Mom held my penis

After that time I rubbed my penis against her tender buttocks while using the washing machine, I went back to my dorm and lay on my bed. I had no idea whether that counted as my mother's tacit approval or permission. So I decided to go home next Saturday, since my mother had Saturday off and I'd be home alone. But I couldn't suppress my lust, so on Friday night I skipped my afternoon class on my motorcycle and rushed home. When
my mother got home from work, she was only slightly surprised that I was home so early this week. Actually, the atmosphere at home wasn't as warm as it should be between
a parent and child; it was more like a polite, reciprocal exchange. I was really looking forward to my mother's washing machine time on Friday night, but when I waited until she went to the back hallway, I tiptoed in with her. My mother coldly said, "Weren't you satisfied last time? Have you forgotten what I told you before?" I was so scared that my penis went limp. After a moment of stunned silence, I had no choice but to obediently go back to bed.
Around midnight, I got up to pee and saw my mother folding the clothes she had taken down the night before in the living room. I went to her side and apologized. My mother didn't say anything, but her tone softened a bit. After all, she was a traditional woman, and they wouldn't even dare to think about incestuous sex.
She told me to control my sexual desires and not to do anything reckless. I just said calmly, "It's because my mother is so alluring; I couldn't help myself." My mother glanced at me sideways, sighed, and said, "You don't like young girls outside, but you prefer your own mother. That's an Oedipus complex."
I had no rebuttal, since I admit I was a bit perverted. My mother said she had once seen me masturbating in my room. She was going to get me some fruit, but when she saw me masturbating in front of the screen, she saw me watching videos on the computer. She said she knew then that mature women were very attractive to me.
I asked my mother if she got excited when she saw me holding my penis. She didn't say anything and immediately went into my father's room to go to sleep. But I deliberately reached out and touched my mother's waist, then pinched her right buttock. My mother flinched and said, "You're going to die! You even dare to hit me now!" I lowered my head and remained silent. Seeing my reaction, my mother only advised me to go to sleep early and not to hurt myself at night. Then she added that my father would be at work tomorrow.
I immediately went back to my room, thinking about how to spend a tender day with my mother the next day. However, my mother's attitude kept changing, sometimes firm and sometimes soft, leaving me completely unsure whether it was possible or not.
My father left at 5:30 in the morning. I sneaked into my mother's room. My mother was on the bed wearing a light purple onesie nightgown. Her snow-white thighs were draped over her long calves, exposed outside the small quilt. I looked at my mother sleeping on her side and thought about incestuous stories where they would take advantage of their mothers sleeping on their side to start groping and having sex, and finally, they would penetrate her. This was impossible in reality.
My mother sat up on the bed, her upper body raised, and asked what I wanted to do. I said I'd been hard all night and the swelling hadn't gone down; it was even harder this morning, and I didn't know what to do. My mother looked
at my underwear, which was bulging out like a tent. She said, "Right, I always wear underwear to bed." She said we were mother and son, and there was no way we could have a relationship. She also
said she wouldn't help me masturbate, because if I did, everything else would follow. I secretly stared at my mother's red underwear. When she noticed me looking at her private parts, she quickly closed her legs and covered herself with the blanket. Seeing that red underwear reminded me of how I used to sneak into my mother's closet when no one was home, secretly taking her underwear and using it to masturbate. I didn't dare ejaculate on it because it was too obvious. I also used a light blue lace bra as a nipple play, imagining myself masturbating. After doing this once or twice, I felt empty and thought it was stupid, so I gave up on that pointless thing.
Looking at my mother's resolute expression on the bed, her pink lips made me desperately want to shove my penis into her mouth and make her swallow it. Unfortunately, I chose to leave the room. I endured it all night, but the next morning I couldn't do anything. I got a little aroused and went out to play ball to release my energy. But the image of my mother crawling on all fours with her buttocks raised high in the air has remained etched in my memory.
Before, when my mother cleaned the floor, she would wear only athletic shorts. Some areas weren't clean enough after mopping, so she would simply grab a bucket of water and, like in an adult film, kneel on all fours, her round, fleshy buttocks bulging out with the stretching of her shorts. As she diligently scrubbed the floor clean, her entire body swayed with the motion.
I hid in the shadows and secretly watched, even unconsciously touching my penis. My mother's hips swayed at a 45-degree angle upwards, making me itch with desire. I kept fantasizing about moving my penis along with her buttocks. Unfortunately, after scrubbing for almost fifteen minutes, my mother got up to prepare to leave. At this moment, I deliberately walked over to my mother and asked if she needed any help. My mother shook her head and said no.
I glanced at her; she was covered in sweat from scrubbing the floor, and her white top was already soaked through, revealing glimpses of her cleavage. Unfortunately, my mother had no idea of my wicked thoughts. She just patted her buttocks and said she was tired, then went to take a shower. However, I have never spied on my mother while she showers, firstly because I never had the opportunity, and secondly because I don't have the habit of spying.
When I was a child, I was often sick and prone to vomiting and diarrhea, with a stomachache. My mother would rub my stomach with her palms, making me feel very comfortable. But that was when I was a child. Now that I'm older, I realize how enjoyable that was.
In winter, I'm prone to nasal allergies, constantly experiencing a stuffy, runny nose, headaches, and dizziness. Once, I had just returned home, and the next day I woke up feeling completely unwell. After vomiting everything up after dinner, I mustered my willpower to go see a doctor, took my medication, and immediately
went to sleep. My mother, seeing me take my medicine, came over for a few words before going about her business. I slept fitfully until 11 pm, when the headache became unbearable. It was a feeling of extreme fatigue, exhaustion, and sleepiness, a strong urge to sleep, but a terrible headache, like a drill bit drilling into my right temple. I tossed and turned in bed, cursing and swearing until I'd exhausted all my options, before getting up and inducing another bout of vomiting.
After I finished vomiting, I noticed my mother had gotten up. She must have heard me vomiting to ask if I was feeling any better. I said I had a headache. She asked if I wanted gua sha (scraping therapy), and I said yes. After the gua sha, I felt a bit hot, and the nurse's cool touch on my shoulders and neck helped clear my head
. I noticed my mother was wearing tight jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt that slightly exposed her cleavage. Apparently, she had gone out to a wedding with some factory workers that evening and had just returned home. I thought to myself, maybe this attempt at playing the victim would work, though I wasn't entirely sure what it would be. Seeing that I was almost done, my mother prepared to leave my room to shower and go to bed. I quickly called out, "Mom!" She turned to look at me and noticed she was still wearing light makeup. I hurriedly asked her to massage my temples.
She came over, and I shifted slightly. She sat on the edge of the bed and skillfully began massaging both sides of my head. Her technique was quite good. After about five to ten minutes, while I was still enjoying the faint scent of her perfume, she prepared to leave.
I stared at my mother's C-cup breasts, looking down at her slightly perky bosom. As she massaged her swaying body, her ample breasts swayed, making my penis hard again, and it twitched slightly. I then told her that my stomach was a little upset.
My mother looked a little anxious, her flustered expression suggesting I had an upset stomach. I said I wanted her to rub my stomach like she used to when I was little, casually adding that the warmth of her palms would make my stomach feel better. My mother frowned, a slightly blushing expression on her face, and said, "That's not a good idea, you're not that old anymore."
I pretended to be very uncomfortable, and my mother finally gave in, sliding her left hand along my firm chest muscles all the way to my six-pack abs. My mother, a little bewildered, said, "Nice body." I said with a touch of pride, "I went to the gym in college, do you like that, Mom?" My mother smiled shyly and didn't answer. She placed her left hand on my lower abdomen and began to stroke my belly, massaging it clockwise. Sometimes, if her fingernail accidentally scratched my hair, she would stop for a moment.
At that moment, my mother's eyes suddenly met mine. The room light was on, and her face was flushed. I asked her why she was blushing, and she said it was because she had drunk some alcohol. The room was a bit hot now. Fifteen minutes later, she said she was going to take a shower, and her expression returned to its original coldness. As her left hand was about to leave my stomach, I grabbed her left hand with my own. Seeing this, she probably knew what I was going to do.
I said to her, "Just this once, please, I feel so uncomfortable, I want to relax." Her attitude seemed to soften a little. I deliberately lowered her left hand, and her gentle fingers and palm rested on my underwear. She tried to pull her hand away.
I deliberately pressed my hand on my penis and thrust it into the center of her palm a couple of times. Her face was already red, and now she was silently watching me hold her hand. Just like the last time I pressed my penis against her buttocks, that expression was one of tacit consent amidst struggle.
Without a word, I clamped my legs around my mother's hand, pressing my penis against it. I asked her if it was okay, but she didn't answer. I asked if I could do it myself or if she would help me. Then she spoke, saying I didn't know what I was thinking, that a sick person could do such things. She said she was going to turn off the light and told me to turn on the nightlight, then went to get some toilet paper and brought it to the bedside.
I felt incredibly good. From the past until now, I had so desperately wanted my mother to help me masturbate. I even sat up, wrapped my arms around her waist, and uttered some very mushy words, calling her "Mommy" instead of "Mom." My mother said I wasn't allowed to touch her with my hands. I asked if I could look, but she said there weren't many reasons. I lay down and pulled down my underwear. My mother said that if it weren't for her illness, she would never have helped me with this. I nodded and said thank you, Mommy.
My mother first stroked my chest and abs with both hands, deliberately scraping lightly between my thighs. Her palms casually touched my glans, which ignited my lust to its peak, completely different from typical incest novels. She
didn't just grab my penis and shout things like, "What a big penis! Mommy loves your big penis!" or other lewd remarks. This silent teasing from my mother was exactly what I wanted. Finally, I couldn't resist and kept pleading with my mother with my eyes, begging her to hold my penis. Only then did my mother reluctantly begin.
I knew I couldn't rush things; I had to let things unfold naturally. My mother first grasped the lower edge of my glans with her left hand, pushing up my foreskin, and then rhythmically stroking it up and down. This surprised me greatly; my mother was so skilled. As she stroked my penis, she looked at my body, lost in thought.
As a mother, I imagine she struggled internally to agree to her son's request in the middle of the night, helping him release his pent-up desires. But given her personality, she wouldn't go back on her word.
As I watched her left hand manipulate my penis, her thumb and forefinger sometimes circling above the glans, moving up and down, left and right, with a rhythm that fluctuated in speed. It almost made me lose control; I'd been holding back my semen since leaving my mother's room last Saturday morning.
During this, I asked if she could moan softly, saying it might help me ejaculate faster. She hesitated, then ignored me. After fifteen minutes, she noticed I hadn't ejaculated yet. I gave her a helpless look and said, "Now you know how hard your son is, right?"
After I said that, she slapped my penis, seemingly annoyed that I hadn't ejaculated. She stepped to my right, her right hand gripping my penis.
It had become slightly soft. I complained that the stimulation wasn't enough. She said, "You thrust into me like that last time, wasn't that enough?" I chuckled and said it was because my mother's buttocks were truly beautiful, so I couldn't help it.
After my mother switched to her right hand, I realized that her right hand was her trump card. The strength of her grip was even more pleasurable than masturbating myself. My mother lowered her body, her breasts pressed against my right chest, her face directly facing mine, while her fleshy buttocks were unfortunately hidden from view.
My mother's expression was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Her eyes, adorned with light makeup, held a hazy yet provocative look, as if she were saying, "I'm going to make you ecstatic." Her lips were painted with pink lip gloss, a far cry from the bold red lipsticks worn by other women.

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