Memories of a promiscuous mother

In that brief moment years ago, I fully realized that such an opportunity would never come again. The calm that followed the passion left me with a deep sense of guilt. I felt sorry for so many people: my girlfriend, my brother, my father, and everyone who cared about me. Even now, whenever I recall that memory, I can't help but imagine it again and again: the pink and fragrant body, the smooth and warm lower body, the slightly salty and damp scent of sweat, the disheveled hair swaying with her body, my chest pressed against her two soft breasts, until...
The difference is, I'm not writing this to create a complete story with a clear beginning and end. I just want to imprint that past event in the world through words. Who is telling the truth or not is not important. What's important is that, through my narration, you will glimpse my inner world. It's very simple; I just want to say something. After all, I'm not cut out to write novels, nor am I a master. If you're confused, I apologize. That's all.
Incestuous love and lust have always been taboo for humanity. My limited understanding of sex in my youth marked the beginning of my infatuation. When I finally grasped the nature of this affection, I realized it was the Oedipus complex. Gradually, I began to fantasize about my mother, which escalated into sexual fantasies. After learning to masturbate, I even made my mother the object of my sexual fantasies. Unlike the voluptuous mothers depicted in films, my mother was dignified, devoted to her family, and earned extra money at home by sewing. She was a virtuous wife and loving mother.
She wasn't like the voluptuous mothers in novels—beautiful, with perfect figures, large breasts? No. A shapely buttock? No. A seductive, lewd face? I'm sorry, no, she's just an ordinary, respectable woman. Of course, she has the crow's feet typical of women over forty, but the only good thing about her is her regular features and smooth, fair skin. That's all. When she walks down the street, people might glance at her buttocks when she bends over, but once they see her face, they think she's alright. She's about 164cm tall and slim, with a slightly large buttocks due to middle-aged weight gain. But I have to say, my mother's buttocks are the image that first made me masturbate.
My mother has a C-cup, not huge, but her breasts are very beautiful. She wears clothes that are typical of middle-aged women and doesn't usually dress up. But that's all. At home, my mother never thinks that anyone would have lustful thoughts about her, so sometimes she dresses very casually, wearing thin shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt as she walks around the house. Her buttocks squeeze the thin shorts, made of floral fabric, into a peach shape. Especially in the bathroom, when she's sitting on a small stool, holding a washboard and washing clothes, she has no idea that there's a pair of eyes behind her, staring intently at her fleshy buttocks. The slightly exposed black underwear makes my heart race.
Perhaps I'm different from most people. My friends see a pretty girl dressed cutely, with big breasts and exposed thighs, and they can just hide in the bathroom and have sex with her. But for me, seeing my mother's usual care and concern for me makes me deeply feel that this is maternal love. However, I also have sexual fantasies about my mother, which makes me want to slap myself. Later, I realized that what I like is the kind of affair that transcends morality, namely, incest between mother and son. As the saying goes,
you don't think about it normally, but once you do, you think about it all the time, thinking about how to sleep with my mother. Now that the internet is so developed, there are many examples you can easily find, but they are often fake. Perhaps this kind of thing can only exist in imagination and cannot be written too realistically, otherwise it will lead people to commit crimes, which is regrettable. However, the internet is a mix of truth and falsehood, and everyone knows their own standards. There are many things that are just for thinking about. Even if they are true or false, it is someone else's fate, and it's none of my business. But as time goes by, my lust for my mother grows stronger and stronger.
Finally, I chose to tell my mother frankly how I felt. Surprisingly, she remained calm, having already noticed my unusual behavior. This is understandable; women's intuition is always particularly sharp. No matter how much I pleaded, my mother ultimately believed that such things were not allowed, and that once they happened, there would usually be no good outcome. Afterward, I tried watching films of other genres to divert my feelings for my mother. At first, it worked quite well, and I later successfully got a girlfriend and gradually forgot my impure thoughts about my mother.
But things always change. I cannot explain the causes and consequences of what happened. In short, when I came to my senses, my relationship with my mother had evolved to this point, clearly a mutual affair of sexual gratification. It was consensual, not a one-sided sexual desire, not incestuous motherhood, not a son with an extremely strong sex drive, but simply a mutual sexual need. So when my mother held my penis in her right hand and stroked it up and down, the excitement was more intense than any beautiful woman helping me masturbate. The pleasure made my body tremble involuntarily.
My mother didn't have to go to work on Saturday mornings, so that was my time for an affair with her. Her beautifully shaped breasts, without a hint of sagging, and her nipples like jujubes, were constantly being rubbed in my palms. My mother had her eyes closed, enjoying my caresses with her body. My penis rubbed back and forth on my mother's pubic hair. I was filled with intense lust, just waiting for my father to leave early in the morning so I could rush to find my mother. My erect penis rubbed up and down between my mother's buttocks. The sexual pleasure that transcended the bond between mother and son was the maternal love that made me unable to extricate myself time and time again.
I pressed my mother's body against the bed, spreading her legs, and my penis thrusting back and forth in her vagina. If the woman on the bed were an ordinary person, perhaps this would be normal, but it was my own mother. The mother let her son press down on her, allowing him to release his pent-up energy, while her vagina greedily gripped his penis, her juices soaking the sheets. How long had it been since she'd felt the hardness of a young man's penis? His thighs slammed against her buttocks, bringing her to orgasm repeatedly, leaving her breathless. Each thrust went all the way in. Was having an affair with her son behind her husband's back a betrayal?
I gripped my mother's buttocks with both hands, thrusting relentlessly from behind. With each thrust, I could feel her pleasurable moans. After all, I was young and vigorous; intense intercourse brought my mother back to her youth, almost making her forget she was now a mother. The intense sex, the criminal affair—during the act, there was no desire to think, no desire to talk. Only the physical union remained, enjoying the fleeting pleasure. When the passion ended, there was no flirting, no tenderness like lovers, only a glance between them, like children who had stolen candy, afraid of being discovered.
At least in front of others, my mother and I could still act normally. But as the frequency increased, we both felt deeply afraid. However, the saliva mingling between our tongues and the continuous muffled moans acted like anesthesia, numbing us again and again. At home, my relationship with my mother wasn't this casual; I couldn't just have sex with her whenever I wanted. My mother wasn't the kind of sex slave I could play with. After all, in the real world, at least, I hadn't dared to be that open. Secretly kissing my mother, rubbing her buttocks, and rubbing my penis against her soft belly was enough to make me hard and masturbate.
Now that I'm married and have a family, career and family weigh me down, but that doesn't sever this illicit relationship between my mother and me. I still frequently go back to my parents' house and ask my mother for sex, and she's still willing to sleep with me, although less often. That passion is still what I crave most. Finally, this short story is best read as an ordinary novel. My writing isn't very good, so please forgive me.
"Lust and lust drive one mad; loving one's mother and having an affair is wrong; the alluring charm returns, the pink pleasure is enjoyed in this moment."
[The End]

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Memories of a promiscuous mother

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