I just want to ask you one more time.

"Mom! I really want to lie in bed with you and love you tonight when we get home."

My cheeks suddenly felt dry, and I stared in shock at my son sitting across from me through the small round table.

I was startled and trembling at what he had just said, unable to pull my hands away from his grasp. I felt a sudden dizziness. My heart felt like it was going to stop beating. What had I done to make him think of that… to make him want to be with me…? What had I done wrong?

My cheeks burned, and I tried to peek around at the other diners to see if they had heard what he had said, if they had noticed.

If anyone had heard his blatant request, I would be terrified and ashamed!

Finally, I pulled my hands away from his grasp, finding them sweaty and my whole body burning.
My God, what's wrong with my son, Robert, today?

"Mom! You'll grant my request, right?"

I looked up at him again and saw him looking at me with the same expression, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
What did he want me to promise him—to do… with him…? My God, how could he even have such a thought? What have I done during our time at home, during my son's growth, that made him think he could be so close to me as to…? Even if he weren't my son, I couldn't, never, and would never allow it.

"Robert, what do you expect me to promise you?" I asked, my tone incredibly cold, and I could feel my anger rising.

He shrugged helplessly, and I couldn't help but see the same action this young man had taken when he asked me earlier.

Before answering me, Robert slowly took off the napkin wrapped around his chest and wiped the grease from his mouth.

"Mom! You might have misunderstood what you meant by 'expectation,' it should be 'hope' you'll agree."

Like a bolt blocking my way, I unexpectedly felt guilty, something I hadn't considered before.

"Robert, how did you explain this to your father?" He cleared his throat in response to my question: "I know you and Dad are very unhappy…?"

My body leaned towards the table, unable to control my rising anger.

“Robert! Whether my marriage is happy or not is none of your business.”

He seemed even more uncertain in response to the anger on my face. “Mom, I love you, I promise I’ll make you
happy .”
I was silent for a while, thinking that he actually wanted to…make me happy.

I glared at him angrily, picked up the ice water on the table, took a few sips, and demanded, “Robert, go
get the car and take me home right now!” I grabbed my handbag from under the table and stood up abruptly.

I strode past the dimly lit table toward the expensive hotel entrance, where anyone could tell an angry woman was walking out and waiting for her car.

It was hard to imagine what was wrong—my unhappy marriage, my husband preferring to have sex with any young woman he was involved with rather than with his unconditionally devoted wife.

My youngest daughter was expelled from school; my eldest daughter said she didn't want to study at university anymore and wanted to drop out; and now Robert has taken a liking to my body and wants to sleep with his own mother… My God! What sins have I committed to get me into this mess? How am I going to resolve this?

Thinking of this, I actually shed tears. I took a deep breath to calm myself down—I can't show weakness in front of my son. I can't think that I can make any demands or do whatever I want in front of my son, his dearest mother. Now he actually wants to… My…?

Just tonight, before my son invited me out for dinner, it was the focus of my entire week—my handsome son was going to take me to a fancy restaurant. Damn it, I even bought a new outfit and spent almost an hour getting ready! My son called a week ago to ask if he could invite the most beautiful and lovely woman to a date in the city. I naively and proudly accepted his invitation, happily thanking him for his thoughtfulness towards his mother.

At home, he always complimented my figure, and we had intimate little touches and hugs without any restraint—I never expected him to ask me to…!

I can't remember the last time my husband, Robert's father, told me he was inviting the most beautiful and lovely wife to a date in the city in her sexiest clothes. To hell with him! Robert was right, to hell with it, I married a husband in name only, it's just unbelievable. Just minutes before Robert brought this up, I was still defending my husband.

My son walked through the hotel's spacious double doors to the parking attendant and asked him to bring the car over immediately. I looked around, not wanting to look at him, and finally the attendant brought Robert's sports car over.

I noticed the attendant staring openly at my exposed thighs; I usually wear skirts with high pleats. When I sat down, my left thigh was exposed, and my son glanced at it too. I suddenly felt humiliated and disgusted… a foolish old woman, naive, childish, and simple.

My son had noticed my unintentional actions.

My son often compliments my legs and hips when we're together—whenever my skirt is above the knee, my thighs are exposed when I sit or walk, and he whistles in praise, but this is rare.

No, tonight is special; the hem of my skirt is higher than usual. Why not? I've thought about it before—I don't consider myself particularly beautiful, nor have I ever considered myself beautiful. I consider myself petite and cute. At first, I took my son's compliments as teasing and mockery, but as long as he was happy, relying on his compliments was worthwhile. Of course, I never thought that my son's happy compliments were because he had a petite and cute mother.

After Robert got into the car and fastened his seatbelt, he drove carefully on the way home. I know he always drives like a race car on main roads. Whenever I'm in the car, he drives as carefully as he is now—as I said, he is…a…very careful son.

I looked ahead, glancing at my son out of the corner of my eye. In the dim light, he kept his lips tightly pressed together, his teeth clenched, not uttering a word.

Perhaps I overreacted at the hotel. I mean, I could have calmly rejected his…confusion. The delusion…of bringing him back to reality, telling him I was his biological mother, that he was my grown son. Instead of storming out of the hotel in a huff, acting like a foolish teenager.

My behavior shocked and terrified him. How many mothers would hear their son tell them he wanted to sleep with his mother?

He felt that way, believe me, and I never expected it either!

“Robert…?”

I turned to him; he was staring straight ahead, driving.

“Robert, there’s a parking lot up ahead, stop there for a bit.” At

the next intersection, there was a large, unlit parking lot. He pulled into a parking space and parked his sports car.

“I’m sorry for my overreaction at the hotel.” Robert was my most beloved son—the one who comforted me in my darkest moments, the one I was most proud of in my life. I had to mend things, make peace with him, be practical—not about morality.

Rob lowered his hands from the steering wheel, his chin almost touching his chest, and his helpless gesture moved me deeply. Finally, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Mom—I never thought I'd hurt you."

"I know, darling," I replied. I truly understood. From some point in our life together, I was no longer confused by any of my delusions; he truly loved me—and now I was certain he wanted my body. Damn it, this was the only thing I was certain of for years. Now I needed to ask.

"When did you start...having these physical desires for me?"

I tried to keep my voice calm as I uttered the question, but he remained silent, too embarrassed to answer.

"Never mind, darling." I just wanted to know why I made him so alluring to my body. What had I done—did he hear me moaning when he saw his father and me making love? Or was it because when he was young, I often sunbathed in the backyard in a bikini, arousing his fantasies?

Had I, as a mother, not considered the impact my sexy body could have on my teenage son's mind and body? Had I done that? Even naively and proudly believing that having the only man watching me in my underwear would make him shyly look away from the curves of my nearly naked body—how naive I was!

After a few minutes of silence, my son answered my question: "When I was 14, I eavesdropped on Dad's phone calls in his study."

This startled me—eavesdropping on Dad's phone calls in his study. And his allure to his mother's body?

"He hinted on the phone about...about sex...I thought he was talking to you."

Oh my god, the damn old man was talking about sex with his slutty girlfriend and his teenage son overheard it? But what does this have to do with me?

"I'm listening, go ahead! It's okay, I know your dad." Of course, he knows his father too—all of us kids know about his frequent girlfriend changes—it's a secret our family doesn't tell anyone, and it might be why he's always wanted me to be happy.

Rob raised his head, but still wouldn't look me in the eye, and continued, "Dad said he was going to tie her up and fuck her until she passed out, until she begged him, I thought that was so cool, him doing that to you...but when he was about to hang up, he called her 'Lucy'!"

My name is Kelly.

"Something suddenly snapped, I don't understand why Dad didn't say that cool thing to you, but to other women—I always thought he would do those things to you." He finally stared at me, and we looked at each other.

This still didn't tell me why he was so infatuated with me.

I patted his thigh with my hand, completely unintentionally, and nodded to let him continue.

Rob shrugged. "After that incident, I started to see you differently—I think you're sexier and more beautiful than other women."

I had to sigh—my dearest son, pleased with my appearance, making the most innocent statements, I could be proud of myself, secretly pleased. More than once, I'd stood naked in front of the long mirror in my bedroom, looking at my private parts, while my son claimed the pleasure he wanted, even some need, and all I saw was an aging, plain woman.

As he transitioned from puberty to adulthood, I grew older with each passing year. My son's compliments made me feel like a liar—to myself—and a fool who wanted to have sex with me.

Rob, hearing my sigh, turned to me in surprise and paused.

"I know Daddy's unfaithful to you, and in some ways, it drives me crazy. He's blind to such a beautiful woman like you, so I'm furious that you're being…neglected by Daddy." Robert glanced at me boldly, placed his hands on my thighs, and said, "Then I started thinking about how to make you happy, Mom. I'll make you happy."

I turned my head to the car window, holding back tears, and covered my face with my hands. I let my son roam over my thighs.

This is proof of my middle age—my marriage has ruined my life, I have no sex life, I satisfy myself with my fingers, and my child is the only comfort in my life. Until tonight, he has restored my confidence; I am still slim, mature, and full. My son's praise is the proudest thing in my life; I can do anything to make him happy, and I am happy too.

But before he asked me out tonight, I never imagined I would do that…what was about to happen…!
Can I?

I snapped out of my reverie, feeling Robert's strong hand gently caressing my smooth, soft thigh, his head tilting towards me, looking into my eyes.

"Mom, don't be sad. Let's pretend nothing happened tonight. It's all up to you. I promise I'll never bring it up again."

What? He said he loved me, but now he's backing down because of my maternal pride, watching me live alone in a loveless marriage. But Robert was right—some things had to change. My marriage was unhappy; in short, I'd been unhappy for too long.

I faced my son and placed my hand on his hand resting on my thigh, covering it and stroking his fingers. These small touches were ordinary to us—but now I knew they meant something different.

He was my important support; I wanted my son to hug me, to caress me… and it was so readily available. How naive I was! This time, I lost my chance; there would never be another one between us.

It was up to me. I didn't know what to say, but after a great struggle, my lips finally managed to say, "Robert, I love you."

My son smiled sweetly and firmly, clearly, grabbed the tender flesh on my inner thigh, running his fingers across the groin and the junction of my vulva. I shuddered.

"Mom, I love you too." How many times had he pressed his hand against my thigh like this in recent years? Yet this time, it felt different; my inner thigh felt like it was being electrocuted.

We sat quietly in the car for a few minutes, his hand gently stroking my thigh. I pressed my legs tightly together, our eyes gazing deeply into each other's eyes.

I broke the deep silence: "Darling; I think you should take me home now." A mother's reserve suddenly overwhelmed me, and I felt a sense of loss, unable to meet his gaze or touch his hand.

On my son's face, I could see obvious disappointment. He withdrew his hand from my thigh, though it seemed as if his strong, warm hand remained on my leg…

Like a robot again, he drove forward, gripping the steering wheel, not even glancing at me. I sat beside him, turning to look at him.

A strange emotion welled up inside me. Not long after we left where we parked, I saw the bulge in his grey wool trousers hadn't subsided; he wasn't giving up, still trying to penetrate me.

Thankfully, women don't get that embarrassing erection when sexually aroused like men do. I felt a hot, wet sensation between my legs. I breathed heavily.

It had been a long time since the man had been aroused by seeing me, and this one looked quite large, bigger than his father's.

Before I got married, when his father drove me to meet him, it was the same thing—the same abusive desires from father and son were happening to me. The son's intentions were the same as his father's, which made me want to ask him:
"Do you often fantasize about tying me up... and then doing...things?"

Now, you have to realize that I'm just an ordinary, unremarkable middle-aged married woman with almost no sexual experience before marriage. Even when my husband and I were separated, I felt guilty after masturbating to satisfy my sexual desires. Damn it, I didn't experience orgasm until five years after my marriage!

What Robert said to me before, saying I was beautiful and wanted to make me happy, shocked me—how could he think I was so seductive to him? Anyway, it all started when he overheard his father and his girlfriend having a lewd, bondage conversation. So when I asked him if he fantasized about me too, I was shocked, afraid, and yet hoping for his answer.

However, Rob didn't even turn his head to look at me, only saying, "Yes... more than you think..."

A sudden desire welled up inside me, a desire to know what he meant by "more." Thank God, my lips stopped me before I could ask.

Rob, driving his expensive car, stopped at the intersection just as the light turned red, turned to look at me. I was still staring, my eyes fixed on his still-dazed, bulging crotch in his wool trousers. My son said, "I still want to fuck you." It felt like a merciless punch to my chest, making me tense.

I looked up at him—his expression one of surprise, like a teacher teasing a schoolchild. My son calmly asked,
"It's been so excited to get inside you, it surprised you, didn't it?" He looked down at his bulging crotch.

Seeing the traffic light turn green out of the corner of my eye, I immediately changed the subject: "Honey, it's green!"
Rob looked up at the road ahead and drove on. Once again, there was a silent silence between us. My son was focused on driving, and I lowered my head again, stealing a glance at the bulging crotch of his gray wool overcoat. My expression didn't seem to harbor any evil thoughts, and my son noticed me looking there.

Before I knew I shouldn't ask, my mouth broke out: "Doesn't it hurt?" I meant his penis was pushing against his wool overcoat.

The car was moving at at least 60 kilometers per hour when Robert quickly turned his head, deliberately staring at my chest, and asked, "Mom! Are your nipples uncomfortable?" He immediately turned his head back to the road ahead.

There was a hint of unbearable pain in his question. I didn't intend to dwell on his words. I quickly lowered my head to where his eyes were looking, feeling as if my heart was about to stop. My silk blouse was stretched taut over my chest, so my breasts were squeezed out from under three layers of clothing—I knew my son was referring to the two nipples that rose with each breath.

My God! Am I really a depraved, lewd middle-aged woman?! Sitting next to my grown son in his car, watching his erection between his legs… without noticing my own body’s reaction…!

I tried squeezing my thighs together, feeling a slow, burning itch between my legs. I rarely react this way without using my fingers, just from seeing my son’s bulging crotch.

A wave of guilt washed over me, and I leaned forward, my knees locked tightly together, my arms crossed across my chest.
When would we get home—I wondered how much longer—five minutes, maybe longer, oh!
We reached another intersection. Robert, looking at the red light, once again moved his right hand from the steering wheel to my thigh, covering it. I stared in horror at his hand on my thigh—I knew this touch was different from before; this touch had more meaning. It felt comfortable, novel, and, in some ways, a little frightening.

When the light turned green, the car started moving forward. His strong right hand pulled my left thigh, which was pressed together, towards him—as my legs parted, the front of my skirt rode back, revealing my buttocks near my thighs and the embarrassing gap between my legs. I didn't stop him; luckily, I leaned forward, otherwise, he would have seen my soaking wet new lace panties under my skirt with just a slight forward tilt.

Robert's hand was just centimeters away from touching…the lace of my panties under my skirt! I expected him to go deeper, but he only caressed my thighs.

I forced myself to breathe slowly and deeply, wanting to order him to remove his hand from my thighs, but this time my mouth wouldn't open, and I watched him caress my thighs at will.

When our car was about three or four blocks from my house, his hand moved from my thighs to my arms that were crossed across my chest, and in a sudden, natural reaction, I feared he would try to touch my breasts after attacking my inner thighs. Instead, Rob forcefully pulled my hand onto his knee.

Then he did something I'll never forget—he forcefully pulled my five fingers apart and placed them on the enormous bulge in his expensive gray wool trousers.

The car slowly came to a stop… Rob carefully parked it in the parking space in front of the door, then turned and silently glared at his indecisive, weak mother.

I sat motionless, a millimeter away from him, my hand gripping that impossible, enormous penis tightly. My eyes were fixed on both of them.

I must admit, I thought time seemed to stand still, heaven opened, and a bright light shone upon me—but I sat there, my heart blank. I didn't even want to open the car door and rush into my own sanctuary; my hesitation might provoke Rob's madness.

"Mom! I'm asking you one last time." Rob paused for a moment to think, and I stared at him slowly, dumbfounded, seeing a determined yet seemingly defeated man.
"Would you like me to take you to my place and fuck you until your legs are so weak you can't walk?" He decided to gamble everything.

I sighed, louder than before. He hadn't used the word "fuck" when he begged me at the restaurant. It's a gentle suggestion any lonely woman uses to be approached.

On the way home in the car, I didn't refuse his groping, which had already changed our mother-son relationship. Now my son wanted me to lower myself to treat me, no longer saying "he will always love me," but now using the word "fuck" to demand my consent!

I slapped my knees together, feeling a deep gripping contraction between my legs. I pulled out his huge, swollen member, deeply regretting my actions, and crossed my arms over my chest again.

A mature woman, his mother, felt and acted like this! Wouldn't anyone have seriously reprimanded him?

My son's request, "Do it to me until my legs go weak," should have shocked me even more... but I didn't. I wonder why I didn't feel disgusted, repulsed, and jump out of the car into my lonely but safe home the moment he said it? Was it because what Robert said earlier was true—that we would be a perfect match? And I had already allowed him to "do" me in my heart, but I was still struggling internally... Is that why I wonder why I didn't jump out of the car?

Damn it, my lust is burning in my genitals... my nipples are hard and throbbing, and my buttocks are slamming and shaking against the seat. God, I still feel like I'm still gripping my son's penis in his pants.

Can my son really fit perfectly with my vagina—(his father has used it hundreds of times)? God might be playing a cruel joke, letting me have sex with my closest son, while society doesn't allow it.

I've lived comfortably under the same roof with him for years, until he got a girlfriend in his second year of work and moved out.

During this time, he brought me joy and support. When I was sad and helpless, I felt happy just taking care of his food and clothing. It was true, Robert; he had truly received much maternal love and care, just as the Bible says—their blessed days had been going on for years.

Now it was about to cruelly and violently penetrate my body and mind, and I had no way to protect myself from this man—my only son's love for me, both physically and spiritually.

You see, my heart had already leaped into Robert's. Indeed—my son had become my lover! I wouldn't harden my heart to refuse. The lights in the neighbor's house on this street didn't have anyone facing me, pointing fingers at me accusing me of incest and my son's adultery. And I no longer cared about my husband's existence—I wasn't afraid of his accusations; had he ever cared about me?

"Mom, have you decided?" Robert's tone was impatient.

"Do you want me to touch your thigh like we were in the car, and then insert my engorged penis into you? Or do you want to get out of the car and go home to masturbate in the bathtub?"

When I realized he had hit on my most secret pleasure—masturbation—I was shocked. For years, I'd relied on my fingers to satisfy my occasional basic needs, so masturbation was second nature to me. Although I could satisfy myself with my fingers less and less often, it was always a safe and discreet solution.

Even though I often felt guilty and remorseful afterward. Like in the car with Robert, secretly enjoying ourselves, escaping the outside world, and then accepting that pleasurable guilt and remorse? Would I have to endure this guilt and remorse forever—just because my husband seeks sex outside the home without being blamed, while I merely release myself in the bathtub? Empathy, feeling guilty and guilty for having an affair with my own son?

Robert had no patience for my decision, and it frightened me.

"Mom! Are you sure you want to get off?" I could feel his eyes glaring at me like a dagger.

Robert had never given me such a hard time before—since he was treating me like this. I didn't need to be scared. I wasn't angry with him anymore, or with myself. My heart was trying to make a rational decision about the situation. A mixture of wildness and emotion swirled within me.

I quickly glanced at my son's throbbing penis, which was thrusting upwards towards me. My son was eager to have sex with me. I saw the muscles in my thighs trembling, and then I looked up at my son staring at me with impatient, fiery eyes. I whispered, "If you don't mind your father's used cunt, then take me home!" The moment I made that decision, our relationship would never turn back.

As soon as I finished speaking, my son's face softened, his eyes sparkling with surprise and joy. A happy smile slowly appeared on his lips, and his face immediately became relaxed and cheerful.

My heart surged from the abyss of fear, the fear of losing the only man I loved—seeing my son so happy because I agreed to have sex with him, I loved him more than my own life, worth any price. The

burning desire between my legs dominated my mind and body. Now, sitting in the car, I immediately wondered if he wanted me to relieve his still painfully hard penis immediately, or if I should wait until he went to his apartment to do so?

My son had been fantasizing about my body and my lower abdomen for some time now. I doubted whether I, an ordinary mother who had never been with other men, was capable of satisfying him. – His father rarely used my genitals, but I was confident – I could tightly envelop his enormous penis, and a huge desire to satisfy him arose within me.

Even if I didn't doubt my ability, the anxiety before having sex with my son worried me – my age at marriage and the frequency of my sexual activity were disproportionate – he was young and strong, and sex would inevitably be frequent, which was something I had to overcome.

I've decided to step into the forbidden zone, one step at a time. I'm going to rush into the impossible relationship I've already committed, regardless of the consequences. With a man who can make me happy, and who is also my only beloved son, this is my time to be happy.

I reached out and grabbed the hand that had caressed my soft inner thigh while he was driving—my familiar, thick index finger was sucking on my lipstick-covered lips. My eyes told him that I was ready for everything he wanted. Once in bed, I would wet his throbbing penis, just like I was sucking on his finger now, and smoothly enter his dream paradise. I looked forward to our future, filled with lust and adventure.

xxx

"We're here, get out," Robert got out of the car and opened the door for me, waking me from my daydream.

He happily took my hand and led me into his rented apartment.

After closing the door, we immediately embraced. Robert pushed me against the door, our hungry lips pressed tightly together, our tongues entwined in a frenzied dance. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his hands against my breasts, and my breath caught in my throat. His free left hand clutched the hem of his shirt. My breasts, not only perfectly shaped and elastic, were incredibly sensitive. Under his caresses, they changed at an astonishing speed, as if trying to break free and burst forth from my clothes.

My son flicked his erect nipple. Our tongues continued to swirl within our lips, our lips still pressed together. My lower body was so hot that my legs felt weak and I couldn't stand up straight. Robert held me tightly around the waist, leading me to lie down on the bed. He pressed down on top of me, pulling up the hem of my skirt with his right hand. At the same time, I tried to undo his belt. While I was busy undoing his belt, he casually pulled my lace panties down to my knees.

As I tore off my underwear with my toes, Robert had already stripped completely naked in a flash. I cooperated, stripping all my clothes off as well.

"Mom, I can't believe it," Robert gasped, "I'm about to fuck you..."

Although I had showered before Robert asked me out, I still asked, "Should I go shower first?"

"No, I want to smell your original scent."

My son bent down and hugged my firm, fleshy thighs, sniffing the pubic hair on my mons pubis. He held
my right leg from my calf to my thigh and then from my thigh back to my calf, before sliding down to my buttocks, kneading and massaging
the soft flesh, kneading it forcefully. He was delicately touching the body he had fantasized about since childhood.

I lay naked on my back, my breasts swaying with my movements, my stomach rising and falling with my breath. My son looked at me with passionate eyes. He lay on top of me, kissing my body from my forehead down my back, gently biting my nipples a few times, burying his head in my cleavage, kissing his face with my trembling breasts.

He turned over and continued kissing down my back. When he kissed the pubic hair on my thighs, I felt a little itchy and instinctively scratched him. Robert probably thought I wanted him to kiss my genitals, so he adjusted his position and began kissing my vulva. But he only kissed for a short while, perhaps because of the unpleasant smell, and then turned around and hugged me.

His lips did have a musky smell, and I regretted not washing myself beforehand so he could smell it. He tried to spread my thighs apart, staring intently at the folds of my pubic hair, saying, "Open them wider!"

I spread my thighs wide, exposing my entire vulva to him.

I stared intently at the clear fluid flowing from his glans, at my opening. I provocatively
wiggled my hips, gazing at my beloved little head.

So adorable! Just thinking about it about to enter me made my mouth water, and even that made me wet.

Robert, straddling me, stared into my eyes. This was the most thrilling moment. As
he lowered his head to kiss me, he guided his ever-wanting penis inside me. I
understood that our mother-son relationship was about to change forever. The moment he entered, we would go from mother and son
to lovers. My vagina felt stretched and tightened by his glans. He let out a loud
groan and began to slide in and out.

My vagina really had to stretch and expand to accommodate him. He went deeper and deeper until our pubic bones
touched .

When we started having sex, I could feel the friction of our pubic hair. I had never received such a huge
penis , and it hurt a little. I patted his back and whispered in his ear,
"Robert! Slow down, Mom! It's been a long time, let me get used to it."

"Mmm!" Robert stopped thrusting, pressed down on top of me, and kissed my tear-filled eyes.

I can't describe how I feel now that my son is doing this to me. The child I once raised to be obedient is now conquering my body and soul. How absurd and bizarre it is to pound his mother's sensitive vagina with his weapon of invading women, yet the impact feels so wonderful.

"Mom! Your pussy is holding me so tightly. It feels so good," he occasionally murmured in praise of me.

He began to thrust faster into my vagina. I knew he was about to come, and I was close too, so I
grabbed his buttocks and rotated my hips upwards. I felt the head of his penis begin
to dilate inside me.

I then spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist, hugging his back tightly. We were both consumed by
the pleasure of incest, our lust overwhelming us, wanting to devour each other. Our sensitive genitals tightened around each other, and after
less than a minute of thrusting and rubbing, perhaps only a few seconds, we reached the peak of our desire. I tried
to hold back, but I was already in a daze, crying out as I released my vaginal fluids. At the same time, my son ejaculated wave
after wave of semen into my uterus. We held each other tightly, the onslaught of orgasm seemingly
unstoppable , both of us continuously releasing vaginal fluids and semen.

Finally, we released all our lust and stopped trembling. The bedsheet beneath us was completely soaked with vaginal fluids, and my son's penis
had softened and remained inside me.

I could hear my heart pounding; I had never experienced such an orgasm before. All the desire of my life was released in half a minute, my vision blurred. We were both exhausted. My son knelt on top of me, my vagina filled with vaginal fluids, a stinging pain deep within my uterus.

Rob remained on top of me, as if I had drained him dry. Only when I could no longer bear it and pushed against his lower back did he pull his penis out of my vagina.

All night, we slept, waking up to make love. Almost every time Rob had sex with me, I reached orgasm.

I realized he could accurately estimate when I would climax; he said he could tell from my expression and moans whether I was close to orgasm.

After I climaxed, he would accelerate and ejaculate within seconds, then lie on top of me and ask, "Mom! Was that good?"

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. Letting his penis remain in my vagina for a while, we would fall asleep in each other's arms, waking up to have sex again. I felt like we were constantly making love, my lower body constantly being thrust into, him lying on top of me ejaculating into my vagina; Rob seemed to have an endless supply of semen.

After years of sexual drought, I seemed to be trying to make up for it. Similarly, Robert wanted to satisfy his long-standing physical desire for me, and as his mother, now middle-aged, I seemed unable to fulfill his allure.

Our last sexual encounter that day was around three in the morning. I was fast asleep when Robert was on top of me, kissing me awake. Just waking, my vagina still held his semen, and he easily penetrated me. But this time, it clearly lacked the passion of the previous times, at least that's how I felt.

After a while, he wanted me to be on top, so we switched positions. I'm the kind of woman who experiences intense vaginal pleasure. Riding on Robert, I ejaculated shortly after he began stroking my nipples with his hands, but he hadn't yet. I moved on top of him for a long time. After the orgasm, I was exhausted, but I still straddled him, my loose breasts heaving, using the last of my strength to hold on until his semen shot into my vagina. I lay on top of him, unable to move. He held my buttocks, saying he felt very good, even better than before. He was certainly very comfortable, because I had not only given him the body he had dreamed of having with his mother, but also my love.

His penis was still inside my vagina, and I practically fell asleep on top of him.

The next day, Rob and I each called our boss to ask for leave. Our boss asked what I had done the night before, saying I seemed listless. I felt guilty and embarrassed. As I stammered an answer, Rob whispered in my ear, "She was fucking her son all night; her legs are weak." Indeed, my vagina was red and swollen from Rob's fucking, stretched to the point of almost tearing by his large glans; the pain and soreness made it impossible to walk normally.

"Would you like me to take you to my place and fuck you until your legs are too weak to walk?" As Rob drove me home, I kept replaying those words in my mind, spoken before he even finished with me. Tomorrow at work, I'll have to be extra careful about how I walk.

The End.

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