The most romantic incest

In my childhood memories, my father and mother were the perfect couple.

My mother was almost ten years younger than my father. My father was a tall, handsome man with his own career, the kind of person who could support a family.

My mother was young and beautiful, working outside and having her own place in the world. Her colleagues all said she was a very strong woman. In reality, at home, my mother was always gentle and virtuous, and often acted coquettishly in front of my father (I secretly witnessed this).

The most beautiful scene in my memory was when the sun was setting, my father and mother would take me for a walk on the street. The man's broad shoulders, the woman's charming curves, and our lovely child, bathed in golden sunlight, attracted envious glances from passersby.

Until one day, all of this ended. That day, the devastating news came suddenly: my father had a heart attack, collapsed, and never woke up again. Who could have imagined that such a strong person would leave so easily? I was only eight years old that year, not really understanding the meaning of death, only knowing how to cry because I would never see my father again.

Unexpectedly, my mother did not collapse. She appeared very calm in front of relatives and friends, and after the funeral, she went back to work without taking a break.

Time passed quickly, and ten years have passed in the blink of an eye.

I've grown into an eighteen-year-old boy, inheriting my father's broad shoulders and handsome face.

My mother is forty now; perhaps due to her constant work and busy schedule, a few fine wrinkles have crept onto her still beautiful face, but her figure remains slender and graceful, completely lacking the fat and signs of aging typical of her age.

Looking back on these past ten years, my mother and I have truly relied on each other for survival; outsiders can't possibly understand the hardships we've endured.

After my father passed away, he left behind a considerable sum in the bank, enough for our household expenses. But my strong-willed mother still works tirelessly, supporting the family with her frail shoulders. She refused well-meaning friends' advice to remarry, saying that we didn't need anyone's financial help and could support ourselves. She has her own career and can take good care of me; she doesn't want me to suffer any hardship, fearing I wouldn't be able to accept another father. And

indeed, that's exactly right. I simply cannot accept another man in the family. In my heart, this family means my mother, my deceased father, and there is no room for anyone else.

As I grow older, I realize I've been selfish. A family needs both men and women to support it. It's unfair to let my mother bear all the burdens alone, and also take care of me, who wasn't very obedient. Especially as I began to understand the dynamics between men and women, I cherished my mother even more. For ten years, how many lonely nights has she endured alone?

My mother works outside the home; she's very capable, no less so than men, and has rejected many suitors. But I know that late at night, I've seen her sitting alone by the window, gazing out for a long time.

She was lonely; she needed comfort, she needed a broad shoulder to lean on. She endured her loneliness entirely for me, her beloved son.

Every time I think of this, a surge of tenderness wells up inside me. I know I love my mother, not just as a mother, but also as a woman.

Gradually, my desire grew stronger. I wanted to hold my mother in my arms, to offer her strong support with my arms. I wanted to be the man of this family, to make the woman in this family no longer lonely.

From then on, the atmosphere at home underwent a subtle change. I started to proactively share the housework, taking on all the tasks that men are supposed to do.

I wanted my mother to feel my strength, to know that I wasn't just her son, but the only man in the family.

I would accompany her shopping, encouraging her to buy new clothes and trendy cosmetics. I knew what she liked and often advised her to buy what she liked and not to be stingy. I would carry all the bags for her, and my mother, like a little girl, would be overjoyed to have bought something she liked, unconsciously taking my arm.

When crossing the street, I would gently hold my mother's hand and help her avoid oncoming traffic. Later, I went a step further, putting my arm around my mother's slender waist, saying "Be careful, be careful," and secretly glancing at her; her face was slightly red, but she didn't object.

My mother would also indulge me, accompanying me to a movie or a trip to the countryside.

My favorite thing was to joke with my mother, a little teasing but not too much.

In the movie theater, people always looked at us like we were a couple, and I was happy to let them. I couldn't help it; my mother was so beautiful, she looked like a young married woman, while I looked like a handsome husband.

I would tell the waiter, "Please get my girlfriend a glass of juice," and watch my mother's face turn red, her shy expression making her want to deny it—it was so adorable.

After the waiter walked away, my mother would suddenly reach out and pinch me hard, scolding me for joking with her, but her eyes were full of laughter. Though I felt the pain, my heart was filled with sweetness.

I watched the distance between my mother and me shrink little by little, but I knew I couldn't rush it; I had to take it slowly. My mother was a very strong-willed woman; she wouldn't immediately give up everything and completely surrender her vulnerable side to me.

Actually, my mother had already begun to rely on me. She would tell me about her work and listen to my opinions. When she was in a bad mood, she would confide in me and ask me to comfort her.

She increasingly enjoyed playing the role of the woman in the family, not just a mother.

She would often say with a smile, "You're the man of this house; you're in charge!"

I watched my mother change, watched her beautiful curves flow before my eyes, and occasionally glimpses of her breasts, slender waist, or alluring inner thighs. All I could do was desperately hold back, preventing my erection from exploding.

One late summer day, the sky was overcast, cool but heavy with a heavy heart.

It was the anniversary of my father's death. Every year on this day, I would stay by my mother's side, a way of comforting each other. That

evening, I went into my mother's room and found her gazing at the night sky again.

I went over and sat beside her, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Mom, are you thinking about Dad?"

My mother didn't answer, turning her head, and I saw tears in her eyes.

My heart ached. I hugged her tightly, and she didn't resist, but pressed her head even closer to my chest.

"Mom, please don't be sad. You still have me. I will always be with you."

"Silly son, if it weren't for you, how could I have survived all these years?"

I looked down at the woman in my arms. That was a face I knew all too well, so beautiful—curved eyebrows, large eyes, a delicate nose, and red lips that made my blood boil. The fine wrinkles etched by time added to her mature beauty, making her even more alluring, and now, with tears in her eyes, she was even more captivating.

I hugged her, my body warming, but she didn't notice, thinking I was just comforting her, and didn't push me away.

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with tenderness.

Gazing into those eyes, I felt a surge of emotion.

"Mom, you've worked so hard all these years, supporting this family alone. I know how much you've suffered and how much loneliness you've endured for me. Mom, I want you to know that I truly love you, and I will always be with you."

I spoke with deep emotion, looking at her tenderly, and she was moved too, tears welling in her eyes again.

"Mom loves you too, son. Everything I've done is for you. As long as you're happy, I don't care how much hardship I suffer. Because I am your mother."

“No, Mom. I love you not only because you are my mother, but also because you are the most beautiful woman.”

The body in my arms trembled, and Mom opened her eyes wide to look at me.

“What are you saying!”

“Mom, look at me carefully. Don’t I look a lot like Dad? I know you’ve looked at me before, and you thought I didn’t notice, but your eyes told me your feelings. Don’t you want me to comfort you like Dad did?”

Mom’s face flushed, and she tried to break free from my embrace, but I held her tightly.

“Look into my eyes, Mom! Don’t lie to me, and don’t lie to yourself. You need me. You are so beautiful, and only Dad and I are worthy of you. Mom, I love you, and I know you love me too. Didn’t you say that I am the man of this house, and you are the woman of this house? We shouldn’t just be mother and son.”

I paused, and then whispered in Mom’s ear, “We should also be lovers.”

“But…”

I didn’t let Mom finish, but instead silenced her with my lips.

I kissed her forcefully, sucking on her lips with my own, using my tongue to pry open her clenched teeth, and holding her tightly in my arms.

Slowly, Mom's body warmed up, softening in my arms, her breathing becoming more rapid.

Finally, Mom opened her mouth, letting me kiss her deeply. Time seemed to stand still; this long kiss melted away our embrace.

Our lips finally parted, both of us panting, Mom's face flushed like a girl's first kiss.

We gazed at each other for a long time, then Mom murmured, "You really look like your father."

I couldn't resist kissing her again, but Mom chuckled and pulled away, whispering in my ear like a breath, "Silly boy, you don't need to hold me so tightly, do you think I'd run away?"

This gentle reproach thundered in my ears, because I knew that from this moment on, Mom was mine!

We kissed deeply again, our tongues entwined, and my hands began to roam over Mom's body. My left hand gently caressed Mom's back, following the curve of her spine to her waist, then slowly moving down to her hips. My right hand slid from her armpit to her chest, stopping when it felt a rise, gently circling the edge of her breasts.

Mom finally couldn't help but laugh, pressing her body even closer to mine, her arms encircling my neck.

She gently bit my ear, saying, "You naughty boy, you're quite experienced! How did you learn that? Confess!"

My heart pounded, and I hurriedly protested, "No! I've really never touched a girl before, I only read about it in books. I really haven't… um…"

My mouth was silenced by Mom's lips again; she showed her belief through her actions.

I tentatively tried to unbutton Mom's clothes. Mom didn't object, but instead tossed her hair back, seemingly to make it easier for me.

I noticed that Mom's hairstyle was that of a typical working woman, which further fueled my desire.

I finally unbuttoned Mom's blouse, revealing a white bra, and I almost stopped breathing. A pair of full breasts stood proudly before me, though bound by the bra.

I buried my head between her breasts, breathing in the scent of a mature woman, my hands kneading her bare waist. I clumsily tried to unhook the bra, but couldn't get the hang of it. Mom didn't help me; instead, she giggled like a little girl.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I decided to teach my mother a lesson.

I pinned her against the wall, yanked hard, snapping the not-so-thick strap of her bra, then bit down on it and tossed it aside. Now, the most alluring breasts in the world were before me.

A forty-year-old woman's breasts, full and round, unlike the thinness of a young girl's. And my mother's breasts, unlike those of other women her age, didn't sag; they were my favorite hemispherical shape, protruding forward.

I grasped one nipple in each hand, gently kneading them, and looked up at her with a defiant gaze.

Her eyes were hazy, as if veiled by mist, and she let out a low, trembling moan, her hands lightly stroking my hair. Then I took one breast into my mouth, sucking, gently biting the nipple with my teeth; the familiar sensation from childhood intoxicated me.

I kissed her breasts, then moved downwards, kissing her lovely navel, and further down, gradually reaching the forbidden zone.

My hands began to unbutton her skirt from the side, button after button. My mother panicked and grabbed my hands. I looked at her with resolute eyes, awaiting her answer. My mother was breathing heavily, her breasts heaving, making my erection feel like it was about to burst through my pants.

She pulled me up, gently cupping my face in her hands: "Son, I'm old, and do you know what we're doing? Society doesn't allow it. Are you really willing to take this risk?"

"Mom, I don't care. I only know I truly love you. You're not old at all; you're the most beautiful woman in my heart. Your maturity is exactly what I want. I know it's incest, but this family only has you and me, a man and a woman, and it's all meant to happen."

Taking off my shirt, I hugged my mother again and kissed her.

Our lips met, my mother's exposed breasts pressed against my chest, and my erection pressed against her lower body. We had never been so close.

When I felt her nipples harden and press against me, I didn't give her a chance to object and unbuttoned her skirt.

The short skirt she wore to work slid down her long legs, landing beside her black high heels, and I saw her white panties. That was my favorite color. My mother's fair skin and elegant demeanor suited pure white perfectly, giving her a dignified yet arousing arousal.

My face pressed against my mother's smooth thighs, her skin glowing, her muscles supple. I couldn't resist kissing and licking them, while my hands caressed her rounded calves, which looked even more alluring in high heels.

My mother crossed her arms over her chest, enjoying my caresses. My hands slipped inside her panties from behind, kneading her full buttocks, my thumbs sliding forward towards the inside of her thighs.

My mother began to tremble. She grabbed my hands as if to stop me, then released them, seemingly as if shyly covering her face.

I picked my mother up, carried her to the bed, and placed her on it, standing between her legs. I pulled down my pants, finally releasing my long-suppressed erection. Slowly, I pulled down her white panties, revealing her dark pubic hair and trembling pink vulva, already glistening with fluid. My

mother's eyes were tightly closed, her hair disheveled, and she bit her lip, panting. I couldn't hold back any longer. I straightened my penis and thrust it into my mother's vagina. My mother seemed to be in a little pain, and she hugged me tightly, letting out a soft moan. But at that moment, I felt like I was in heaven. My mother had probably not done this in a long time; her vagina was very tight, the walls completely enveloping my penis. That warm, fulfilling feeling was incomparable to masturbation.

I didn't care about gentleness; I started thrusting quickly, making my mother moan uncontrollably beneath me. When my mouth was on my mother's full breasts, when my hands were squeezing my mother's plump buttocks, when I heard my usually dignified and capable mother moaning beneath me, I knew I couldn't hold on much longer.

My frequency increased, and my mother's breasts trembled with each impact. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but she still moaned.

I hugged my mother tightly, and a stream of heat shot into the depths of my mother's vagina, the place where I was conceived. I suddenly wondered, could there be a new life this time?

I lay on top of my mother, my head resting on her breasts, panting, my penis slowly softening inside her vagina.

"Mom, are you alright?"

Mom opened her eyes, looking at me with a resolute gaze, as if she had regained her usual composure.

"Son, now that we've made love, Mom loves you. From now on, Mom is your woman, and you will be Mom's only man."

"Mom..."

I couldn't help but hug Mom again, giving her a sweet kiss. I held Mom with one arm, while the other lovingly caressed her flat stomach. Mom leaned obediently on my shoulder, her soft breath tickling my neck.

"Mom, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"I was too impulsive just now, I wasn't considerate enough, I know you weren't satisfied. But..."

"But what?"

I rolled over, answering Mom with my newly erect penis.

This time I slowed down, thrusting in and out while caressing Mom's entire body. Perhaps because I had just ejaculated, this time it lasted longer.

I kept changing the frequency, making Mom's moans grow louder and louder. She hugged me tightly, murmuring my name in my ear.

In the final moments, I resolutely thrust deeper and deeper, until my mother's fingers dug hard into my back, until her vagina contracted in waves, until she leaned weakly into my arms. Her eyes were blurred, still immersed in immense pleasure.

I looked at the beautiful woman in my arms, her office worker hairstyle now disheveled, her dignified expression replaced by joy, her curves, usually subtly revealed beneath her suit, now completely naked.

This was my mother, that strong, capable, and still alluring woman, now nestled obediently in my arms, letting me kiss and caress every part of her body, every private part.

I must be in heaven right now!

In my childhood memories, my father and mother were the perfect couple.

My mother was almost ten years younger than my father, a tall, handsome man with his own career, the kind of man who could support a family.

My mother was young and beautiful, working outside and having her own place in the world; her colleagues all said she was a very strong woman. In reality, at home, my mother was always gentle and virtuous, and often acted coquettishly in front of my father (I secretly observed this).

The most beautiful scene in my memory is of my parents taking me for a walk at sunset. The man's broad shoulders, the woman's alluring curves, and our adorable child, bathed in golden sunlight, attracted envious glances from passersby.

Until one day, it all ended. That day, devastating news arrived: my father suffered a heart attack, collapsed, and never woke up again. Who could have imagined that such a strong man would leave so easily? I was only eight years old that year, not fully understanding the meaning of death, only knowing how to cry, because I would never see my father again.

Surprisingly, my mother didn't collapse. She remained calm in front of relatives and friends, and after the funeral, she went back to work without taking a break.

Time passed quickly, and ten years went by in the blink of an eye.

I've grown into an eighteen-year-old boy, inheriting my father's broad shoulders and handsome face.

My mother is now forty. Perhaps due to her constant work and busy schedule, although a few fine wrinkles have crept onto her still beautiful face, her figure remains slender and graceful, completely lacking the fat and signs of aging typical of her age.

Looking back on these past ten years, my mother and I have truly relied on each other for survival; outsiders can't possibly understand the hardships we've endured.

After my father passed away, he left behind a considerable sum in the bank, enough for our household expenses. But my strong-willed mother continued to work tirelessly, supporting the family with her frail shoulders. She refused well-meaning friends' advice to remarry, saying that we didn't need anyone's financial help and could support ourselves. She had her own career and could take good care of me; she didn't want me to suffer any hardship, fearing I wouldn't be able to accept another father. And

indeed, that's exactly what happened. I simply couldn't accept another man in the family. In my heart, this family meant my mother, me, and my deceased father—there was no room for anyone else.

As I grew older, I realized how selfish I had been. A family needs both men and women to support it. It was so unfair to let my mother bear all the burdens alone, and also to care for me, who wasn't very obedient. Especially as I began to understand the dynamics between men and women, I cherished my mother even more. How many lonely nights had she spent alone over the past ten years?

My mother works hard outside the home; she's very capable, no less so than men, and has rejected many suitors. But I know that late at night, I've seen her sitting alone by the window, gazing out for a long time.

She's lonely; she needs comfort, she needs a broad shoulder to lean on. She endures her loneliness entirely for me, her beloved son.

Every time I think of this, a surge of tenderness wells up inside me. I know I love my mother, not just as a mother, but also as a woman.

Gradually, my desire grew stronger. I wanted to hold my mother in my arms, to offer her strong support with my arms. I wanted to be the man of this family, to make the woman in this family no longer lonely.

From then on, the atmosphere at home subtly changed. I began to proactively share the housework, taking on all the tasks that a man should do.

I wanted my mother to feel my strength, my presence—not just as her son, but as the only man in the family.

I would accompany my mother shopping, encouraging her to buy new clothes and trendy cosmetics. I knew what she liked and often advised her to buy what she liked and not to be stingy. I would carry all the bags for her, and my mother, like a little girl, would be overjoyed to have bought something she liked, unconsciously taking my arm.

When crossing the street, I would gently hold my mother's hand and pull her to avoid oncoming traffic. Later, I went a step further, putting my arm around my mother's slender waist, saying "Be careful, be careful," and secretly glancing at her; her face was a little red, but she didn't object.

My mother would also indulge me, accompanying me to a movie or a trip to the countryside.

What I enjoyed most was teasing my mother, a little flirtatious but not too much.

In the movie theater, people always looked at us like we were a couple, and I enjoyed it too. I couldn't help it; my mother was so beautiful, she looked like a young married woman, while I looked like a handsome husband.

I would say to the waiter, "Please get my girlfriend a glass of juice," and then watch my mother's face turn red, her shy expression making her too embarrassed to deny it—it was so adorable.

After the waiter walked away, Mom suddenly reached out and pinched me hard, scolding me for daring to joke about her. But her eyes were full of laughter, and although I felt pain, my heart was filled with sweetness.

I watched the distance between Mom and me shrink little by little, but I knew I couldn't rush it; I had to take it slowly. Mom was a very strong-willed woman; she wouldn't suddenly give up everything and completely surrender her vulnerable side to me.

Actually, Mom had already begun to rely on me. She would tell me about her work and listen to my opinions. When she was in a bad mood, she would confide in me and ask me to comfort her.

She increasingly enjoyed playing the role of the woman in the family, not just a mother.

She would often say with a smile, "You're the man of this house; you're in charge!"

Watching Mom change, watching her beautiful curves flow before my eyes, and occasionally glimpses of her breasts, slender waist, or alluring inner thighs, all I could do was desperately hold back, preventing my erection from exploding.

One late summer day, the sky was overcast; although it was cool, my heart felt heavy.

Because this day is the anniversary of my father's death. Every year on this day, I stay by my mother's side, a way of comforting each other.

That evening, I went into my mother's room and found her gazing at the night sky outside the window again.

I went over and sat beside her, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Mom, are you thinking about Dad?"

My mother didn't answer, turning her head, and I saw tears in her eyes.

My heart ached, and I hugged her tightly. She didn't resist, but pressed her head even closer to my chest.

"Mom, please don't be sad, you still have me, I will always be with you."

"Silly son, if it weren't for you, how could I have survived all these years?"

I lowered my head, looking at the woman in my arms. It was a face I knew all too well, so beautiful, with arched eyebrows, big eyes, a delicate nose, and red lips that made my blood boil. The fine wrinkles left by time added to her mature beauty, making her even more alluring, and with tears in her eyes, she was even more pitiful.

I hugged my mother, my body warming up, but she didn't notice, thinking I was just comforting her, and didn't push me away.

My mother looked up at me, her eyes filled with tenderness.

Gazing into those eyes, I felt a surge of emotion.

"Mom, you've worked so hard all these years, supporting this family alone. I know how much you've suffered and how much loneliness you've endured for me. Mom, I want you to know that I truly love you, and I will always be with you."

I spoke emotionally, looking deeply at my mother, and she was also moved, tears welling in her eyes.

"Mom loves you too, son. Everything Mom has done is for you. As long as you're happy, I don't care how much hardship I suffer. Because I am your mother."

"No, Mom. I love you not only because you are my mother, but also because you are the most beautiful woman."

My mother's body trembled, and she looked at me with wide eyes.

"What are you saying!"

"Mom, look at me closely. Don't I look just like Dad? I know you've looked at me before, and you thought I didn't notice, but your eyes told me your feelings. Don't you want me to comfort you like Dad did?"

Mom's face flushed red. She tried to break free from my embrace, but I held her tightly.

"Look into my eyes, Mom! Don't lie to me, and don't lie to yourself. You need me. You're so beautiful. Only Dad and I are worthy of you. Mom, I love you, and I know you love me too. Didn't you say I'm the man of this house, and you're the woman? We shouldn't just be mother and son."

I paused, then whispered in Mom's ear, "We should also be lovers."

"But..."

I didn't let Mom finish, but instead silenced her with my lips.

I kissed her forcefully, sucking on her lips, using my tongue to pry open her clenched teeth, my arms tightly around her.

Slowly, Mom's body warmed up, softening in my arms, her breathing becoming more and more rapid.

Finally, Mom opened her mouth, letting me kiss her deeply. Time seemed to stand still; this long kiss melted away our embrace.

Our lips finally parted, and we breathed heavily. Mom's face was as red as a girl's first kiss.

We gazed at each other for a long time, and then Mom murmured, "You really look like your father."

I couldn't help but kiss her again. Mom chuckled and pulled away, whispering in my ear like a breath, "Silly boy, you don't need to hold me so tightly. Do you think I'd run away?"

This gentle reproach thundered in my ears, because I knew that from this moment on, Mom was mine!

We kissed deeply again, and as our tongues intertwined, my hands began to roam over Mom's body. My left hand gently caressed her back, following the curve of her spine to her waist, then slowly moving down to her hips. My right hand slid from her armpit to her chest, stopping when I felt a bulge, gently circling the edge of her breasts.

Mom finally couldn't help but laugh, pressing her body even closer to me, her arms encircling my neck.

My mother gently bit my ear and said, "You naughty boy, you're quite experienced! How did you learn that? Confess now!"

My heart fluttered, and I hurriedly protested, "No! I've really never touched a girl before. I only read about it in books. I really haven't..."

My mouth was silenced by my mother's lips again; she showed her belief through her actions.

I tentatively tried to unbutton my mother's clothes. She didn't object, but instead tossed her hair back, seemingly to make it easier for me.

I noticed that my mother's hairstyle was that of a typical working woman, which further aroused my desire.

I finally unbuttoned my mother's blouse, revealing a white bra, and I almost stopped breathing. A pair of full breasts stood proudly before me, though bound by the bra.

I buried my head between her breasts, breathing in the scent of a mature woman, my hands kneading her bare waist. I clumsily tried to unhook the bra, but couldn't get the hang of it. My mother didn't help me; instead, she giggled like a little girl.

I felt a little embarrassed and decided to teach my mother a lesson.

I pinned my mother against the wall, yanked hard with my hands, snapping the not-so-thick strap of her bra, then bit down on it and tossed it aside. Now, the most alluring breasts in the world were before me.

A forty-year-old woman's breasts, full and round, unlike the thinness of a young girl's. And my mother's breasts, unlike those of other women her age, didn't sag; they were my favorite hemispherical shape, protruding forward.

I grasped one nipple in each hand, gently kneading them, and looked up at my mother with a provocative gaze.

My mother's eyes were hazy, as if veiled by mist, and she let out a low, trembling moan, her hands lightly stroking my hair. Then I took one breast into my mouth, sucking, gently biting the nipple with my teeth; the familiar feeling from childhood intoxicated me.

I kissed my mother's chest, then down, kissing her lovely navel, and further down, gradually reaching the forbidden zone of life.

My hands began to unbutton my mother's skirt from the side, button after button. My mother panicked and grabbed my hands. I looked at her with resolute eyes, awaiting her answer. My mother was breathing heavily, her breasts heaving, making my erection feel like it was about to burst through my pants.

She pulled me up, gently cupping my face in her hands: "Son, I'm old, and do you know what we're doing? Society doesn't allow it. Are you really willing to take this risk?"

"Mom, I don't care. I only know I truly love you. You're not old at all; you're the most beautiful woman in my heart. Your maturity is exactly what I want. I know it's incest, but this family only has you and me, a man and a woman, and it's all meant to happen."

Taking off my shirt, I hugged my mother again and kissed her.

Our lips met, my mother's exposed breasts pressed against my chest, and my erection pressed against her lower body. We had never been so close.

When I felt her nipples harden and press against me, I didn't give her a chance to object and unbuttoned her skirt.

The short skirt she wore to work slid down her long legs, landing beside her black high heels, and I saw her white panties. That's my favorite color. My mother's fair skin and elegant temperament are very suitable for the color pure white, which makes people feel solemn while arousing desire.

My face was pressed against my mother's smooth thighs, her skin glistening, her muscles supple. I couldn't resist kissing and licking them, while my hands caressed her rounded calves, which looked even more alluring in high heels.

My mother crossed her arms over her chest, enjoying my caresses. My hands slipped inside her panties from behind, kneading her full buttocks, my thumbs sliding forward towards the inside of her thighs.

My mother began to tremble; she grabbed my hands as if to stop me, then released them, seemingly as if shyly covering her face.

I picked my mother up, carried her to the bed, and placed her on it, standing between her legs. I pulled down my pants, finally releasing my long-suppressed erection. Slowly, I pulled down her white panties, revealing her dark pubic hair and trembling pink vulva, already glistening with fluid.

My mother's eyes were tightly closed, her hair disheveled, and she bit her lip, panting. I couldn't hold back any longer; I thrust my erection into her vulva. My mother seemed to feel a little pain, grabbing me tightly and letting out a soft moan. At that moment, I felt like I was in heaven. My mother had probablyn't done it in a long time; her vagina was tight, the walls completely enveloping my penis. That warm, fulfilling feeling was incomparable to masturbation.

I didn't care about gentleness; I started thrusting rapidly, making my mother moan uncontrollably. When my mouth was on her full breasts, when my hands squeezed her plump buttocks, when I heard my usually dignified and capable mother moaning beneath me, I knew I couldn't hold on much longer.

My pace quickened, and my mother's breasts trembled with each thrust. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but moans still escaped her lips.

I hugged my mother tightly, a surge of heat shooting deep into her vagina, the place where I was conceived. I suddenly wondered, could there be another new life this time?

I lay on top of my mother, my head resting on her breasts, panting, my penis slowly softening inside her.

"Mom, are you alright?" My

mother opened her eyes, looking at me with a resolute gaze, as if she had regained her usual composure.

“Son, now that we’ve made love, Mom loves you. From now on, Mom is your woman, and you will be Mom’s only man.”

“Mom…”

I couldn’t help but hug Mom again, giving her a sweet kiss. I held Mom with one arm, and lovingly caressed her flat stomach with the other. Mom leaned obediently on my shoulder, her soft breath tickling my neck.

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I was too impulsive just now, and I wasn’t considerate of you. I know you weren’t satisfied. But…”

“But what?”

I rolled over, answering Mom with my newly erect penis.

This time I slowed down, thrusting in and out while caressing Mom’s entire body. Perhaps because I had just ejaculated, this time it lasted longer.

I kept changing the frequency, making Mom’s moans grow louder and louder. She hugged me tightly, murmuring my name in my ear.

In the final moment, I resolutely thrust deeper and deeper, until Mom’s fingers dug hard into my back, until Mom’s vagina contracted in waves, until Mom leaned weakly into my arms. My mother's eyes were already blurred, still immersed in immense joy.

I gazed at the beautiful woman in my arms; her office-appropriate hair was disheveled, her dignified expression replaced by happiness, and the curves usually subtly revealed beneath her suit were now completely exposed.

This was my mother, that strong, capable, and still alluring woman, now nestled obediently in my arms, letting me kiss and caress every part of her body, every private area.

I must be in heaven right now!

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