the couch. Lifting it up a moment later to look at the door behind me and dart a quick glance at me as I still pretended to be asleep.
Then my mother slowly lowered her head to eye level with the arm of the couch, and began to look down my pants, intentionally or not. I was inspired to let out a soft snore.
In an instant, the mother’s expression all changed. It changed from as if nothing had happened to very focused, from peeking out of the corner of her eye to staring straight ahead.
For the first time in my life, I saw my mother look at me with such almost greedy eyes for the rest of my life!
What used to be a dodge became an eye-opening fact today!
From that day on, I made an amazing determination.
There was no computer network back then, and the computer I played on was one of those things where you had to take turns plugging two disks in and out. The so-called games were just long snakes in basic language. As for incest literature on the Internet, it was unheard of.
I thought I was alone with a deep sense of guilt. The only thing that supported me was Freud’s doctrine of spirituality. I really read a lot of psychology books during that time.
Mother also loves to read, she usually read the biographies of ancient and modern Chinese and foreign celebrities, often wearing presbyopes sitting under the lamp night reading, I have seen her book, the margins of the page densely written many philosophical words, but it seems that for several days did not finish reading a page. She usually gives the impression that she is a female scholar with a noble and respectable demeanor.
One can only imagine why she gave me that intense shock when she crouched behind the couch and stared straight down at my lower body!
Because the contrast is too great!
One day, I had the ulterior motive of showing the incest novel to my mother, and she expressed no interest in it. I repeatedly asked her to do so, and she promised that she would read it, but I saw her grudgingly and knew that she would not read it seriously.
Then, realizing that she really hadn’t read it, I took the book back, while saying, “What about the strange author of this book who thinks incest is normal.” My mother looked up, gazed over the top edge of her old glasses, and said, “I haven’t read it yet.” I said, “I thought you’d finished reading it. So do you still want to read it?” She said, “Have you finished reading it?” I said I had finished reading it, and she said, “Then leave it here, I’ll read it sometime.” The next day I realized that my mother had read that book.
I don’t know what she’ll think when she reads it, but on the surface there’s not much change. Or not the kind of change I was expecting. But she seems to be treating me a lot better.
During this time, I seem to focus all my energy on my mother. Sometimes I don’t know what’s wrong with me!
About two days later, I asked my mother if she had finished reading it, and she was surprisingly vague in a rare way.
“Sh?” I asked.
“Finished reading, a little.” She finally managed to get out decent words, her vision fluttering.
I took the book away and looked through it, and I realized that she had scratched a line in the book. I don’t remember the details, but it was something like, “Every son has a crush on his mother.” Then I wrote in the book while she was there. She asked me what I was reading and I answered, then I marked the book and inserted it in a random spot on the shelf.
I wrote: at least I did.
It’s written right next to the sentence that my mother underlined.
When I returned from work, I immediately noticed that the book had been moved. But unfortunately, my mother did not add any other words.
However, my mother, who was always serious, smiled at me a few rare times that night. I had never seen that look on my mother’s face before and was at a loss for words, and it took me until the next day to balance my mind and smile back.
There have been many such incidents since then, and I do not wish to describe them in detail, but a few major breakthroughs are worth mentioning.
I watched pornographic videos in the middle of the night, deliberately letting my mother see them. Then I taught her to use the VCR, and she asked me to borrow some science popularization tapes. It was soon discovered that the marked yellow videotapes had been moved.
I started wearing panties at home and soon my mother used to walk around the house in just underwear. She wasn’t in great shape and occasionally I would get a little bored. So I persuaded my mother to take up aerobics, she started to say it was no fun, and after a month I found out she had taken it up.
I asked my mother to dance rhythmic gymnastics for me, and she obliged, doing some moves in a very high-cut body suit.
I had a quick erection despite my restraint. Mother retreated when she saw it.
I also asked my mother to go to the movies and she went. Soon it was her birthday and I bought her a gift and flowers and she was so happy. Again, the demeanor was like nothing I had ever seen before.
Mother began to act like a woman, instead of the strong woman she used to be, and spoke much more softly.
I gave her a separate pair of panties to wash for me while she was doing the laundry, and they came out clean.
I wrote in my diary that I loved to see her in body suits and cheongsams. The diary also contains some of the erotic dreams I had, recorded in a very cryptic style. Many of them were about my mother.
The diary was left on the table and found to have been moved.
On the third day my mother wore a cheongsam once and I said it looked good, very good. Mother began to do aerobics at home, and every time I came out to watch.
She eyed the instructional video on the TV and did the moves, I sat on the couch and watched, she turned around and asked me if I was doing it right, I purposely let her realize I was looking at her privates.
I pointed out that she wasn’t lifting her legs high enough and went up and held her thighs up a bit. Seeing that she was wearing stockings, I said that was not good for the skin to breathe. She stopped wearing them the next day.
I immediately bought her a new rhyming costume, which she ended up saying was a swimsuit, but wore it anyway.
I desperately tried to gather information about incest, cutting and pasting it into notebooks. Some of it was borrowed from the library and I made copies, but couldn’t afford to spend too much money on photocopies, so I copied some of it. Soon I was adding my own opinions to the fish-eye mix of real examples and surveys with a critical attitude.
I wrote this, “According to a study by American scientists, it is believed that humans are predisposed to incest. Scientists believe that incest is not desirable eugenically, but it is inexcusable from the standpoint of love. ……” Of course, I left it on my desk again so my mother could see it.
One afternoon in July 1996, my mother was doing aerobics in a bathing suit I had bought, and I was sitting on the couch in my tight underwear watching. She was in much better shape than she had ever been.
During this time I had the experience of touching the base of my mother’s thighs and had a couple of impromptu dances with her, each of which ended with a cheeky grin. Mother had become fully womanized.
When she asked me to press her legs again, I realized she was in a very provocative position today.
My mother braced her hands on the ground, knelt on one leg, and straightened and raised the other leg back, asking me to help her raise it.
I could see the narrow crotch of my pants bordered by a brown indentation just outside my mother’s labia majora, with a few pubic hairs on it.
I picked up her thighs and tried to rub my glowing prick on her leg, and she didn’t notice as if she did. I squatted down and my knee touched her pussy and her body contracted and unfolded and immediately asked, “Is that it?” I said, “Almost, can it go higher?” She said, “Try it.” I held her in the crook of her leg with one hand and slid my hand down her thigh to the base of her leg at the lower edge of her buttocks.
After a while, my mother gasped and stood up and said she was tired, I told her to change her position and she asked what it was. I then stood in front of her and leaned back until my hands were on the ground. This way my prick was bulging under my panties aimed at her.
Then I said, “Ouch, can’t stand up.” My mother laughed and hugged me up, my pussy pressing against the small of her back. When I got up, I hugged her and gasped, saying my back almost broke. Mother just laughed.
Then I held my mother up and asked her to do the same. My mother laughed and said that she was too old and her backbone was too hard to do it.
I said she was young enough to be unafraid of my protection. Mother then slowly leaned her body back in my hold.
My mother’s thighs were spread wide apart and our pussies were pushed together through two thin layers of cloth.
Before she could ground her hand, my mother said she couldn’t take it anymore and asked me to help her up. I jokingly refused, so my mother struggled to get up on her own, but she didn’t have enough strength to do so, and our lower bodies rubbed together.
After picking up my mother, she had a dizzy chord and leaned into me. At this point I got excited and boldly went to touch her ass. After touching it, my mother said it was fine there, but her waist was a little swollen, and asked me to rub it for her. I was a little weak, so I had to move my hand up.
After pressing for a while my mother said it was okay and got up to walk away. When she turned around I saw a wet patch on her crotch.
The next morning, I left my cum-stained panties on the bed and my mother took them to the wash.
After we wrapped up for the afternoon, I wanted my mother to teach me aerobics, and she obliged, careful to keep her eyes away from my lower body.
I did the same titillating thing she did, and I believe my testicles had pushed the crotch of my panties open a crack, so I wondered how much my mother had seen.
We did the same backward movement as yesterday, and I was so excited that I asked my mother to dance. As usual, my mother said she didn’t know how to dance, but I still held her in my arms with the words “I’ll teach you”.
It was getting dark and we didn’t have any lights on, just the fluorescent light from the TV shining through the house.
Then I asked my mother to do a face dance. Of course the words “face dance” would not be uttered, just that she should wrap her arms around my neck instead. Mother said, “That’s all right.” I didn’t comply and loosened my arms around her waist, so she had to put her hands on my shoulders and I pushed her hands up to her neck before she wrapped her arms around them.
After dancing for a while I touched my mother’s ass again and ran my fingers down to her crotch and found it wet and slippery. At this point my mother said, “Help me press my back, it’s a little swollen.” I learned from yesterday’s lesson and said, “Let me help you unclog the meridians in your back.” Mother said, “Sure, will you?” I said, “Of course I will.” Then went back and forth touching her from shoulder to ass.
“This is the life gate, coccyx, and perineum.” I said as I touched down and felt a handful of sticky, slippery fluid. I felt it getting out of control and kissed her. Mother smiled and ducked away. I suddenly thrust my hand through her hip bathing suit to feel her ass, Mother looked at me and shrank her body to the right, but I still felt her sex, wet.
“Don’t do that.” My mother whispers, backhanding me.
I refused to take it out, and she got harder and harder and looked like she was about to fight before I took it back.
My mother rewrapped her arms around my neck and I plunged my hand inside her pants again, this time directly touching her pussy. Again my mother whispered a warning to me, “Stop fiddling and dance properly.” Again pushing my hand away.
We continued to dance, and I kept kissing my mother, who flashed a little from time to time. I also kept touching her ass, rubbing her bottom shirt between her two butt cheeks, right down to her ass flesh.
My mother didn’t object to me touching her ass again, except that when my hand went down again, she would suddenly stop and look at me until I took my hand out, then she continued to dance with me. I tried to stick my tongue in her mouth and her lips closed tightly, dodging to keep me out.
After a while, I stopped quite deflated. Mother asked, “No more dancing?” When I gamely kept quiet, she said, “Then mom’s going to make dinner.” When I didn’t respond, my mother went to her room to change and then went to the kitchen.
The next day all day I was restless, back from work, see the mother did not dance aerobics, and feel the breath of the day all let go, sitting on the sofa do not speak. Mother asked me if I was not feeling well, I asked her why she did not do gymnastics today, she said she felt very tired today and did not want to move.
After dinner, I went downstairs to walk for a while, want to dissipate the boredom, a little girl pestered me to buy flowers, so I bought a red rose, back to the mother. Mother was very happy to receive the flowers, a moment back to the room, changed into a swimsuit out of the aerobics.
I couldn’t dance more than a couple of times, so I went up to her and hugged her, and didn’t say dance, but just hugged. My mother looked at me and laughed, “What’s wrong?” I pressed her head into my arms, not allowing her to look at me. After a while she saw that I did not say anything, and then broke out to look at me, I said, “Dance.” Then I went and put on the music and turned off the lights.
We embraced in silence, swaying to the dance music for a while, and I started kissing my mother again, touching her ass, which she didn’t object to. I tentatively touched her crotch, still dry. When she didn’t react, I boldly lifted her ass wrap with my fingers and felt inside. Mother’s cunt lips were also dry, but when I touched the center, I found that the two fleshy lips were full of flower dew and immediately oozed out along my middle finger.
That’s when my mother looked up, scowled and said, “Don’t touch mom there.” Thankfully, the tone wasn’t very forceful.
After a few more pushes, my mother didn’t refuse me touching her pussy anymore, but just hugged me tightly and rubbed her face against the neck of my shoulder over and over.
After touching her for a while I carried my mother to the couch and she refused me, sensing that something was going to happen. I don’t remember what I said, something along the lines of I love you.
In the midst of the entanglement my mother whimpered, “The dress is ripped!” I said, “It’s okay, I’ll get another one.” Smoothly, I pushed the crotch-breaking bathing suit upward and managed to get it off with a good deal of persuasion.
After getting naked I pulled my underwear down to expose my penis. This was certainly uncomfortable, but I didn’t dare get up. The slightest relief and my mother would escape.
Then I pressed into my mother, slowly squeezing her thighs apart with my legs as I urged her on. Mother whispered, “Don’t.” “Good girl, you can’t do that.” “No.” Finally, she said, “Mom’s not feeling well. Can we do it tomorrow?” And I said, “I want it so bad…please…give it to me…I love you…” and all that other bullshit that women love to hear, exploring with my glans. My mother struggled and wiggled her hips to keep me from entering. It was almost exactly the same as when my first girlfriend got laid. I wonder if other women do the same?
“Mom, put it in for me for a little while, please ……” I said, my mother wooed as if she was crying and didn’t move, which was a tacit approval. I immediately found the hole, the prick into the mother’s warm body, completed our first intercourse.
The pleasure of ejaculation is indescribable, and when it was over I lay down and my mother whispered and kept cursing me and saying she was going to die again. It wasn’t until I got a second erection and pressed into her that she opened her bottom mouth and closed her top one.
The second time we did it for a long time, with me occasionally thrusting twice and mostly kissing and talking to her. I told her everything I had seen her spying on me in the past, and my mother denied it all, saying that I was full of shit, that there was no such thing, and so on.
I didn’t argue with her, changing my story to say that I fell in love with my mother when I was very young and other lies that women love to hear, waiting for my mother’s heart to sweeten before I slowly toyed with her.
At this point my mother stopped talking and let me do what I wanted. I carried her to her bed and fucked her for half an hour, her eyes closed and she grunted softly, and when she came she clung to me, making yipping noises and arching her hips until I pushed all the semen into her vaginal cavity.
When I woke up in the morning, I couldn’t believe it was real, it felt like a dream.
I kissed my mother awake and couldn’t stop asking myself: is this real? Was I really touching my mother’s breasts? Was I really touching my mother’s pussy?
The mother opened her eyes, as if confused, thoughtful, and seemingly a little worried.
“Mom, you’re still awake?” I asked her, and she smiled, looked at me, and brushed her hand over my forehead.
I rolled over onto my mother and kissed her.
We kissed raw, our teeth touching from time to time and our tongues flicking wildly. It was only later when my mother wisely took a passive role that the collisions were reduced.
My mother closed her eyes and her body undulated beneath me, taking deep breaths from time to time as if trying to calm herself.
What I would like to clarify is the difference between having sex with your mother and your girlfriend. I suspect that there is a gene present in everyone that rejects incest, because every time I hold my mother and smell her body, there is a feeling as if it will remove the desire for her. And another force will arise in the heart of the incestuous person to fight against it. For me, this force is forbidden pleasure. It is far greater than the former force.
In the shower, my mother and I fucked again, but I didn’t cum.
When I came home in the evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I stripped naked and sat on the couch to watch. She looked back and was quite surprised to find me naked and chided me.
I laughed and went up to undress her, she refused, called me nasty and finally let me. We fucked on the couch and then went back to the room. After ejaculating I lay helplessly on the bed as my mother wrapped her arms around me and carefully touched my body.
After a week, we normalized our sexual relationship and had intercourse once or twice a day.
Every day when I come home, my mother opens the door for me, puts my things away, undresses, and then hugs me right away, and I ask her, “Did you miss me?” She nodded, and then we got into bed and made love. Newlyweds, like glue.
Then one Sunday, I dragged my mother up the street, saying I wanted to buy something for her. When we arrived at the jewelry store, my mother refused to go in, and only entered after I persuaded her and the clerk greeted her.
I wanted to buy a ring for her, she was fidgety and when I asked her if it was okay she always said, “Just watch.” When she was ready to pay, she haggled with the clerk again and had a very unfriendly attitude. Luckily the clerk didn’t care, but she actually saved a couple hundred bucks by getting her to do it.
When I got home, I sat down on the couch with my arm around my mother and pulled out the ring, and she immediately got shy. Another thing that struck me was that my mother’s sitting posture had changed. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she sat down with her thighs slightly crossed, her body straight, and her hands at her side. Today, she is slightly bowed head, legs together, hands folded knee. More exciting to me is: her calves and together to the right slightly oblique, the upper body is the left tends to me, to say endless tenderness and thoughtfulness.
This body language, reflecting the mother’s inner world, has completely taken me as her dependence, is worth a thousand words. At this time where she is still like the past, sitting upright, unsmiling, not move to raise her face to reprimand my mother? Completely become my new wife.
Especially when I cupped her hand and put the ring on her long-laboring and rough, but still long and slender fingers, words could not describe the expression on her face.
My heart was beating so hard at that moment!
I didn’t, at the time, and to this day, explain the significance of that ring, but we both knew it in our hearts. At least both thought in that direction: it was our engagement ring.
Afterwards, my mother and I went into the room to have sex. It was the most pleasurable and smooth sexual intercourse we had ever had. With a gentle tug, my mother rose to her feet with all the ease of a youthful young woman. We walked towards the bedroom, snuggling together, smiling from time to time.
When we got to the door, my mother paused, closed the door to the room, and then followed me to the bed, embracing and kissing.
I untied her cheongsam and realized that she had changed into new underwear, and I don’t know when she bought it. In the past, my mother used to make her own underwear from old cloth. Not only did I see the new underwear, but I also felt my mother’s feelings. The underwear was not very sexy, what was sexy was my mother’s heart: Son, I already belong to you.
My mother smiled in embarrassment and we kissed again. Her undergarments were falling like leaves in the wind, while I was still in my suit. When I saw me in the mirror, fully clothed, holding my naked mother in my arms, groping her and making her gasp, it was a huge turn-on.
Oh, it’s like a john playing a hooker.
Mother’s eyes were closed, enjoying my caresses and kisses, not even realizing that Zimmer was playing her like a whore.
That’s what my gang of friends taught me.
I didn’t really think of my mother as a whore though, it was just exciting to think about it that way. I believe my mother will forgive me even if she knows what’s in my heart.
After touching me for a while, my mother stood up straight, looked at me with a smile, looked down and gently undid my tie and removed my blouse. Then she seemed embarrassed to remove my pants and hugged me again, pressing her tits against my chest.
I stepped one leg onto the bed and put one of my mother’s thighs on my lap, wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her and rubbed her pussy.
My mother opened her eyes and whispered, “The bed is dirty from stepping on it.” I smiled, not caring at all.
After all, I didn’t wash the sheets, my mother did, so she was more distressed than I was.
My mother took her legs off and knelt down to untie my shoes and remove them, then stood up, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pressed her face to my chest.
Worth noting: another intense thrill I felt when my mother knelt fully naked in front of me to remove my shoes!
Her body posture as she went down on her knees was telling me again, Son, mom has been conquered by you.
It was probably the 3,000 RMB ring that did the trick, right? I think: in fact, there is no difference between a mother and a prostitute, except that the initial meat payment is higher, and then you don’t have to pay it later. Comparatively speaking, it is more cost-effective to visit a mother than a prostitute. Of course, this is just for the sake of excitement, nothing else.
After taking off our shoes, we mother and son got on the bed hand in hand and sat on our knees opposite each other. I ran my hand over my belt a couple of times and looked at my mother, she understood what I meant and with a smile loosened the belt of my pants for me. Then I knelt higher, and she pulled my pants down to my thighs again, and I sat down and teetered, and my mother pulled my pants down and carefully laid them out on the bench next to the bed, instead of throwing her underwear all over the floor, as I had done.
I was still in my panties at this point, but my mother stopped moving and knelt there, looking down at the bed. I then went up and hugged and kissed her, her hands stroking my body under my arms, and then, finally, she began to remove my panties.
I lay down and reached for my mother, wanting her to get on top of me, but she didn’t get the message this time and lay on her side next to me, so I had to turn around and she turned to lie on her back, spreading her legs as I pressed down. Everything worked together in perfect harmony.
The glans was moistened and slippery, and it burrowed easily into his mother’s vagina.
It was the first time we had made love in a brightly lit place, and my mother, her eyes tightly closed and afraid to look at me, had her thighs clamped around my waist and her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. I thrust into her in nine shallow strokes, and she occasionally opened her mouth and let out a silent gasp.
After all, I was born of her, and our reproductive organs worked well together. My mother’s vagina and my penis were almost the same length, and when I thrust in flush and with a little more force, I reached the center of my mother’s flower. If I thrust in vigorously, my mother’s body would involuntarily shake a little.
She was taking deep breaths again, as if trying to suppress the pleasure, and I gently patted her, signaling her to relax.
When she ejaculated, my mother’s whole body tightened and wrapped itself around me in a death grip that didn’t let up until a minute after I had finished.
As she hugged me tighter, her vagina contracted in gusts to the rhythm of her gasps.
At dinner, we were very close. We didn’t have much to say, but we looked at each other and smiled from time to time. I’ve never seen my mother smile so much in the first half of my life.
After that we shared a bed for a year, mother and son, and I estimate that I shot a bucket of cum inside my mother in a year.
There was a time when she stopped practicing bodybuilding again, and she seemed to be very lazy and pampered. It was only after my persuasion that she resumed working out, and her figure is getting better and better. Of course, she can’t be compared to a teenager, but compared to people of her age, even people twenty years younger than her, she is quite good. I often buy my mother high-quality body lotion and skin care products, so that her skin is smooth. She also takes care of herself and wears gloves when washing dishes.
The downside was that my mother’s breasts couldn’t get any bigger.
The first time I sucked my mother’s cock was at night, when I was already lying down and she went to take a bath. After the bath, she went to bed with a towel, I suddenly had a whim, pushed her down, spread her thighs and buried her head between them. Mother startled, thought I want to bite her there, ouch screamed, and so I licked open, she was very excited, flowed a lot of water, with a bit of fishy flavor, but still tolerable.
Later I asked my mother to suck my cock, she could not refuse, but not quite willing to look, licked a few times. I felt reluctant no happiness, feel bad, said, “Forget it, do not want to lick it.” Mother hesitant, asked me: “After licking you will still kiss me?” I said, “Of course I will!” It turned out that she was afraid that I would think she was dirty.
My mother was then relieved to help me with my cock, and after a while, just to prove myself, I pulled her up and kissed her hard, sucking out her saliva and swallowing it. It was a bit gross to be honest as she seemed to be holding the spit for ages. But things got much better from there. My mother could feel her thoughtfulness as she sucked on my prick and kept swallowing. I asked her to eat semen once and she said it made her throat uncomfortable.
Once I ejaculated, my mother held my semen sent to my mouth for me to taste, I ate, I think salty and fishy, but also as if tasteless, throat really a little numb like, not very good, and no longer want to eat mother’s semen. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to like this feeling again, she said, “Numbness is also very fun.” So later when she was happy, she would still suck my penis until she sucked out the semen and swallowed it.
We’ve tried anal sex, but my mother doesn’t feel good about it and does it sparingly. Hopefully she will come around someday.
We tried everything this year, including various positions, but in the end we both felt that face-to-face embracing each other and thrusting felt the most sensual and pleasurable. We also tried sneaking off to a hotel room to experience a new environment. We have also tried to go on overseas trips and have sex in the park at night, but when I ejaculated, I found that it was not very pleasurable, so I did not do it again.
After a year our enthusiasm waned, but we were still very much in love. My mother offered to get me a girlfriend, promising not to be jealous.
That’s when all those friends of mine came back and I got together with them again to pick up girls and spend less time with my mother.
When I got home at night, my mother always complained a little, but as soon as my prick was in her pussy, she was good as a puppy again.
Soon I picked up another chick and soon brought her home to live with me. My mother secretly asked me if the girl was a virgin, as if she cared more about that than I did. I said, “Where are the virgins these days?” My mother looked down on the girl and allowed me to find another one.
My live-in girlfriend was not happy to be dumped and came to the house a couple of times to make a scene, and my mother had no problem scolding her away before the relationship was broken off. Soon I was banging a second girl, a clerk lady from a company. She was very pretty, but she was not a virgin either. But this time when my mother asked, I lied and said yes, my mother was very happy, treating her as a future daughter-in-law, urging me to finish the marriage quickly.
A year later my girlfriend got pregnant and we were ready to get married.
The night before the wedding, my girlfriend went to stay at her mother’s house, and my mother and I hadn’t been together for a while, so as soon as we had a chance to be alone, of course we didn’t hesitate to get into bed.
After screwing once, I asked my mother to put on a wedding dress and then I fucked on the wedding bed. My mother’s mouth said, “How dare you think of that.” Her body was writhing with excitement.
After the marriage, life at home became peaceful. His wife soon gave birth to a son, and his mother enjoyed bringing up her grandchildren with a new sense of purpose.
Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways and wouldn’t even let me give her a kiss for fear of being seen.
One time when my wife was in the bathroom, I sneaked up on my mother and said, “Don’t wear panties.” She asked curiously, “Why?” I found it very uninteresting. Another time during dinner, when my wife went to the kitchen, I secretly touched my mother’s thigh, frightening her so much that she almost dropped her bowl on the floor, and lowered her voice to scold, “Are you crazy?” Sometimes I would sneak out while I was at work and relive old dreams with my mother, but each time I was in a hurry and couldn’t enjoy myself. Occasionally when my wife traveled on business or the company had a group activity, we, mother and son, were able to indulge in sex again.
After a long time of screwing two women, of course I compared them in my mind, and my mother also seemed to be interested in my daughter-in-law’s bedside manner. She was too shy to ask because of her feminine demeanor, but whenever I talked about it, she paid close attention.
That said, my mother was inferior to my wife in many ways. She gave birth to three of us siblings, so of course her vagina was loose, but the good thing was that her lewd water was thicker and slicker, with a smaller amount, and the friction it produced made up for it a bit. In addition, mother was, after all, in her fifties, with quite a few wrinkles on her face, her hair caught in quite a few silver strands, and her two breasts small and sagging, with the nipples pointing downward.
There is also a lot of fat in the belly, and it always looks like she is three months pregnant. Although compared to women of her age, her mother is considered to be well maintained, but compared to her youthful and beautiful wife, she is far from it.
But because I like excitement, the disadvantages of my mother’s old age became advantages in my eyes. That’s why I actually felt that I was having sex with my own mother!
And then there’s the fact that the mother is very conservative. Whenever I slept with her, it was in the traditional way. Since we are incestuous, she has a very low self-esteem and cares a lot about how I treat her. She hates it when I have to put her on her back and fuck her from behind like a dog. I want her to learn from the heroine of a small movie, she said that kind of bitch, do not want to learn it. At this time, I thought to myself, “I’m not so cheap as to go to bed with my own son,” he said. This is of course absolutely can not be said out. I also wanted her to peep at my wife and I making love, and she scolded me for being dirty.
Compared to my mother, my wife is a hundred times more open. She tried all the moves in adult movies with me, and once I asked her if she wanted to play with me for violating the rules and reporting me! , and she said, “I’ll do it if you’ll let the dog do it.” She meant what she said, but I didn’t want to let the dog fuck me, and it went away. I also asked her what she thought about incest and she said, “It’s fine if other people like it, what do we care?” Once we were watching an incest movie, and I pointed to the actor in the movie who was having sex with his own mother and said, “If we have a beautiful son in the future, will you want to make love to him?” She asked me back, “Did you fuck your mom?” I pretended to be angry and ignored her, but in my heart I was too scared to ask that question again.
Aside from the forbidden excitement, the thing that made my mother superior to my wife was her snow-white skin, and I’ve never seen a living, breathing woman whiter than my mom in my life. And then there was the softness of my mother’s body, which could not be matched.
Women are soft, but not compared to my mom. It’s like she has no bones or muscles.
Holding her was comfortable, if not raping.
The beauty of my sisters is by no means inferior to that of Miss Hong Kong, Miss World and so on, but I have no sexual interest in them since I was a child. This is very strange to me. This is probably the result of evolution after natural elimination, is a protective measure.
In fact, in everyday life, we can find that women become ugly after giving birth to a boy and beautiful after giving birth to a girl; while sons usually resemble their mothers (reproduction between different races is easier to see), and women usually resemble their fathers (most people do not have sexual desires for themselves, and the more they resemble themselves, perhaps the less sexual desires they have as well). Are these changes also intended to prevent mother-son, father-daughter incest?
My sisters went their separate ways after school and spent less time with me. When I was a kid, we were at each other’s throats over toys, etc. There was no bonding. I don’t know what will happen in the future, but if something happens then, I will write about it for the readers.
I thought that our intercourse between mother and son would decline with time and end up being nothing like usual couples, but it has not yet turned out to be this bad, I think it is because of the result of not being able to satisfy to the fullest. Especially after I read the first incest article on the internet, I suddenly developed a strong sense of identification. My mother read it too, and we had a new high after that.
In the past year, my mother and I have had sex far more often than my wife, in the kitchen more than in bed, and at the time when I first get off work. Because my wife has to sell groceries, she usually arrives home half an hour later than I do, and my mother and I make use of this opportunity to cheat on her. At this time, my mother would usually be in the kitchen cutting meat, washing rice and so on, and I would go straight to the kitchen as soon as I entered. If not, then she would be in the bathroom washing clothes.
When my mother was sexually aroused, as soon as I reached for her, she would drop what she was doing, turn around and cuddle with me, and then we would kiss and touch each other in the kitchen. My mother preferred to let me touch her and rarely touched me of her own accord. One side of the touching I would reach up under her skirt and remove her panties, pinning her against the kitchen wall and raping her a bit.
Mother usually wore dresses and occasionally a robe, and that meant she had needs. If she had a vacuum underneath the robe, it was very exciting. Even if I wasn’t interested at the time, she would turn me on with oral sex or something. If she wore long pants, it was a no-go, no matter how hard I touched her, she wouldn’t come. Whenever I see my mother in long pants, it bothers me.
But both are rare. Usually I’m the one who touches her, and she’ll be leaking in less than three minutes.
Counting, it’s more when I’m not interested and less when my mother isn’t.
In the end, the bond that held our mother-son sex life together was forbidden pleasure, at least that’s how I felt.
Sometimes I think about it and think about how my mother and I looked at each other differently when we had an unusual relationship, and how my wife could have noticed it if she was sensitive. Why didn’t she notice it for so many years? One reason I can think of is that when she married me, my mother and I already had that kind of thing going on, so her One reason I can think of is that when she married me, my mother and I already had that kind of thing going on, so her eyes and everything else would have changed a long time ago, so she would think it was normal, wouldn’t she?
Of course, I would never dare to ask her.