(Mom, I'm so happy to have you.)

I was born into an ordinary family, an only child, with both parents working in government offices. As a child, like most children, I was very attached to my mother, and she loved me dearly, even spoiling me. Our relationship was so close that my father was "jealous" of me. While my mother wasn't a great beauty, she was still quite attractive, a beautiful and virtuous wife and mother. I often thought that when I grew up, I would find a wife as good as my mother. After starting junior high school, 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. But my mother continued to care for me and look after me in every way, big or small, which 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, my mother never got angry with me for it, never holding my rudeness against her. Entering puberty, I began to experience sexual anxieties. I inexplicably learned to relieve myself with my hands, though I was relatively restrained, only doing it about three or four times a month. I have a peculiar habit: I'm attracted to women's feet. I don't know when I started this liking; it seems like it's something I was born with. Often, when masturbating, I can reach orgasm simply 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 her house. The front door of her house faced the door of a guest room, and from the front door, I could see the foot of the bed inside. That day, as I entered, I saw a pair of very white and beautiful feet on the bed—due to limited vision, I could only see the bare calves and feet—I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement, "Whose feet are these?" But then I realized, "These are my mother's feet!" Alas, what a disappointment! It turned out that my mother had been working hard at my grandmother's house and was sleeping on that bed in her skirt and clothes. In my disappointment, my mind started racing: "If only it weren't Mom, I could have looked at her a little longer. How come I never noticed Mom's feet before..." I stopped abruptly, overwhelmed with guilt. For the rest of the day, I tried my best to avoid looking at Mom's feet, but I felt uneasy, as if I'd done something wrong. That night, after going to bed, I imagined playing with a celebrity's feet and masturbated. Just as I was about to climax, Mom's feet appeared in my mind. At that moment, I completely lost control and reached orgasm in a state of extreme excitement. After the orgasm, I was filled with guilt, feeling like a beast, and wanted to slap myself. In the following days, perhaps due to the pressure of studying and my own efforts to control myself, I no longer felt any urges towards Mom's feet. My attitude towards Mom also changed significantly. Although I still didn't talk to her much, I no longer resented her concern or spoke harshly to her. Mom quickly noticed the change in me, was overjoyed, and became even more caring towards me. The more she acted this way, the more uneasy I felt. 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, so I told 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 a concept of mature female beauty. I had always been attracted to youthful, beautiful, 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. Previously, I had only been attracted to my mother's feet, but that night, I inadvertently discovered a kind of indescribable beauty emanating from her entire being—a beauty different from my pretty female classmates or young actresses. I suddenly realized that this beauty was even more moving, more attractive. Suddenly, the terrible word "incest" appeared in my mind. I dared not think any further, quickly drank the sweet soup in one gulp, and then handed the bowl to my mother, telling her to leave. Mom took the bowl, looked at me with a hint of reluctance, and then left. It took me a while after she left to settle down and continue doing my homework. For several days, I devoted myself entirely to the high school entrance exam. After the exam, I was completely exhausted. However, I was relieved to feel that I had done quite well. That night, I decided to relax properly; I hadn't released my pent-up energy for several days. But lying in bed that night, the female celebrities and classmates I thought of didn't arouse me. Then, Mom seemed to appear naturally in my mind, and I immediately became extremely excited. After some hesitation, I comforted myself, saying, "I'll just indulge myself tonight, and I won't do it again." Afterwards, I felt extremely satisfied, but also disgusted. The summer vacation after my third year of junior high was relaxing but boring. I didn't have many friends or hobbies, so I stayed at home all day, passing the time with novels. Back then, there weren't many erotic novels, and the sexual descriptions in them were only superficial, but they still excited me greatly. My sexual desire grew stronger and stronger, and I relieved myself more and more frequently. It started with once or twice a week, but it progressed to almost daily, sometimes even two or three times a day. My mother, who was with me day and night, gradually became the primary object of my sexual fantasies. My guilt lessened unconsciously, and I became uncontrollably infatuated with her. Every smile, gesture, and movement of hers was captivating to me; her clothes were always impeccably appropriate. I was completely smitten. This wasn't due to any bad influence; at that time, I hadn't heard of or read about incestuous relationships between mothers and sons. Looking back, it was probably because my mother was the only woman in my life, and she was beautiful. Despite these illicit thoughts, I dared not act recklessly 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 longed for her. I was tormented by my desire for her. The long summer vacation finally ended, and I started high school. I could no longer devote myself to my studies as wholeheartedly as before. Fortunately, the first year of high school wasn't too stressful, and my grades were barely above average. One evening in mid-October that year, I felt thirsty while studying in my room, so I went to the living room for a drink. When I got there, I saw my mother wearing a short-sleeved pajama top, 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 stealing glances 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 work again today?" "Yes." "That must be tiring. Let me massage your feet for you." My mother happily agreed. So I sat down next to her, placed her feet on my thighs, and gently massaged them. I find it strange that I never noticed my mother's alluring feet when I was little. Perhaps it was because she was an untouchable goddess in my eyes back then. When I was little, I often played and frolicked with my mother, and it was so easy to touch her feet. 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 massage her feet, but then she probably sensed 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, they didn't smell very good—and then excitedly relieved myself with them. After that, I knew my mother had become aware of my inappropriate thoughts, so I never offered to massage her feet again. Days passed, and my desire for my mother didn't diminish in the slightest. I often dreamed of her, and sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night, when my father wasn't home, and I felt an overwhelming urge to rape her. Besides my mother, nothing else in my life mattered to me anymore. My grades steadily declined. In the first semester of my first year of high school, I barely passed the midterms, but I only ranked in the thirties on the final exams—my worst ever. My father gave me a severe scolding. While he was scolding me, my mother watched me silently, her eyes filled with the same loving kindness, 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 winter break, my mother tried to talk to me alone several times—she had tried before—but because I felt guilty, I always refused to give her the chance, even refusing to be 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.And so it happened. That April, I had a persistent high fever for several days and couldn't go to school. My mother took leave to stay home and take care of me. That morning, after returning home from the hospital with an injection, I slept until the afternoon. In my dream, I dreamt of my mother again, and I woke up just as I was hugging her feet. My mother noticed I was awake, immediately came into the room, touched my forehead, and then happily said, "The fever's gone! You should be better after taking some more medicine. Oh, and I need to change your blanket." As she spoke, she moved a stool, stood barefoot on it, and reached for the blanket from the top shelf of the cabinet next to my bed. Because she wanted to get it easier, her right foot landed on my pillow. At that moment, I was filled with lust and couldn't help but reach out and grab her foot. My mother turned her head and looked at me, but didn't say anything and continued to get the blanket. I stroked it a few times, then lowered my head and started kissing my mother's toes. Only then did Mom tense up. She didn't even bother to grab the blanket, jumped off the bed, and muttered, "Nonsense!" before leaving. I realized I'd really messed up. Just as I was wondering 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 feet on my bed—telling me to sleep a little longer before leaving again. She acted as if nothing had happened. I was incredibly excited because I had finally kissed Mom's feet! At the same time, I felt a little embarrassed by my recklessness. For the next few days, I felt uncomfortable whenever I was with Mom, but she didn't mention it again, treating me as before. Mom's attitude surprised me, but it also emboldened me. I secretly resolved to kiss Mom's feet again. I knew the best time was when Mom was sleeping alone. About a month later, the opportunity arrived. That noon, Dad didn't come home, and Mom was taking a nap alone in her room. I hesitated for a long time before finally mustering the courage to go into Mom's room. When I arrived at her bedside, she was still asleep. Mom was sleeping face down, a thin blanket draped around her waist, her legs slightly bent and sticking out from under the blanket. Looking at Mom's smooth and alluring feet, my breathing became more and more rapid. I had originally thought that Mom would wake up as soon as I entered the room, and I planned to take advantage of her inattention to grab her feet and kiss them. But now I changed my mind. I bent down and put my nose close to Mom's feet to smell their fragrance. Mom had worn leather shoes all morning, but her feet only had a faint, intoxicating scent, not smelly at all. I smelled Mom's feet back and forth for a while before I began to kiss them. 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 Mom turned over and saw it was me, her face didn't show much surprise, 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 my mother's feet a quick, fleeting kiss; this time, I truly enjoyed them. I was extremely satisfied. When I returned home from school in the evening, my mother and father were already there. As usual, my mother was busy in the kitchen, and my father was reading the newspaper in the living room. When my mother brought out the dishes, she gave me a reproachful look. Although I didn't really care, I was too embarrassed to meet her gaze. After that incident, just as I expected, my mother 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 didn't improve, my grades hovering between 30th and 40th place. My father had scolded me several times, and I really wanted to concentrate on my studies, but my heart was completely captivated by my mother. Especially after that night's "ambush" with my mother, all I could think about was how to get satisfaction again. My dad usually goes on business trips for a few days every month or two, but he hadn't gone for almost three months. I later found out it was because he was busy with a specific project. This worried me terribly. Finally, in mid-July, my dad was going on a three-day business trip. I was as happy as a child celebrating the New Year. On the day my dad left, I was at home in the morning, absentmindedly reading a novel, anxiously waiting for my mom to come home from get off work. Time seemed to drag on forever, and I finally made it to noon when my mom came home. At lunchtime, I had no appetite, but I tried my best to control my emotions so my mom wouldn't notice anything. Only when my mom was clearing the dishes did I secretly stare at her bare feet in slippers, thinking that those feet would be mine soon. After washing the dishes, my mom didn't go for her usual nap; instead, she started cleaning. I had no choice but to wait patiently, thinking that she would probably go to sleep after cleaning. But my mom ended up cleaning for almost 2 hours!I finished at 10 o'clock and 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 both love and hate for Mom, a feeling like 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. I was completely devastated. That night, I went to bed early, seething with anger and resentment. Around 10 o'clock, 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 sound for a long time afterward. 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 lying face down, wearing only a blouse and underwear. Her long, black hair, her full and graceful figure, her long, white legs, and her warm, alluring 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 paying attention 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. When I held her foot, it twitched slightly, but didn't pull away from my hand. I was secretly delighted and began to gently massage her soft foot. Mom let me do as I pleased, ignoring me. At this moment, I couldn't resist any longer and lowered my head to kiss her foot. When Mom noticed me kissing her foot, she immediately tried to pull it away. But how could I let go? I tightly grasped Mom's feet and began kissing and licking them indiscriminately. Mom 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 passionately, for what seemed like an eternity, until the skin on her feet was wrinkled from all the kisses, before finally letting go. My mother's indulgence emboldened me more than ever before. Without thinking, I threw myself on top of her and hugged her tightly. But after embracing her, I felt a little lost, just staring blankly at her face. She looked at me gently, her eyes filled with love. After a moment of awkward silence, she reached out and hugged me, gently stroking my back and head, then slowly pressing my head down so my forehead touched hers, rubbing it lightly, occasionally kissing my cheek. Suddenly, it seemed I understood what to do. I kissed her face, nose, earrings, neck, and her sweet, soft lips urgently. The feeling of kissing was so wonderful; ignoring her struggles, I kissed her greedily again and again. Suddenly, she pushed me away, then sat up and slowly took off her clothes. Seeing this, I immediately got up and took off my clothes. Facing my mother's naked body, I was once again at a loss. My mother had seemed 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 her. My mother hugged 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 as well, her breathing gradually becoming heavier, her cheeks flushed. I kissed my way down her breasts, and just as I was about to kiss her genitals, my mother suddenly squeezed her legs together. "Not there!" my mother said firmly in a low voice. But how could I agree? After some effort, I finally pried open my mother's legs. I carefully examined my mother's private parts. "So, the honey hole is just a dark red slit of flesh." I first smelled the faint fishy scent, then licked it with my tongue. My mother moaned softly as I licked her, and her body writhed slightly. Although I didn't know this was a sign of my mother's excitement, I vaguely felt it wasn't a bad thing, so I licked even more enthusiastically, finally probing my tongue into my mother's vagina. After kissing my mother's honey hole enough, I continued kissing her legs and feet. By this time, I was incredibly aroused. After I climbed back onto my mother, she kissed my face, closed her eyes, grasped my penis, and thrust her hips forward. At that moment, I realized what was about to happen, and I focused intently on feeling it: the foreskin on my penis 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 vagina became increasingly wet. Sex was truly intoxicating; I reveled in it, quickly reaching climax, and ejaculated all my semen while embracing my mother. Afterwards, I felt completely drained, collapsing weakly onto my mother. My mother opened her eyes, reached for some tissues on the bedside table, then shifted her body to remove my penis, pushed me away, sat up, quickly cleaned herself, and went to shower. I lay alone for a while before getting up and putting on my clothes. My mother returned from her shower, now dressed in clean pajamas. We were both a little embarrassed, and I felt somewhat lost. My mother seemed much calmer; as she tidied her things, she softly told me, "Go wash up and go to bed." I listened and hesitantly left my mother's room. That night, my mind was a jumbled mess. I couldn't believe it—I had my mother! I felt both the excitement of finally getting what I wanted and a deep sense of guilt. Lost in my thoughts, I don't know when I finally fell asleep. I woke up the next day around noon. During lunch, Mom 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, Dad came home, and I couldn't help feeling a little guilty in his presence. But Mom remained calm, her face showing no sign of anything unusual. In the following days, Mom treated me the same as before, and I gradually relaxed and stopped thinking about it. A few days into the new semester, Dad didn't come home for lunch. My sexual desire returned. After lunch, while Mom was washing the dishes, I hugged her waist from behind. Mom understood my intentions and said softly, "No, what if your father comes home?" I begged repeatedly, but Mom wouldn't agree, so I finally gave up. However, that noon I still caressed Mom's feet, which was some consolation. Two weeks later, Dad went on a business trip, and that evening Mom finally agreed to let me have sex again. That time, we did it for two nights in a row. From then on, Mom almost always agreed to my advances only if Dad didn't come home at night. Mom had her reasons; only when sleeping at night could she lock the door from the inside, so even if Dad suddenly came home, he wouldn't be able to open it and wouldn't suspect anything. Mom loved me very much, but that love was only a mother's love for her son. Although Mom was always selfless and even experienced orgasm during sex with me, I knew it was only for me; she was willing to do it with me because she loved me so much. One shouldn't be too selfish. After I went to university, I started dating girls and gradually stopped making demands of my mother. Now I have my own little family, and my relationship with Mom is still very good. We have never intended to forget the past; how could we possibly forget it? I love Mom deeply, and if she wanted, I would still want to have sex with her. Because besides a son's love for his mother, I also have a husband's love for his wife. Mom is my first wife in reality. Mom, I love you! [The End]

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/187077.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=187077&aspx=1

Previous Page : Heretic Knight Chapter 23: Fragments of the Past

Next Page : [Forced Child to Humiliate His Own Mother] (Yang Yaxian, a Mother with a Tragic Life)

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

(Mom, I'm so happy to have you.)

comment Open a new window to view comments