Mom held my penis

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My mother held my penis.
After that time my penis pressed against her tender buttocks while the washing machine was running, I went back to my dorm and lay on my bed. I had no idea whether that counted as my mother's tacit approval or permission. So I decided to go home on Saturday, since my mother had Saturday off and I would be home alone. But I couldn't suppress my lust, so on Friday night I skipped my afternoon class on my motorcycle and rushed home.
My mother was only slightly surprised that I was home so early this week. Actually, the atmosphere at home wasn't as warm as it should be between a parent and child; it was more like a polite, reciprocal exchange.
I was looking forward to my mother's washing machine time on Friday night, but when I waited for her to go to the back hallway, I tiptoed in with her. My mother coldly said, "Weren't you satisfied last time? Have you forgotten what I told you before?" I was so scared that my penis went limp. After a moment of stunned silence, I had no choice but to obediently go back to bed.
I got up to pee in the middle of the night, around 12 o'clock, and saw my mother folding the clothes she had taken down in the living room. I went to my mother's side and apologized to her. My mother didn't say anything, but her tone softened a bit. After all, she was a traditional woman, and they wouldn't even dare to think about incestuous sex.
She told me to control my sexual desires and not to do anything reckless. I just said casually, "It's because you're so alluring, I couldn't help myself." My mother glanced at me sideways, sighed, and said, "You don't like young girls outside, but you're attracted to your own mother. That's an Oedipus complex."
I had no rebuttal, since I admit I was a bit perverted. My mother said she had once seen me masturbating in my room. She was going to get me some fruit, but when she saw me masturbating in front of the screen, she saw me watching videos on the computer. She said she knew then that mature women were very attractive to me.
I asked my mother if she got excited when she saw me holding my penis. She didn't say anything and immediately went into my father's room to go to sleep. But I deliberately reached out and touched my mother's waist, then pinched her right buttock. My mother flinched and said, "You're going to die! You even dare to touch me now!" I lowered my head and remained silent. Seeing me like this, my mother only advised me to go to bed early and not to hurt myself at night. Then she added that my father would be going to work tomorrow.
I immediately went back to my room, thinking about how to spend a tender day with my mother the next day. However, my mother's attitude was sometimes firm and sometimes soft, leaving me completely unsure whether it was possible or not.
My father left at 5:30 in the morning. I sneaked into my mother's room. My mother was on the bed wearing a light purple onesie nightgown. Her snow-white thighs were draped over her slender calves, exposed outside the small quilt. I looked at my mother sleeping on her side and thought of incestuous stories where they would take advantage of their mothers sleeping on their side to start touching and messing around, and finally have sex. It was impossible in reality.
I saw my mother sit up on the bed and ask what I wanted to do. I said that I had been hard all night and the swelling hadn't gone down. Now I woke up even harder and didn't know what to do. My mother looked at my underwear, which was bulging out, forming a tent. Right, I always wear underwear to bed.
My mother said we were mother and son, and that a relationship was impossible. She also said she wouldn't help me masturbate because if I did, everything else would follow. I secretly stared at my mother's red panties. When she noticed me looking at her private parts, she quickly closed her legs and covered herself with the blanket.
When I saw those red panties, I remembered how I used to sneak into my mother's closet when no one was home, secretly take her underwear, and use it to masturbate. I didn't dare ejaculate on her panties because it was too obvious. I also used a light blue lace bra as a nipple play, holding my penis between my fingers while fantasizing and masturbating. After doing this once or twice, I felt empty and stupid, so I gave up on this pointless thing.
Looking at my mother's resolute expression on the bed, her pink lips, I really wanted to put my penis in her mouth and make her swallow and spit it out. But I chose to leave the room. I held back all night, and the next morning I still couldn't do anything. I got a little angry and went out to play ball to release my energy. The image of my mother crawling on all fours with her buttocks raised high has remained etched in my memory.
Back then, when my mother cleaned the floor, she wore only athletic shorts. Some areas weren't clean enough even after mopping, so she simply grabbed a bucket of water and, like in an adult film, knelt on the ground, her round, fleshy buttocks protruding with the stretching of her shorts. As she diligently scrubbed the floor, her entire body swayed with the motion.
I secretly watched from the shadows, even unconsciously touching my penis. Her buttocks swayed at a 45-degree angle upwards, making me itch with desire, constantly fantasizing about moving my penis in sync with her movements. Unfortunately, after scrubbing for nearly fifteen minutes, she got up to leave. At that moment, I deliberately approached her and asked if she needed help. She shook her head and said, "No, thank you."
I peeked at my mother; she was covered in sweat from scrubbing the floor, and her white top was soaked through, revealing glimpses of her cleavage. Unfortunately, she had no idea of my wicked thoughts. She just patted her bottom, said she was tired, and went to take a shower. However, I've never spied on my mother showering, firstly because I never had the chance, and secondly because I don't have the habit of doing so.
When I was little, I was often sick and prone to vomiting and diarrhea, with a stomachache. My mother would rub my stomach with her hands, making me feel very comfortable. But that was when I was a child; now that I'm older, I realize how enjoyable that was.
In winter, I'm prone to nasal allergies, constantly having a stuffy, runny nose, headaches, and dizziness. Once, I came home and woke up feeling terrible the next day. After vomiting everything up after dinner, I mustered my willpower to go to the hospital, took my medicine, and went straight to sleep.
After seeing me take my medicine, my mother came over, exchanged a few pleasantries, and then went about her business. I slept fitfully until 11 o'clock, but my head was throbbing unbearably. It was that feeling of being extremely tired, weary, and sleepy, wanting to sleep but with a terrible headache, like a drill bit drilling into my right temple. I tossed and turned in bed, cursing as much as I could, before getting up to induce vomiting again.
After vomiting, I noticed my mother had gotten up. She must have heard me vomiting to ask if I was feeling any better. I said I had a headache. My mother asked if I wanted to get gua sha (scraping therapy), and I said yes. After the gua sha, I felt a bit hot, and the nurse's cool touch on my shoulders and neck helped clear my head. I noticed my mother was wearing tight jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt that revealed a bit of her cleavage. Apparently, she had gone out to a wedding with the factory workers that evening and had just returned home.
I thought to myself, maybe this attempt at playing the victim would work, though I wasn't quite sure what it would work out of. My mother saw I was almost done and was about to leave my room to shower and go to bed when I quickly called out, "Mom!" She turned to look at me and noticed she was still wearing light makeup. I hurriedly asked her to massage my temples.
My mother came over, and I shifted my position. She sat on the edge of the bed and skillfully began massaging both sides of my stomach. Her technique was quite good. After about five to ten minutes, while I was still enjoying the faint scent of her perfume, she wanted to leave.
I stared at her C-cup breasts, looking down at her slightly perky breasts. As she massaged her body, her large breasts swayed slightly, making my penis hard again, and one side of it twitched. I then told her that my stomach was a little uncomfortable.
My mother looked a little anxious, her flustered expression suggesting that I had an upset stomach. I said I wanted her to rub my stomach like she used to when I was a child, and I made up an excuse that the warmth of her palms would make my stomach feel better. My mother frowned, a slightly blushing expression on her face, and said, "That's not a good idea, you're not a child anymore."
I pretended to be very uncomfortable, and my mother finally gave in. She ran her left hand along my firm chest muscles all the way to my six-pack abs. My mother was a little taken aback and said, "You have a great body." I said with a bit of pride, "I went to the gym in college. Do you like it, Mother?" My mother smiled shyly and didn't answer. She placed her left hand on my lower abdomen and began to stroke my belly, massaging it clockwise. Sometimes, if her fingernail accidentally scratched my hair, she would stop for a moment.
At that moment, my mother's eyes suddenly met mine. The room light was on, and her face was flushed. I asked her why she was blushing, and she said it was because she had drunk some alcohol. The room was a bit hot now. Fifteen minutes later, she said she was going to take a shower, and her expression returned to its original coldness. As her left hand was about to leave my stomach, I grabbed her left hand with my own. Seeing this, she probably knew what I was going to do.
I said to her, "Just this once, please, I feel so uncomfortable, I want to relax." Her attitude seemed to soften a little. I deliberately lowered her left hand, and her gentle fingers and palm rested on my underwear. She tried to pull her hand away.
I deliberately pressed my hand on my penis and thrust it into the center of her palm a couple of times. Her face was already red, and now she was silently watching me hold her hand. Just like the last time I pressed my penis against her buttocks, that expression was one of tacit consent amidst struggle.
Without a word, I clamped my legs around my mother's hand, pressing my penis against it. I asked her if it was okay, but she didn't answer. I asked if I could do it myself or if she should help me. Then she spoke, saying I didn't know what I was thinking, that a sick person could do such things. She said she was going to turn off the light and told me to turn on the nightlight, then went to get some toilet paper and brought it to the bedside.
I felt incredibly good. From the past until now, I had longed for my mother to help me masturbate. I even sat up, wrapped my arms around her waist, and uttered very mushy words, calling her "Mommy" instead of "Mom." My mother said I wasn't allowed to touch her with my hands. I asked if I could look, but she said there weren't so many reasons. I lay down and pulled down my underwear. My mother said that if it weren't for her illness, she would never have helped me with this. I nodded and said thank you, Mommy.
My mother first stroked my chest and abs with both hands, deliberately scraping lightly between my thighs. Her palms casually touched my glans, which instantly ignited my lust to its peak—completely different from typical incest novels.
She didn't just grab my penis and shout things like, "What a big penis! Mommy loves your big penis!" or other lewd remarks. This silent teasing from my mother was exactly what I wanted. Finally, I couldn't resist and kept pleading with my mother with my eyes, begging her to hold my penis. Only then did my mother reluctantly begin.
I knew I couldn't rush things; I had to let things unfold naturally. My mother first grasped the lower edge of my glans with her left hand, pushing up my foreskin, and then rhythmically stroking it up and down. This surprised me greatly; my mother was so skilled. As she stroked my penis, she looked at my body, lost in thought.
As a mother, I imagine my mother must have struggled internally to agree to her son's request in the middle of the night, helping him release his pent-up desires. But given her personality, she wouldn't go back on her word.
As I watched her left hand manipulate my penis, her thumb and forefinger sometimes circling around the head, moving up and down, left and right, with a rhythm that fluctuated in speed. I almost lost control; I'd been holding back my semen since leaving my mother's room last Saturday morning.
During this, I asked if she could moan softly, saying it might help me ejaculate faster. She hesitated for a moment, then ignored my request. After fifteen minutes, she wondered why I hadn't ejaculated yet. I gave her a helpless look and said, "Now you know how hard your son is, don't you?"
After I said that, she slapped my penis, seemingly annoyed that I hadn't ejaculated. She stepped to my right, her right hand gripping my penis.
It had become slightly soft. I complained that my mother wasn't providing enough stimulation. She replied, "You thrust into me like that last time, wasn't that enough?" I chuckled and said it was because my mother's buttocks were truly beautiful, so I couldn't help it.
After my mother switched to her right hand, I realized that her right hand was her trump card. The strength of her grip was even more pleasurable than masturbating myself. My mother lowered her body, her breasts pressed against my right chest, her face directly facing mine, while her fleshy buttocks were unfortunately hidden from view.
My mother's expression was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Her eyes, adorned with light makeup, held a hazy yet provocative look, as if she were saying, "I'm going to make you ecstatic." Her lips were painted with pink lip gloss, a far cry from the bold red lipsticks worn by other women.

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Mom held my penis

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