[My First Woman, My Adulterous Mother] Author: Unknown

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My First Woman, My Lustful Mother

Author: Unknown
Word Count: 5851

When I was little, my mother loved me very much, even spoiling me a bit, and I was very attached to her. Back then, our
mother-son relationship was very close, to the point that my father was "jealous" of me. Although my mother wasn't a great beauty, she
was still a beautiful, virtuous wife and mother.

I often thought that when I grew up, I would find a wife as good as my mother. After junior high school, as I grew older, I gradually
stopped clinging to her side, stopped playing with her, and even stopped talking to her. But my mother still cared for me and looked after me in
every , big or small, which made me increasingly impatient and resentful towards her.

I don't remember when it started, but sometimes I would speak harshly to my mother, even so, she never got angry with me
for it and never held my rudeness against me. Entering puberty, I began to have sexual problems, and I
learned, without being taught, to solve them with my hands.

When I was about to graduate from junior high school, one Sunday was my grandmother's birthday. After finishing self-study in the afternoon, I went to
her house. The front door of her house faced the door of a guest room. From the front door
, I could see the foot of the bed inside. That day, when I entered, I saw a pair of very white and beautiful feet on the bed. Whose
feet could they be? Then I realized—they were my mother's feet!

Oh, what a disappointment! It turned out my mother had been working hard at my grandmother's house and was sleeping on that
bed . In my disappointment, my mind started wandering: "If only it weren't my mother, I could
have looked at them a little longer. How come I never noticed my mother's feet before…?" I didn't dare continue thinking this, but
I felt uneasy, as if I had done something wrong.

That night, after going to bed, I imagined my mother masturbating, and I reached orgasm in extreme excitement. After the orgasm,
I was filled with guilt, feeling like a beast, and I wanted to slap myself. Although my
attitude towards my mother had changed significantly—I still didn't talk to her much—I no longer resented her
concern or spoke harshly to her. My mother quickly noticed the change and was overjoyed, becoming
even more attentive to me. This only made me more uneasy. Two

nights before the high school entrance exam, my mother brought a bowl of sweet soup into my room. I was busy doing my homework and asked her
to put it down. She put down the soup but didn't leave immediately. Instead, she sat down on my bed, watching me lovingly as I worked. My
attention unconsciously shifted to my mother: before, I didn't have much of a concept of mature female beauty
; I had always been attracted to youthful, radiant, and slender girls. My mother was no longer
young ; her beautiful face, though not showing signs of age, had lost its youthful glow, and her figure had become slightly plump. Logically, she
shouldn't have attracted my attention.

I had only ever been attracted to my mother's feet, but that night, I inadvertently discovered
an indescribable beauty emanating from her entire being—a beauty different from my pretty female classmates. Suddenly, I realized this
beauty was even more captivating, more alluring. Suddenly, the terrifying word "incest" flashed into my mind.

I dared not think any further, quickly gulping down the sugar water and handing the bowl to my mother so she could leave. She took
the bowl, looked at me with a hint of reluctance, and then left. After she left, it took me a while to settle down and
continue doing my homework.

For several days, I devoted myself entirely to the high school entrance exam, and I was completely exhausted afterward. However, I was gratified
that I felt I had done quite well. The summer vacation after my final year of junior high was relaxing but boring; I spent all my time
at home , passing the time with novels. Although the sexual descriptions in those novels were only superficial, they already
excited me greatly. My sexual desire grew stronger, and I masturbated more frequently.
My mother, , gradually became the main object of my sexual fantasies. Every smile, gesture, and movement of hers
was captivating to me, and her clothes were always impeccably appropriate. I became uncontrollably and passionately infatuated with
her.

This wasn't due to any bad influence; it was probably because my mother was the only
woman , and she was beautiful. Despite my incestuous thoughts about her,
I dared not act on them in real life. I would secretly take her underwear and shoes when no one was home to
satisfy myself, but the more I did this, the more I craved her. I was tormented by my desire for her
.

The long summer vacation finally ended, and I started high school. However, I could no longer
devote myself , and my grades barely remained above average.

One evening in mid-October of that year, I felt thirsty while studying and went to the living room to get a drink. Entering
the living room , I saw my mother wearing a short-sleeved pajama top, half-reclining on the sofa, watching TV and massaging her feet.
Her long, strong calves and fair, rosy feet made my heart flutter. I quickly poured a glass of water and stood behind her,
pretending to watch TV while greedily stealing glances at her. I thought to myself, how wonderful it would be to be able to play with my mother's feet to my heart's content.
Suddenly an idea struck me: I would pretend to massage my mother's feet and indulge my urge
to do so! After making up my mind, I said to my mother, "Mom, did you go down to inspect work again today?"

"Yes." "

That must be tiring. Let me massage your feet."

My mother happily agreed. So I sat down next to her, placed her feet on my thighs, and
gently began to massage.

At that time, my mother was my goddess. Touching her long-awaited beautiful feet made me increasingly excited
. I really wanted to hug my mother's feet and kiss them to my heart's content. At first, my mother just watched me massage her feet lovingly, but later, perhaps
sensing something, her expression became a little unnatural.

"Okay. It's much better now, no need to rub anymore."

Mom said, pulling her feet away. I had no choice but to give up and reluctantly went back to my room.
After this incident, Mom seemed to realize my incestuous thoughts, so she never offered to rub her feet again.

Days passed, but my desire for Mom didn't diminish at all. I often dreamed of her,
and sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night, when Dad wasn't home, and I really wanted to rush to Mom's room... In
my life, besides Mom, there was nothing else that I cared about. My grades also gradually declined.
In my first semester of high school, I barely passed the midterm exams, but I only ranked in the thirties on the final exams—
my worst performance ever. My father gave me a severe scolding.

While he was scolding me, my mother watched me silently, her eyes filled with the usual loving care, but also worry and
a faint sadness that seemed to know everything. I couldn't help but wonder if my mother knew about my illicit thoughts. And indeed
, it did; no mother is unaware of her son's feelings. During winter break, my mother tried to
talk , but because I felt guilty, I refused to give her the chance, even avoiding being alone with her. Each time, she
left disappointed. I was afraid that one day I would lose control and do something irreparable, and that day finally
came.

That April, I had a recurring high fever for several days and couldn't go to school. My mother also took leave
to take care . That morning, after returning home from the hospital with an injection, I slept until the afternoon. In my dream, I dreamed of
my mother again, and I woke up just as I was hugging her legs. When Mom found me awake, she immediately came into the room, touched
my forehead, and said happily, "The fever's gone! A little more medicine and you should be fine. Oh, and I need to
change your blanket." Saying this, she moved a stool, stood barefoot on it, and reached for
the blanket . Because she wanted to get it easier, her right foot landed on my pillow. At that moment, I was overcome with lust and couldn't resist
grabbing her foot. Mom turned her head to look at me, but didn't say anything and continued getting the blanket. I stroked it
a few times, then lowered my head and started kissing Mom's toes. Only then
did pulled her foot away, jumped off the bed, and muttered, "Nonsense!" before leaving.

I realized I was in big trouble. Just as I was wondering what to do, Mom brought in a bowl of medicine,
her face calm. She sat down beside my bed, fed me my medicine, and then changed my blankets—this time she didn't put her feet on my bed when she took
the blankets —telling me to sleep a little longer before leaving. She acted as if
nothing had happened. I was incredibly excited because I had finally kissed my mother's feet! At the same time,
I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by my impetuousness.

For the next few days, I felt somewhat uncomfortable whenever I was with my mother, but she didn't
mention it again, treating me as before. My mother's attitude surprised me, but it also
emboldened me. I knew the best opportunity was when my mother was sleeping alone.
About , the opportunity arrived.

That noon, my father didn't come home, and my mother was taking a nap alone in her room. I hesitated for a long time,
but mustered the courage to go into my mother's room. When I arrived at her bedside, she was still asleep. She
was sleeping with her face turned inwards, a thin blanket draped around her waist, her legs slightly bent and sticking out from under the blanket. Looking at my mother's smooth, alluring feet, my
breathing became increasingly rapid. I had originally thought that my mother would wake up as soon as I entered the room, and I planned to take advantage of her unpreparedness to forcefully kiss her
feet. But now I changed my mind. I bent down and began to kiss my mother's feet. I kissed
the soles and heels of her feet, and just as I was sucking on her toes, her feet twitched, and she immediately woke up.

When my mother turned over and found it was me, her face didn't show much surprise, just a slightly unhappy look.
At this moment, I also felt a little embarrassed. I stood up, left the room without saying a word, and then took
my schoolbag to school.

In mid-July, my father had to go on a business trip for three days. I was as happy as a child celebrating the New Year. On the day my father left, I was at home
in the morning , absentmindedly reading a novel, anxiously waiting for my mother to come home from work
. I finally made it home at noon. After lunch, after washing the dishes, my mother didn't go for her usual nap, but instead started cleaning
. I could only wait patiently, thinking that she would probably go to sleep after cleaning. But Mom
didn't finish until almost 2 a.m., and then she went to work. I was extremely disappointed and could only console myself by waiting until Mom went to sleep that night
.

That evening, amidst my anxiety, it was finally time for bed. Mom turned off the TV and went into
her room. I almost jumped for joy. But unexpectedly, Mom immediately closed the door and
slammed it shut. I was stunned, feeling like I'd fallen into an ice cave. I didn't sleep well that night,
my heart filled with a mixture of love and hate for Mom, a feeling akin to heartbreak. The next day at noon, I still held onto a sliver of
hope. But Mom went into her room and slammed the door shut again, and I was completely devastated. That night,
I went to bed early, seething with anger and resentment.

Around 10 p.m., Mom turned off the TV and came into my room. I glanced at her, turned away, and ignored
her. Mom stood silently by my bed for a while, seemed to sigh softly, and then left.

Mom sat silently in the living room for a long time, finally returning to her room around 11 o'clock. I heard her
close the door, but I didn't hear that hateful "snap" sound. And
there was no . Could it be that I didn't hear the lock clearly, or that Mom forgot to lock it? My heart started
pounding.

I decided to find out. I got out of bed, put on my basketball shorts, and went out. I stood in front of Mom's door and
tried to turn the lock; it was indeed unlocked. By then, Mom had been asleep for almost half an hour,
so I figured she should be asleep by now. I pushed the door open and went in.

The bedside lamp was dimly lit—Mom always sleeps with a bedside lamp on when she sleeps alone—and in the light,
I could see Mom's face turned inward, wearing only a blouse and underwear. Her long, black hair, her full and graceful
figure , her snow-white and slender legs, and her warm and charming feet made my blood boil; I carefully walked to Mom's
bedside and stopped. Suddenly, I realized that Mom wasn't asleep; she was awake. I stood there for a while,
carefully observing her, and became even more certain that she was awake. "Why isn't Mom responding to me? She's awake!"

I was truly puzzled. Finally, I decided to see what would make Mom stop pretending to be asleep. I lifted the mosquito net,
bent down, and gently held one of Mom's feet with my right hand. As I held her foot, it twitched
slightly, but didn't pull away from my hand. I was secretly delighted, and without thinking, I threw myself at her and
hugged her tightly.

After hugging Mom, I was a little lost, just staring blankly at her face. Mom looked at me gently,
appearing very calm, her eyes full of love. After a moment of awkward silence, Mom reached out and hugged me, warmly...
She gently stroked my back and head, slowly pressing my head down so my forehead touched
hers , rubbing it lightly, and occasionally kissing my cheek. Suddenly, I seemed to understand what to do.
I eagerly kissed my mother's face, nose, earrings, neck, and her sweet, soft lips.

The feeling of kissing was so wonderful; ignoring her struggles, I greedily kissed her again and again. Suddenly,
my mother pushed me away, then sat up and slowly took off her clothes. Seeing this, I immediately got up
and took off my clothes as well. Facing my mother's naked body, I was once again at a loss. My mother
had been somewhat shy when she took off her clothes, but seeing my reaction, she seemed to relax completely. She smiled slightly and
lay down calmly. "Come on up," my mother whispered. I slowly climbed onto my mother.

My mother embraced my head, burying it between her full, soft breasts. I immediately came to my senses,
becoming excited again, constantly kneading and kissing her breasts. My actions aroused my mother, her breathing quickening
and her cheeks flushing. I kissed my way down her breasts, and just as I was about to reach her genitals
, she suddenly clamped her legs together. "No!" she whispered firmly. But how could I
agree? After some effort, I finally pried her legs open. I carefully examined her private parts.
"So, a honey pot is just a dark red slit of flesh." I first smelled the faint fishy scent, then began
to lick it with my tongue. My mother moaned softly as I licked her, her body gently twisting.

Although I didn't know this was a sign of her arousal, I had a feeling it wasn't a bad thing, so I
licked even more vigorously, finally inserting my tongue into her vagina. After kissing her honey pot enough, I continued
kissing her legs and feet. By this time, I was incredibly excited. After I climbed back onto my mother,
she kissed my face, closed her eyes, and groped for my penis, lifting her hips.
She slowly inserted it into her wet vagina.

At that moment, I realized what was happening, and I focused intently on the sensation: the foreskin slowly peeled
back, and my penis slowly entered a warm, lubricated passage. The feeling was so wonderful! After my mother released
her hand, I immediately began to thrust forcefully. Each thrust was harder than the last, and my mother's tender vagina became
increasingly wet. Ah! Fuck with my mother was so pleasurable! I enjoyed it ecstatically, quickly reaching orgasm,
embracing my mother and ejaculating all my semen.

Afterwards, I felt completely drained, collapsing weakly onto my mother. My mother opened her eyes, reached
for some toilet paper on the bedside table, then moved her lower body to remove my penis from her vagina, pushed me
away , sat up, cleaned herself, and went to shower. After lying alone for a while, I got up and put on my clothes.
Just then , Mom came back from showering; she had changed into clean pajamas. We were both a little embarrassed, and I
felt somewhat lost. Mom seemed much calmer. While tidying her things, she softly told me, "Go
wash up and go to bed." I listened and hesitantly left Mom's room.

That night, my mind was a mess. I couldn't believe it—I had Mom! I
felt both the excitement of getting what I wanted and a deep sense of guilt. Lost in thought, I don't know when I finally
fell asleep.

When I woke up the next day, it was almost noon. At lunch, Mom didn't mention the night before at all,
and even chatted with me about trivial things, her face relaxed. Seeing this, I felt a little relieved too
. That evening, Dad came home, and I couldn't help feeling a little guilty in his presence. But Mom remained so calm;
there was nothing unusual on her face. In the days that followed, my mother treated me the same as before, and I
gradually relaxed and stopped worrying about it.

A few days into the new semester, my father didn't come home for lunch, and my sexual desire returned. After lunch, while
my mother was washing the dishes, I hugged her waist from behind. My mother understood my intentions and softly said, "
No , what if your father comes back?" I begged repeatedly, but my mother wouldn't agree, and I finally gave up.

However, I still caressed my mother's feet that noon, which was some consolation.

Two weeks later, my father went on a business trip, and that evening my mother finally agreed to let me have sex again. That time, we did it for
two . From then on, my mother almost always agreed to let me have sex only when my father didn't come home at night.
My mother had her reasons; only when sleeping at night could she lock the door from the inside, so even if my father suddenly
came home , he wouldn't be able to open the door and wouldn't suspect anything.

My mother loved me very much, but that love was only a mother's love for her son. Although my mother never complained
and even experienced orgasm during our sex life, I knew it was all for me; she was only
willing to do it with me because she loved me so much. One shouldn't be selfish. After I went to university, I started dating girls and gradually stopped
asking my mother for sex. Now I have my own family, and my relationship with my mother is still very good.
We've never intended to forget the past—how could we possibly forget it? I love
my mother deeply, and if she wanted, I would still want to have sex with her. Because I have the love a son has for his mother,
and the love a husband has for his wife. My mother is, in effect, my first woman.

[The End]

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