Deep-Throating Mom

Ever since, my mom had been pretty depressed, she’d never really gotten over my dad’s death. I remember several nights when I’d be lying in bed and could hear her cry herself to sleep. I loved my mom so much and hated to see her hurting. I tried to help out as much as possible with everyday stuff like cooking meals, doing the laundry, and cleaning the house. Little did I know that one night, I was going to help out my mom out in another very different and memorable way.

I should mention that my mom was not the most physically alluring woman in the world. To be frank, most men would not find her attractive. In fact, she’s plain … she dresses in plain looking clothes, she hardly wears any make-up, she’s what you might call a “pleasantly plump” woman. But in my eyes, she is one of the most beautiful women in the world.

The reason I describe her to you is that like any young boy entering puberty, his mother is the object of many masturbation sessions. Who knows what it is that sexually attracts a young boy to his mother? I suppose it might be that innate thrill of danger in flirting with something considered forbidden or taboo. Or it could be the constant close proximity and the availability that facilitate this attraction

Anyways, one Friday I was making dinner when my mom came home from work. She looked miserable, so I asked her what was bothering her.

“Mom?”

“Yes sweetie?”

“Everything ok, you look like something’s bothering you?”

“Oh it’s nothing Ryan,” she said in a voice that was so obviously full of pain.

“Come on, Mom, I know something’s the matter. What is it? Please tell me, I hate to see you suffer!”

She said, “Well, I had a tough week at work, that’s all.” She was obviously masking her true feelings.

I replied, “Mom, now you and I both know that work has nothing to do with it. Come on, what is it really?”

“Well,” she started to say in a low soft voice, “Today would have been your father’s and my 20th wedding anniversary,” and then she burst into uncontrollable tears.

“Damn,” I thought to myself, how could I have been so stupid! I had forgotten about my parents’ anniversaries after dad had died, I guess thinking that they would only remind mom about painful memories. Obviously, mom had not forgotten. Not only did I feel horrible because I had forgotten the anniversary, but I had also made mom cry. I walked over to her and gently embraced her. She was sobbing uncontrollably. I could feel the shoulder of my shirt become wet at the instant that her face rested there. I kept telling her that everything was going to be all right, that she was going to be all right, that I was going to take care of her. And then it happened!

That familiar sensation had started. I was getting a hard-on. My thoughts were drifting from consoling my very own mother, berieved from my father’s death, to comforting her in other ways. I hadn’t noticed it before, but I was thinking about what she was wearing at that moment. A white blouse, a black skirt, and a bra (I could feel it as I moved my hands around her back). I could see it so clearly now and knew what I had to do. I had to take my father’s place, as the man of the house, the man in my mother’s bed. Dreams were about to become reality, I hoped.

I started to gently kiss my mother’s neck. The smell of her hair was intoxicating. I started to rub her back in a more seductive manner, and I pulled her in closer to me so I could feel her breasts against me. I was losing myself into making my dreams come true. As my hands moved and started to make their way from her back around to her beautiful 38DD breasts, I didn’t notice that my mother had become very still, frozen like a statue.

By :John Demille

Check Also

A Wife’s Temptation

I was five months pregnant, but not showing much. Not enough to start with maternity …

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.