Mom, she was my first wife.

As Mom spoke, she withdrew her feet. I had no choice but to give up and reluctantly went back to my room.
Back in my room, I immediately closed the door, sniffing and licking my palms—though they didn't actually smell that much—and then excitedly relieved myself with them.
After that, I knew Mom had become aware of my illicit intentions, so I never offered to massage her feet again.
Days passed, but my desire for Mom didn't diminish at all. I often dreamed of her, and sometimes, waking up in the middle of the night when Dad wasn't home, I felt an urge to rape her without restraint.
Besides Mom, nothing else in my life mattered to me anymore. My grades gradually declined. In the first semester of my first year of high school, I barely passed the midterm exams, but I only ranked in the thirties on the final exams—my worst result ever. Dad gave me a severe scolding. While Dad was scolding me, Mom watched me silently, her eyes filled with the same loving gaze, but also worry and a faint sadness that seemed to understand everything. I couldn't help but suspect that my mother was fully aware of my illicit thoughts. And indeed, it seemed so; no mother is unaware of her son's feelings.
During the winter break, my mother tried several times 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 recurring high fever for several days and 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 with an injection, I slept until the afternoon.
In my dream, I dreamed of my mother again, and I woke up just as I was hugging her legs.
My mother noticed 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. Oh, and I need to change your blanket."
As she spoke, she moved a stool, stood barefoot on it, and went to get the blanket from the top shelf of the cabinet next to my bed. Because I wanted to get something, Mom put her right foot on my pillow.
At that moment, my desire was at its peak, and I couldn't resist reaching out and grabbing her foot. Mom turned her head to look 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 haphazardly.
Only then did Mom tense up. She stopped grabbing the blanket, pulled her foot off the bed, jumped down, and muttered, "Nonsense!" before leaving.
I realized 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, 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. She acted as if nothing had happened.
At that moment, I was incredibly 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.
For the next few days, I felt somewhat uncomfortable whenever I was with my mother, but she didn't mention it again and treated me as before.
This attitude surprised me, but it also emboldened me. I secretly resolved to forcefully kiss my mother's feet again. I knew the best opportunity would be when she was sleeping alone.
About a month later, the opportunity arrived. That noon, my father didn't come home, and my mother was taking a nap alone in her room.
I hesitated for a long time, but finally mustered the courage to go into her room.
When I reached her bedside, she was still asleep. She was sleeping with her face turned inwards, a thin blanket draped around her waist, her legs slightly bent and protruding from the blanket.
Looking at her smooth, alluring feet, my breathing became increasingly rapid. I had originally thought that she would wake up as soon as I entered the room, and I planned to seize the opportunity to forcefully kiss her feet. But now I changed my mind.
I leaned down and brought 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 scent, not at all smelly. After sniffing my mother's feet for a while, I finally started kissing them. I kissed the soles and heels, and just as I was sucking on her toes, her foot twitched, and she immediately woke up.
When she 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 my mother's feet a quick, fleeting kiss; this time, I truly enjoyed them. I was extremely satisfied.
When I got 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, but she intentionally or unintentionally avoided being alone with me.
This semester, my studies haven't improved, with my grades hovering between 30th and 40th place. My dad has scolded me several times, and I really want to concentrate on my studies, but my heart is completely captivated by my mom. Especially after that night when I "ambushed" her, all I could think about was how to get my satisfaction back.
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 special project. This made me incredibly anxious.
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 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 Mom was washing 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 afternoon nap; instead, she started cleaning. I had no choice but to wait patiently, thinking that she would probably go to sleep after she finished cleaning. But Mom didn't finish until almost 2 o'clock, and then she went to work.
I was extremely disappointed and could only comfort myself by thinking that I would wait until Mom went to sleep that night.
That night, 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 to my surprise, Mom immediately closed the door and locked it with a "snap."
I was stunned, feeling like I had fallen into an ice cellar.
I didn't sleep well that night, feeling both love and hate for Mom; the feeling was like a broken heart.
The next day at noon, I still held onto a sliver of hope. But Mom went into her room and locked it with a "snap." I was completely devastated.
That night, I went to bed early, seething with anger and resentment. Around ten o'clock, Mom turned off the TV and came into my room. I glanced at her, then turned away, ignoring 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 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 "snap." And for a long time afterward, there was no further sound.
Had I missed the sound of the lock, or had Mom forgotten to lock it? My heart pounded.
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 the lock; it was indeed unlocked.
My mother had been asleep for almost half an hour, so I figured she should be asleep by now. I pushed open the door and went in.
The bedside lamp was dimly lit—my mother always sleeps with it on when she sleeps alone—and in the light, I could see her lying face down, wearing only a blouse and underwear. Her long, black hair, her full, graceful figure, her long, white legs, and her warm, alluring feet made my blood boil.
I carefully walked to my mother's bedside and stopped. Suddenly, I realized my mother 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.
Finally, I decided to see what would make her stop pretending to be asleep.
I lifted the mosquito net, bent down, and gently took my mother's foot in my right hand. When I held her foot, it twitched slightly, but didn't pull away from my hand. I was secretly delighted and gently massaged her soft feet. My mother let me be, ignoring me.
Then, I couldn't resist any longer and lowered my head to kiss her feet. When my mother noticed me kissing her feet, she immediately tried to pull them away. But how could I let go? I held onto her feet tightly, kissing and licking them indiscriminately.
My mother struggled a few times but couldn't break free, so she relaxed and let me do as I pleased.
I kissed my mother's feet wildly, for what seemed like an eternity, until the skin on her feet was wrinkled from kissing, before finally letting 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 somewhat at a loss, just staring blankly at her face.
My mother looked at me gently, calmly, her eyes filled with love.
After a moment of awkward silence, Mom 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, and occasionally kissing my cheek.
Suddenly, I seemed to understand what to do. I eagerly kissed Mom's face, nose, earrings, neck, and her sweet, soft lips. The feeling of kissing was so wonderful; ignoring Mom's struggles, I greedily kissed her again and again.
Suddenly, Mom 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 Mom's naked body, I was once again at a loss.
Mom had seemed a little shy when she took off her clothes, but seeing my reaction, she seemed completely relaxed. She smiled slightly and lay down calmly.
"Come on up," Mom whispered.
I obediently climbed onto Mom. Mom hugged my head, burying it between her full, soft breasts. I quickly snapped out of my daze, becoming excited again, and began to knead and kiss her breasts incessantly. My actions aroused my mother as well; her breathing quickened, and her cheeks flushed.
I kissed my way down her breasts, and just as I was about to reach her genitals, she suddenly clamped her legs together.
"No there!" she whispered firmly.
But how could I agree? After some effort, I finally managed to pry her legs open. I carefully examined her private parts. "So, the honeypot is just a dark red slit of flesh." I first smelled the faint, fishy scent, then began to lick it with my tongue.
My mother moaned softly as I licked her, her body gently twisting. Although I didn't know this was a sign of her excitement, I had a feeling it wasn't a bad thing, so I licked even more vigorously, finally inserting my tongue into her vagina.
After kissing her honeypot 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, and grasped my penis, thrusting her hips forward.
I realized what was about to happen, and I focused intently on the sensation:
the foreskin slowly peeled back, and my penis gently entered a warm, lubricated passage.
The feeling was so wonderful! As soon as my mother released her grip, I began to thrust forcefully. Each thrust was harder than the last, and my mother became increasingly wet. Sex was truly intoxicating; I enjoyed it ecstatically, quickly reaching orgasm, embracing my mother and ejaculating all my semen.
Afterwards, I felt completely drained, collapsing weakly onto my mother. My mother opened her eyes, reached for some tissues on the bedside table, then moved her lower body to remove my penis from her, 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. Just then, Mom came back from her shower, having changed into clean pajamas.
We were both a little embarrassed, and I felt somewhat lost. Mom seemed much calmer. As she tidied her things, she softly told me, "Go wash up and go to bed."
I listened and hesitantly left Mom's room.
That night, my mind was a mess. I couldn't believe it—I had Mom! I felt both the excitement of getting what I wanted and a deep sense of guilt. Lost in thought, I don't know when I finally fell asleep.
When I woke up the next day, it was almost noon. At lunch, Mom didn't mention the night before at all, and even chatted with me about trivial things, her face relaxed. Seeing this, I felt a little more relaxed.
That evening, Dad came home, and I couldn't help feeling a little guilty in his presence. But Mom remained calm; there was nothing unusual on her face.
In the days that followed, my mother treated me the same as before, and I gradually relaxed and stopped worrying about it.
A few days into the new semester, my father didn't come home for lunch. 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 softly said, "No, what if your father comes back?"
I begged repeatedly, but my mother wouldn't agree, and I finally gave up. However, that noon I still caressed my mother's feet, which was some consolation.
Two weeks later, my father went on a business trip, and that evening my mother finally agreed to let me have sex again. That time we did it for two nights in a row.
From then on, my mother almost always agreed to let me have sex 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, so 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 only a mother's love for her son. Although my mother always did it without complaint, and even experienced orgasm during our sex life, I know it was all for me; she loved me so much that she was willing to do it with me.
One shouldn't be selfish. After I went to university, I started dating girls, and gradually I stopped asking my mother for sex.
Now I have my own family, and my relationship with my mother is still very good. We've never intended to forget the past—how could we possibly forget it? I love my mother 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. My mother is, in effect, my first wife.
Mom, I love you!

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/28263.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=28263&aspx=1

Previous Page : Super dirty erotic novels - dirty erotic novels

Next Page : My Aunt and I's True Story

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Mom, she was my first wife.

comment Open a new window to view comments