Mom's warm and lubricated private parts

When I was little, like most children, I was very attached to my mother, and she loved me very much, even spoiling me. Our relationship was so close that my father was "jealous." Although my mother wasn't a great beauty, she was still quite attractive, a beautiful and virtuous wife and mother. I vowed to find a wife like her when I grew up. After junior high, for some reason, I gradually distanced myself from my mother. I stopped snuggling up to her, stopped playing with her, and even stopped talking to her. Yet, my mother continued to care for me and look after me in every way, big or small. This made me increasingly impatient and resentful. I don't remember when it started, but I began to speak harshly to my mother, sometimes even cursing at her. Even so, she never got angry with me or held my rudeness against me. Entering adolescence, I began... Having sexual problems, I inexplicably learned to solve them with my hands, though I was relatively restrained, only doing it about three or four times a month. I have a peculiar habit: I like women's feet. I don't know when I started liking them; it seems like I was born with it. Often, when masturbating, I can reach orgasm just by imagining playing with women's feet. Near the end of junior high, one Sunday was my grandmother's birthday. After finishing self-study in the afternoon, I went to my grandmother's house. The front door of my grandmother's house faced the door of a guest room. From the front door, I could see the foot of the bed in the guest room. That day, when I entered, I saw a pair of very white and beautiful feet on the bed—due to the limited view, I could only see the bare calves and feet—I couldn't help but feel excited, "Whose feet could these be?" But then I realized, "These are my mother's feet!" Alas, what a disappointment! It turned out that Mom had been working hard at Grandma's house and was sleeping on the bed in her skirt and clothes. Disappointed, I started having wild thoughts: "If only that weren't Mom, I could have looked at her feet a little longer... How come I never noticed them before..." Thinking this, I didn't dare continue, feeling incredibly guilty. During that time, I tried my best not to look at Mom's feet, but I always felt guilty and uneasy. That night, after going to bed, I imagined playing with a celebrity's feet while masturbating. Just as I was about to climax, Mom's feet appeared in my mind. At that moment, I completely lost control of myself... In the throes of excitement, I reached a climax. Afterwards, I was filled with guilt, feeling like a beast, and wanted to slap myself. In the days that followed, perhaps due to the pressure of studying and my own efforts to control myself, I no longer felt any urge towards my mother's feet. My attitude towards her also changed significantly. Although 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 in me and was overjoyed, becoming even more attentive to me. ↓ The more this happened, the more uneasy I felt. Two nights before the high school entrance exam, my mother brought me a bowl... Sugar Water came into my room while I was busy doing my homework, so I asked her to put it down first. Mom put down the sugar water, but didn't leave immediately. Instead, she sat down on my bedside, watching me lovingly as I worked. My attention unconsciously shifted to Mom. Before, I didn't have any concept of mature female beauty; I'd always been attracted to youthful, radiant, and slender girls. Mom wasn't young anymore; her beautiful face, though not showing signs of age, had lost its youthful glow, and her figure had become slightly plump. Logically, this shouldn't have caught my attention. I'd only ever been attracted to Mom's feet, but that night, I inadvertently discovered that Mom exuded a... There was a kind of beauty I couldn't describe, a beauty different from my pretty female classmates or young actresses. 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. I quickly drank the sugar water in one gulp and handed the bowl to my mother, telling her to leave. My mother took the bowl, looked at me with a hint of reluctance, and then left. It took me a while after she left before I could finally settle down and continue doing my homework. For several days in a row, I devoted myself entirely to the high school entrance exam. After the exam, I was completely exhausted. However, to my relief, I felt I had done quite well. That evening... I decided to relax with my hand; I hadn't released my pent-up energy for days. But that night, lying in bed, I thought of several female celebrities and classmates, but none of them aroused me. Then, my mother seemed to naturally appear in my mind, and I immediately became extremely excited. After a moment of hesitation, I comforted myself, saying, "I'll just indulge myself tonight, and I won't do it again." Afterwards, I felt immense satisfaction, and at the same time, I felt incredibly happy. My summer vacation after junior high was relaxing but boring. I didn't have many friends or hobbies, so I stayed home all day, relying on novels to pass the time. Back then, there weren't many erotic novels... The sexual descriptions in the story were only superficial, yet they already excited me immensely. My "sexual interest" grew stronger, and I relieved myself more and more frequently. At first, it was only once or twice a week, but later it developed into almost daily occurrences, sometimes even two or three times a day. My mother, who was with me day and night, gradually became the main object of my sexual fantasies. My guilt gradually lessened without me realizing it, and I uncontrollably became madly infatuated with my mother. Every smile, every gesture, every movement of hers was so charming in my eyes, and her clothes were so appropriate. I had completely fallen at her feet. So this wasn't because I was corrupted by anything, because at that time I hadn't heard of or read about incestuous relationships between mothers and sons in books or newspapers. Looking back, it was probably because my mother was the only woman in my life, and she was a beautiful woman. Although I had incestuous thoughts about my mother, I didn't dare to be the slightest bit unrestrained in real life. I would only secretly take my mother's underwear, shoes, and socks when no one was home to satisfy myself, but the more I did this, the more I longed to have my mother. I was tormented by my desire for my mother. The long summer vacation finally ended, and I started high school. I could no longer devote myself to my mother as much as before. I threw myself into my studies, and fortunately, university studies weren't too demanding, so my grades were barely above average. One evening in mid-October of that year, I was studying in my room when I felt thirsty, so I went to the living room to get some water. When I got there, I saw my mother wearing a short-sleeved pajama set, half-lying on the sofa, watching TV and massaging her feet. Her long, strong calves and fair, rosy feet made my heart flutter. I quickly poured myself a glass of water and stood behind my mother, pretending to watch TV, but greedily peeking at her feet. I thought to myself, how wonderful it would be if I could play with my mother's feet to my heart's content! Suddenly, I had an idea: I would pretend to massage my mother's feet and have some fun with them!
After making up my mind, I said to my mother, "Mom, did you go down to inspect the work again today?" "Yes." "That must be tiring. Let me massage your feet." My mother happily agreed, so I sat down next to her, put her feet on my thighs, and gently massaged them. I was surprised that I hadn't noticed my mother's alluring feet when I was little. Perhaps it was because my mother was an inviolable goddess in my eyes back then. When I was little, I often played and frolicked with her affectionately. It was so easy to touch her feet then. Stroking those long-desired beautiful feet made me increasingly excited. I really wanted to hug and kiss her feet to my heart's content. At first, my mother just watched me lovingly as I massaged her feet, but then she probably noticed something, and her expression became a little unnatural. "Okay, much better now, no need to massage anymore," my mother said, pulling her feet away. I had no choice but to give up, and reluctantly went back to my room. Back in my room, I immediately closed the door and intensely sniffed and licked my palms—actually, my hands didn't smell much—and then excitedly relieved myself with them. After this incident, I knew my mother had become aware of my inappropriate thoughts, so... I never offered to massage my mother's feet. Days passed, but my desire for her didn't diminish. I saw her often, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night when my father wasn't home, and I really wanted to force myself on her. Besides my mother, there was nothing else in my life that I cared about. My grades gradually declined. In my first semester of university, I barely passed the midterms, but I only ranked in the thirties on the final exams—my worst ever. My father scolded me severely for it. While he was scolding me, my mother looked at me silently, her eyes filled with the same loving gaze, but also worry and a faint sadness that seemed to know everything. I couldn't help but suspect that my mother already knew about my illicit thoughts. And indeed, that was the case. No mother is unaware of her son's feelings. During the winter break, my mother… Several times she tried to talk to me alone—she had tried before—but because I felt guilty, I never gave her the chance, and I didn't even want to be alone with her. Each time, my mother left disappointed. I was afraid that one day I would lose control and do something irreparable, and that day finally came. In April of that year, I had a high fever for several days in a row, and I couldn't go to school. My mother also took leave to take care of me at home. That morning, after returning home from the hospital after getting an injection, I slept until the afternoon. In my dream, I dreamed of my mother again. Just as I was hugging her legs, I woke up. My mother found that I was awake, immediately came into the room, touched my forehead, and then happily said to me, "The fever is gone! You should be better after taking some more medicine. I need to change your blanket." As she spoke, she moved a stool, stood barefoot on it, and went to get something from the top shelf of the cabinet next to my bed. Because she wanted to get the blanket, Mom put her right foot on my pillow. At that moment, I was burning with desire and couldn't resist reaching out and grabbing her foot. Mom turned her head and looked 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 randomly. Only then did Mom tense up. She stopped getting the blanket, pulled her foot away, jumped off the bed, and whispered, "Nonsense!" Then she left. I thought I'd really messed up. Just as I didn't know what to do, Mom came in with a bowl of medicine, her face calm. She sat down beside my bed, fed me the medicine, and then changed my blanket—this time, she didn't put her foot on my bed when she got the blanket—telling me to sleep a little longer before leaving again, as if nothing had happened. At that moment, I was extremely excited because I had finally kissed Mom's foot! At the same time, I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by my recklessness. In the following days, I felt somewhat uncomfortable whenever I was with my mother, but she didn't mention it again, treating me the same as before. Her attitude surprised me, but it also emboldened me. I secretly resolved to kiss my mother's feet again. I knew the best opportunity was when my mother was sleeping alone. About a month later, the opportunity came. That noon, my father didn't come home, and my mother was taking a nap in her room. I hesitated for a long time, but finally mustered up the courage to go into my mother's room. When I arrived at my mother's bedside, she was still asleep. She was sleeping with her face turned inward, a thin blanket draped around her waist, her legs slightly bent and sticking out from under the blanket. Looking at my mother's smooth and alluring feet, my breathing became more and more rapid. I 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 grab her feet and kiss them. But now I changed my mind. I bent down and put my nose close to my mother's feet to smell their fragrance. My mother had worn leather shoes all morning, but her feet only had a faint, intoxicating smell, not smelly at all. I walked back and forth on my mother's feet After smelling her feet for a while, I started kissing them. I kissed the soles and heels of her feet. Just as I was sucking on her toes, her foot twitched, and she immediately woke up. When Mom turned over and saw it was me, she didn't seem very surprised, just a little unhappy. At that moment, I felt a little embarrassed. I stood up, left the room without saying a word, grabbed my schoolbag, and went to school. Last time, I had only given Mom's feet a quick, fleeting kiss; this time, I truly enjoyed them. I was extremely satisfied. In the evening, after school... When I got home, Mom and Dad were already there, just like usual. Mom was busy in the kitchen, and Dad was reading the newspaper in the living room. When Mom brought out the dishes, she gave me a reproachful look. I didn't really care, but I was too embarrassed to meet her gaze. After that, just as I expected, Mom didn't pursue the matter and treated me as well as usual, only intentionally or unintentionally avoiding being alone with me. This semester, my studies still haven't improved, and my grades are hovering between 30th and 40th. Dad has scolded me several times. I really want to concentrate on my studies, but... My heart was completely captured by my mother, especially after that night when I "ambushed" her. All I could think about was how to satisfy her again. My father usually went on business trips for a few days every one or two months, but he hadn't gone on a business trip for almost three months. Later I found out it was because he was busy with a special project. This made me very anxious. Finally, in mid-July, my father was going 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 get off work. Time seemed to pass so slowly. I finally made it to lunchtime, and when Mom came home, I had no appetite at all. I tried my best to control my emotions, not wanting Mom to notice anything. Only when Mom was clearing the dishes did I secretly stare at her bare feet in slippers, thinking that those feet would be mine again soon. After washing the dishes, Mom didn't go for her usual nap; instead, she started cleaning. I had to wait patiently, thinking that maybe she would sleep after she finished cleaning. But Mom didn't finish until almost 2 pm, and then she went to work. I was extremely disappointed and could only console myself... I thought I'd wait until Mom went to sleep. That night, amidst my anxiety, it was finally bedtime. Mom turned off the TV and went into her room. I almost jumped for joy, but then she immediately closed the door and slammed it shut. I was stunned, feeling like I'd fallen into an ice cave. I didn't sleep a wink that night, my heart filled with a mixture of love and resentment towards my mother—a feeling like heartbreak. The next day at noon, I still clung to a sliver of hope, but Mom went into her room and slammed the door shut again. I was completely devastated. That evening… I went to bed early, seething with anger. Around 10 o'clock, my mother turned off the TV and came into my room. I glanced at her, then turned away and ignored her. My mother stood silently by my bed for a while, then seemed to sigh softly before leaving. She sat quietly in the living room for quite some time, finally returning to her room around 11 o'clock. I heard her close the door, but I didn't hear that hateful "slam" sound. And for a long time afterward, there was no further sound. Could it be that I didn't hear the lock clearly, or did my mother forget to lock it? My heart pounded. I was determined to find out. I got out of bed, put on my basketball shorts, and went out. I stood in front of my mother's bedroom door and tried to turn the lock. Sure enough, it wasn't locked. My mother 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—my mother always sleeps with a bedside lamp on when she sleeps alone—and in the light, I could see my mother lying face down, wearing only a blouse and underwear. Her long, black hair, full and graceful figure, snow-white and slender legs, and warm and alluring feet made my blood boil. I carefully walked to my mother's bedside and stopped. Suddenly, I realized she 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. Then, I decided to see how to stop her from pretending to be asleep. I lifted the mosquito net, bent down, and gently held one of her feet with my right hand. When I held her foot, it twitched slightly, but didn't pull away. I was secretly pleased and began to gently massage her soft foot.My mother let me have my way and didn't pay attention to me. But I couldn't hold back any longer, so I lowered my head and kissed her feet. When my mother found out that I was kissing her feet, she immediately tried to pull her feet away, but how could I let go? I grabbed my mother's feet tightly and started kissing and licking them wildly, without a care in the world. My mother struggled a few times but couldn't break free, so she loosened her grip and let me do as I pleased. I kissed my mother's feet frantically, not knowing how long I kissed them, until the skin on her feet was wrinkled, before she finally let go. My mother's indulgence emboldened me more than ever before. After releasing her feet, I threw myself on top of her without thinking and hugged her tightly. But after hugging my mother, I was a little lost. I just stared blankly at my mother's face. My mother looked at me gently, seemingly very calm, her eyes full of love. After a moment of stalemate, my mother reached out and hugged me, gently stroking my back and my head, and slowly pressed my head down so that my forehead touched hers, rubbing it lightly, and occasionally kissing my cheek. Suddenly, I seemed to understand what to do. I hurriedly kissed my mother's face, nose, earlobes, pink neck, and that sweet, soft skin. The feeling of kissing her lips was so wonderful. Ignoring my mother's 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 was a little 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 obediently climbed on top of my mother. My mother hugged my head and buried it between her full and soft breasts. I immediately came back to my senses and became excited again, constantly rubbing and kissing her breasts. Under my actions, my mother also became excited, her breathing gradually became heavier, and her cheeks were flushed. I kissed my way down my mother's breasts, and just when I was about to kiss her genitals, my mother suddenly squeezed her legs together. "No there!" my mother said firmly in a low voice. But how could I agree? After some effort, I finally managed to pry open my mother's legs. I carefully examined her private parts. "So, the honey hole is just a dark red slit of flesh." I first smelled the faint fishy scent, and then began to lick it with my tongue. My mother moaned softly as I licked her, and her body writhed slightly. Although I didn't know that this was a sign of my mother's excitement, I vaguely felt that it wasn't a bad thing, so I licked even more enthusiastically, and finally even inserted my tongue into my mother's vagina. After I had kissed my mother's honey hole enough, I continued to kiss my mother's 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 grasped my penis with her hand, thrusting her hips forward. At this moment, I realized what was about to happen, and I focused intently on feeling it: the foreskin on my penis was slowly peeled away, and my penis slowly entered a warm and lubricated passage. The feeling was so wonderful!
After Mom let go, I immediately started thrusting harder and harder, each time penetrating her more forcefully. Mom's vagina became increasingly wet and slippery. Sex was truly intoxicating; I enjoyed it ecstatically and quickly reached orgasm. I held Mom and ejaculated all my semen. Afterward, I felt completely drained and collapsed weakly on top of Mom. Mom opened her eyes, reached for some toilet paper on the bedside table, then moved her lower body to remove my penis from her body. She pushed me away, sat up, quickly cleaned herself, and went to take a shower. I lay alone for a while, then got up and put on my clothes. Mom returned from her shower, having changed into clean pajamas. We were both a little embarrassed, and I was somewhat at a loss. Mom seemed much calmer. As she tidied her things, she softly told me, "Go wash up and go to bed." I listened and hesitantly walked out of Mom's room. That night, my mind was in complete chaos. I couldn't believe it—I had Mom! I felt a mixture of excitement at having achieved my goal and a deep sense of guilt. Lost in my own thoughts, I don't know when I finally fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up the next day, it was almost noon. During lunch, my mother didn't mention the previous night at all, and even chatted with me about trivial things, her face relaxed. Seeing this, I felt a little relieved too. That evening, my father came home. Facing him, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty, but my mother remained calm, showing no sign of anything unusual. In the following days, my mother treated me the same as before, and I gradually relaxed and stopped thinking 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 said softly, "No, what if your father comes home?" I begged repeatedly, but my mother wouldn't agree, and finally had to give up. However, that noon... I still caressed my mother's feet, which was somewhat comforting. Two weeks later, my father went on a business trip. That night, my mother finally agreed to have sex with me again. We did it for two nights in a row. From then on, my mother almost always agreed to have sex with me 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. Even if my father suddenly came home, he couldn't open the door and wouldn't suspect anything. My mother loved me very much, but that love was just a mother's love for her son. Although my mother was always selfless and could enjoy orgasms during sex with me, I knew that it was only for me. She was willing to have sex with me because she loved me so much. One cannot be too selfish. After I went to university, I started to date girls and gradually stopped making demands on my mother. Even after I had my own little family, my relationship with my mother was still very good. We never intended to forget the past. How could we forget these things?
I love my mother deeply. If she is willing, I still want to have sex with her because I have the love of a son for his mother and the love of a husband for his wife. My mother is my first wife in reality.

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