My son has been taking my panties few weeks now and I left him two pairs but on one faithful day I get obsessed with him we had fun together galbrea
It’s been almost a week since he started taking my panties.
I’ve left him two more pairs since, each soaked in my scent, each discarded casually in places I’ll know he’ll find them. Each time they’ve vanished only to turn up the next morning, washed and folded in the fresh laundry.
Aiden. My sweet boy. My only son, and these past weeks, the object of my obsession. It had started innocently enough, a sound from his bedroom, a curious mother, but what I’d seen that night as I’d watched him pleasure himself had awoken something in me.
I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t recognise the woman staring back at me, the dark hair, blue eyes, full curves, yes, all familiar but there is something behind her eyes now, a lust, a need that is, quite honestly a little frightening.
Tonight I’ve decided to take things further. Tonight I plan to see just how deep his desire for me runs, and as I stand here, staring myself down, I realise I’m trying to convince myself not to do this. My idea, my plan, is sick, any normal person would be appalled, any mother should be horrified by the notion of what I’m about to do, and yet, as I stand here, I know damn well I’m going to do it anyway.
I resist the urge to make myself enticing, no make-up, no lingerie just an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties I specifically selected because they’re thin and worn and barely hide anything.
I dim the lights and lie back on my bed, arranging myself accordingly, splayed out, open, inviting. I hitch the shirt up to reveal my midriff, stopping just short of exposing my breasts. It can’t look staged; it has to be real.
I reek of wine. The three glasses of Pinot Grigio, most of which I poured down the sink when Aiden wasn’t looking. One for courage and the rest I swished around my mouth and spat out. I am a notoriously weak drinker, three glasses of wine would be enough to put me on the floor.
Aiden will know that of course. I’m counting on it.
I don’t know how long I lay there in that barely lit room; it felt like hours but it could have been only a few minutes, my hyperawareness stretching the time out as I waited, until finally I heard those familiar footsteps on the stairs. I shudder with anticipation as he makes his way down the hallway, my door is ajar, just a crack, not enough to see inside but enough to invite him to investigate, to peek inside. The temptation is the trap and I, I am the bait.
He opens my door. The soft creak of the hinges, the catch in his breath as he lay eyes on me, both sounds I’ve heard a thousand times before, but never like this. Never in the dark. Never with such wicked intent in my heart.
I shift position just slightly, my legs parting just a fraction more but enough to elicit a stifiled gasp from Aiden.
“Hey Mom?” His voice cracks, his nerves obvious. “Are… are you awake?”
I don’t answer or respond to his voice, instead I slow my breathing, deepening it and letting my mouth fall open just slightly. I’ve practiced this. I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times.
He enters the room, I hear his footsteps draw closer. My heart hammers against my chest but I stay limp, flacid. The performance is everything and the wine on my breath is the only prop I need.
The bed dips under his weight and the bed creaks oh so softly. I feel the shift of the mattress, the warmth of his body moving closer. His breath is so close that my skin prickles. My nipples tighten beneath the thin cotton, and I hope he notices. God, I hope he looks. I hope he can’t stop looking. I hope he does more than look.
His hand brushes against my shoulder. Light. Tentative. Testing?
“Mom?”
I don’t move. I don’t react, despite the fact that internally I am screaming.
His fingers trace their way down my arm, slowly, like a soft breeze; he’s barely there, like he’s probing to see whether I’ll wake. I don’t of course, I maintain the performance. I let my body go slack, let my head loll to the side, facing him. I’ve been waiting so long for him to touch me. I’ve been waiting since that first night, the night I saw him so exposed and vulnerable. Since the morning I found my panties washed and folded when I knew I’d left them in the laundry basket.
He takes a long, ragged breath. Then I feel a slight pressure on my left nipple, a gentle tease from above, a finger? Yes, his finger, it rolls around the sensitive nub of my nipple, teasing, flicking across it until it becomes fully erect. A new feeling now, he’s added his thumb to the equation, gently pinching and pulling. God, I wish he’d go harder, I want him to hurt me, I deserve it, I’ve been so bad, so very bad. A soft moan escapes my lips and I feel him jerk away in fear.
I remain completely still, my breath slow and measured until, after a moments pause, he returns to my breast, this time his whole hand squeezes me through the fabric of my shirt. He starts to knead and massage the soft flesh of my breast, the pressure increasing as he moves from one to the other until he has both hands on me, squeezing my breasts together before mashing them down into my chest.
He’s like a child with a new plaything, excited, overeager and I worry for a moment he’s going to peak too soon. I guess the same thought must have occurred to him as he removes his hands and takes a breath. Composing himself. I can feel a slow deep motion through the bed, and I know he’s touching himself. Has he taken his cock in hand or is he touching himself through his pants? I’m dying to know but I can’t open my eyes, because he’s right there, looming over me.
Then his hand slides across my exposed belly and my breath catches in my throat. He pauses but doesn’t remove his hand this time, after a moment he continues exploring, sliding his fingers across my smooth, bare skin, across my hip, fingers curling over the waistband of my panties.
I stay absolutely still, but it’s so hard not to move.
He tugs. Slowly, oh so slowly.
I have to force myself not to lift my hips as he pulls the flimsy fabric down my thighs and past my knees before gently slipping them over my feet. The cool air hits my bare cunt and I cannot fully suppress a shiver. I’m already wet. Hell, I’ve been wet since dinner, since I caught him staring at my ass when I bent over.
“Oh fuck”. Just the faintest whisper escapes him, barely audible, but packed with feeling. Lust, desire, fear, I can tell he’s riding the same rollercoaster of emotions that are threatening to pull me under.
He’s a shy boy, my Aiden. I bet he’s never seen a woman laid bare like this, not in the flesh and it sends a hot flush through me knowing that I was his first.
I feel his hand on my inner thigh. His palm is warm, his fingertips slightly calloussed, and he’s trembling. I can feel that tremor in his fingers as they slide upward, gently but firmly parting my legs just enough for him to see my clean shaven cunt.
I’m fully exposed now, vulnerable both physically and emotionally. The fingers of my right hand, which have been tucked beneath my head this whole time, snake into my hair and pull tight. The pain centres me, brings me to focus, brings me back to the here and now.
Then he touches me there, just a light brush of his finger and my entire body just fucking ignites.
His fingers find their way to my hungry slit, and I jerk inwardly, but my body doesn’t flinch. Outwardly, I’m still completely dead to the world. To any observer I’m just some drunk whore, passed out and helpless, while her predatory son slides two fingers through the slick folds of her cunt.
I hear him gasp under his breath. “You’re so wet, Mom.”
He says it like he can’t believe it. Like he’s discovering some hidden truth for the first time. His fingers circle my clit, clumsy at first, his lust driving him too move fast, too desperate, but then, he grows more confident. He finds the rhythm that my body responds to, he finds the pressure, the motion, and I lie there, fighting every instinct to moan, to buck my hips into his touch, to grab his hand and shove it deeper.
He pushes a finger inside me, and I very nearly lose myself. My fingers threaten to rip my hair out in thick clumps, but it’s all that keeps me in check, the pain both stifling and magnifying the pleasure at the same time.
My pussy clenches around him, greedy and hungry, and he utters a low broken groan that makes me throb. He pushes deeper into me, knuckle deep, and caresses my inner walls, then withdraws and pushes back in with two fingers. The stretch is perfect. I grip him longingly, with an unspoken need of which he has no idea, so slick and tight, and the wet sound of him fingering me fills the room.
I feel so dirty, like a filthy slut, what I’m doing, what I’m letting him do to me it’s obscene, it’s-
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Oh fuck. Yeah…”
His words strike all thought from my mind.
He presses down, pushing me into the mattress while his fingers pump in and out of me, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stay quiet. My nipples are so hard that they actually hurt and my cunt is dripping onto the sheets. I should feel humiliated but all I feel is that ever present fucking hunger.
He pulls his fingers out slowly, my pussy reluctantly releasing him with an obscene, wet sound. I hear him bring them to his mouth. The wet slurp of him tasting me, savouring me, and the groan of longing that follows.
“Fuck, Mom… fuck, you taste so fucking good…”
His weight shifts on the bed and I can feel his hands on my hips, turning me with infinite care, gently onto my side, repositioning me for some obscene purpose. Then he reveals his intent, one hand parts my ass cheeks while his fingers find my puckered hole, circling the tight muscle, probing, testing and I freeze.
I wasn’t anticipating this. I underestimated my sweet boy’s hunger, and believing me to be completely at his mercy, he doesn’t stop, and I, I cannot resist. I am at his mercy.
He pushes one fingertip in. Just the wet, lubricated tip and I feel the tight ring of muscle give. I welcome the intrusion, and a fresh flood of wetness soaks my already sopping wet cunt. He pushes deeper inside, a whole finger, knuckle, deep in my ass and I can’t help it. Oh god, I can’t stop it, I can’t…
I moan.
He freezes.
I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut. I slump deeper into the mattress, pretending I’m dreaming, pretending the sound was unconscious as I let myself melt into the mattress.
My ass clenches around his finger, trying so hard to hold him there, to draw out this base defilement. He doesn’t pull out for a long time, either to scared to wake me or unwilling to give up the power he must feel in this moment.
“Shit,” he whispers.
He gently withdraws his finger from my ass, and I feel it contract longingly at his sudden absence. Then his hands are on my tits once more. He shoves my t-shirt up, rolling it over my chest and beneath my armpits, exposing my breasts to the cool air, and I feel his palms cup the heavy weight of them.
He squeezes. Hard.
It hurts. His hunger is growing, his lust, I can feel it in every heavy breath he takes and for the first time I almost panic, have I let things go to far? Am I losing control?
What choice do I have? If I suddenly wake now, the guilt and shame would destroy him, he’d never be able to look at me the same way again and I don’t want that, I can’t let that happen. So I remain still, vulnerable and completely at his mercy.
He leans down. The bed shifts as he transfers his weight and I feel his mouth on my left nipple, hot and wet, his tongue circling the bud, tracing it with his teeth before he sucks it deep into his mouth.
I almost break then. I want so badly to grab his head, twist my fingers into his hair and pull him harder against me. But I don’t. I can’t. I can’t break the facade, everything depends on the lie that I’ve built here, the deception I’ve so carefully crafted. So I let him take what he wants, and in doing so, I give myself to him utterly.
He switches to my right breast, mouthing and suckling, his hand still kneading the the other. It is a beautiful feeling, it makes me feel strangely whole. I can feel the rigidity of his cock pressing against my thigh, so hard, so insistent, the fabric of his shorts tracing a wet path across my skin as he grinds against me, breathing heavy, mouth still on my nipple.
His body shifts, and I sense him kneeling beside my head. There’s a rustle of fabric, of his shorts coming down and then I feel it. His cock. His rock-hard, wet cock. The smell of his raw manhood is almost overpowering, the scent of his raw sex, sends my heart racing as the tip brushes against my lips, warm and slick with pre-cum. He rubs it across my mouth, painting my lips, dragging the head back and forth.
“Open your mouth,” he whispers. “Please Mommy. Just a little.”
I don’t.
I can’t.
If I open my mouth, if I take him in like every nerve, every inch of me screams to do, the pretense is over. He’ll know I’m awake. He’ll know I wanted this. He’ll know I planned it.
But my lips are already parted from my fake sleep, and his eager cock finds the gap.
He pushes forward. Just the head. Just enough for me to feel the tip slide between my lips, to taste the salt of him on my tongue. He gasps, hips stuttering, and I feel him throb against my lips.
“Fuck… Mom… your mouth is so warm…”
He pushes deeper.
So gently and yet I know he longs to fuck my mouth, to just unleash all his pent up frustration and sexual need. I can feel it in the tauntness of his body, the strain in his breathing.
His cock slides across my tongue, thick and heavy, and I taste him, bitter and salty and so fucking good. Somehow I manage to keep my tongue still, to resist the urge to caress him, to probe his cock hole. I keep my eyes closed and I let him fuck my mouth in slow, shallow thrusts, each one a little deeper, a little braver.
He’s moaning now. Low and desperate, frantic almost. His hand finds my hair, fisting it gently, and he starts to fuck my face with small, measured strokes. He’s equally terrified of waking me as he’s terrified of stopping.
“I’m gonna cum,” he gasps. “I’m gonna cum in your mouth, Mom. Okay? I’m gonna…”
He thrusts deeper. His cock hits the back of my throat and he holds it there, pulsing, spilling. Hot ropes of semen squirt into my mouth, thick and bitter, but I don’t swallow. God I want to, I want to drink every drop of his hot seed, to take it in and savour every drop but I can’t, the deception has to remain. Instead I let it pool on my tongue. I let him watch it dribble from the corner of my lips and seep onto the sheets.
He pulls out. Panting. Shaking. He chokes back a sob and I feel the shame radiating from him, I want to embrace him so badly, to tell him everything is okay, but I can’t, not yet. It’s the time and he’s not ready.
Instead, I keep my mouth open, my eyes closed and let my sons’ semen leak from my eager lips.
He wipes me down with the bedsheet, gently teasing my shirt back down, and rises from the bed.
I open one eye, just a fraction, peering through the bars of my eyelashes. I watch as Aiden picks up my panties, crumpled on the floor and wraps them over his cock, cleaning himself befoing shoves them into his pocket.
He looks down at me, his cock still rigid, a thin drop of clear liquid hanging from it. I see the shame in his eyes, the fear and the guilt, but most of all I see the lust. He wants more, he wants to drag me to the end of the bed, plunge his cock inside me, and fuck me until he is truly spent. To make me his, and God help me I want it too, if he were to reach for me now. If he were to force himself on me I would give myself to him utterly.
He hesitates for another moment.
The guilt wins. I see him deflate. His confidence evaporates.
“I… I’m so sorry”.
He hurries from the room. The door clicks shut.
I’m alone.
I open my eyes fully, and a long exhalation of pent up frustration escapes me.
I reach up with two fingers and scoop my son’s cum from my chin. I bring it to my lips and suck my fingers clean, swallowing every last drop. A shudder pulses through my body with the realisation that I’ve tasted my son for the first time.
The guilt hits me again like a sledgehammer, the shame of it.
What the hell have I become? What have I done?
But then I think, what have I done, really? Nothing. Everything that happened tonight was done to me, I could have stopped it yes but what then? Aiden would have been destroyed with shame, no.
No.
This is the best way. He feels no shame and I feel…
What do I feel?
I feel something I’ve never felt before, and I’m afraid that I don’t want it to stop ~ for more info ~galbreathshelly@gmail.com
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