I 'm nuts .
First of all, I want to state that this tale is not my own.
The author's name is Dete, and her writing is brilliant... full of innuendo.
The story is huge but extremely exciting to read.
Well, read it and draw your own conclusions.
It's not like I don't have a lot of money.
After many attempts, I managed to find the courage and today everyone will know about my relationship with my 17-year-old son. My name is Odete, 52 years old, living in a village of Portugal. I had few boyfriends - three to be more precise; I dated briefly for around 3 years and got married at 24. A year later I was mother of a little girl, as all beautiful girls are like that. My husband worked as an advertiser for his company's products, I sewed clothes and made repairs on them, so we lived through the 60s difficult but happy. Love existed, but we didn't give a damn about it: some kisses, some caresses and from time to time we had sex. Although always the same way, always in the same position, I liked it. At first I made love for "duty" of wife, always shy, never naked. I stayed in the kitchen waiting for my husband to lie down, then went upstairs, took off his clothes, was always combinations, lay beside him, and once a week on his initiative opened her legs and was possessed. It was always in this position that I satisfied his sexual desire, because most of the time I pretended to like him even though it rarely gave me pleasure. I didn't feel any pain; moreover, I never felt pain during sex but I did not know that pleasure could give me sex. When we kissed each other, which seldom happened, then yes, I had a feeling of pleasure and love for my husband - very good indeed! A few years after we were married - Fernanda was only 3 and a half <unk> because of unemployment, my husband emigrated to Brazil where he stayed for 9 years while I continued the simple life with one little girl that had always been there but now it's gone... somewhat more difficult. In that period when I was alone, I never felt the lack of sex. Certainly because it seemed to me that sexual intercourse is only for my husband's satisfaction. The truth is... Only once, after imagining myself in his arms, I unintentionally touched my chest and caressed it for a few moments but only briefly because then a feeling of guilt invaded my mind and I tried to forget everything and fell asleep. For me sex was just an obligation that I had - make my husband "pour out" inside me all his masculinity without taking any pleasure from it. Interestingly, I never felt "dirty" after making love. Never washed immediately after being used by him. My thighs were tight as if to contain all that hot liquid inside my body. One day I was "besieged" by a friend and neighbor, an older woman than me, very - how to say it here - excited because she wasn't satisfied with her husband. She quickly found herself a lover and shamelessly talked about this relationship in public without any prejudice so much that the village considered her nymphomaniac. That day I felt what all women feel when they're aroused, and if it wasn't for the fact that she was so "cheap talk", I would have opened up more to her. Even then we talked about our intimate lives; This woman, with her experience and malice, got me to make up erotic stories as if they were my fantasies. I commented that every day she satisfied me with fingers imagining the penis, which she countered by saying: "A dick fucking you isn't it? You really need a stick but I don't have one, and I do not like cones". Embarrassed but very excited, I asked her to talk about her fantasies, to which she immediately acceded, telling how she liked doing things, what she did, what he wanted done to him, finally everything about his problems. She loved that they came in hand, which made me feel an enormous desire, I remembered how I squeezed my thighs to hold the sperm inside of me and even though I didn't have an orgasm, I felt very close to achieving it at that moment. After this conversation, I went through some sleepless nights but for shame never masturbated myself after all these years living alone was the time when my beloved returned. Upon receiving confirmation of his return I lived with anxiety almost desperate because he waited so long for such a delay, but there would be day. Early Sunday morning, I was home alone and Fernanda in catechism class when a car pulled up outside the door. I ran like crazy with such great longing that it made me give myself into his arms right there on the street - which at the time would have been reprehensible in my country - but without "embarrassment", I kissed him as I'd never done before. Once inside the house, while Nandinha wasn't there we kissed like two crazy people until after her daughter arrived I had finished making lunch and that afternoon all three of us were at home longing for each other but on this night we made love as never before. For the first time, I wished to be penetrated and not possessed, cursed, moaned and screamed, touched and stroked that wonderful penis, felt for the very first time his testicles in my hand, even let out a word I'd never uttered before - beautiful balls you have for me, my love... But we quickly went back to routine: I lay down with open legs, he was on top of it, inserting and taking off, coming and going ... I started wanting more sex, not being the same woman anymore, no longer feeling like an object but a female needing to be penetrated and enjoying that fantastic sensation of orgasm. Frustrated, I thought about everything I could do to get from my man what was lacking in me, and found a solution which turned out to be quite simple: let my feminine instincts make him masculine, and it worked. So one day we went for dinner, watched this unforgettable movie called "Taboo". Despite the initial shock, because I'd never seen a pornographic film before, I took full advantage of the experience as lead actress. There was one scene in which a woman while dressing sensuously is being spied on by her own son. It caused me to feel disapproved, but how she dressed made the boy who was spying on her have an apparently great desire and that helped free my mind. I was brought up in a very retrograde environment, but my mother who came from less modest backgrounds than me and whose maternal grandparents were wealthy. My grandfather's foul habits ruined the family; she always dressed elegantly, wore long skirts, whenever she went out wearing socks even at a time when it was difficult to find stores that sold them after the mini skirt appeared. She never used pantyhose, found where to buy those stylish stockings which she often worn. That night, after the movie we went to a bar for drinks as it was not pleasant and quickly returned home carrying in my head an idea of a different evening. I knew that there were women who sucked on their husband's sex but had never dared do so because I thought this is something prostitutes would ever have done, not from disgust but out of modesty however that night I wanted to imitate that woman I saw in the film, wanting to undress myself before him like she was a bad wife I started by putting on my favorite socks, black and clear with seams at the back up to halfway down my thighs fastened in a leather belt -- ligature as I called it. I studied all of his moves, then began my performance: I walked into the room, looked him straight in the eye while he was lying there naked, kissed him, stroked his cane, gave him a nipple-kissing handshake, and from behind me towards him in the middle of the room took out a chair and leaned over her, leaving my tight ass exposed for your eyesight. Even though I was wearing a skirt, you could see the relief caused by my leather strap. At that moment... I provoked him by undressing lustfully, and with the sensuality that was in my power I aroused such a horny desire in him that his dick stood erect for several minutes as if he were asking to be penetrated into a wet pussy. That sight of seeing this monster stretched out high made me horny, it turned me into an actual sex worker who took pleasure from imagining myself a sexual object - woman, female, whore! Completely unkempt, already naked, only in high heels, socks and a leather belt, manipulating the hips, stroking my nipples that were hard with erection, touching the breasts which weren't very big, flicking them slightly I pass one hand on my butt, caress it and go closer to my pelvic area. lustfully use my tongue and pass it on the upper lip... I slightly close my eyes, and feel completely mad, delirious. The desire had taken over me. I go to him with a slow step and rolling of my body, sit down beside him in bed, and start licking his face, coming closer to my language from its mouth in muddy movements, kisses him, puts my Tongue into his Mouth, sucks out his Language, hands are running along his Body while he caresses my back, this causes me even today some delightful shivers. After long and wonderful kisses, caresses and sensual touches we indulged in a crazy sexual act. We fucked in various positions including me on the kittens' side and him behind my back which I had never done before being totally exposed to him even thought that I would accept anal penetration if he wanted but it didn't happen. It was one of the best fuck i have ever taken after few minutes in a frantic go-around we found ourselves simultaneously in what is my favourite position: I loved that night, but the best part was afterwards... we smoked a relaxing cigarette and talked about fucking. Until I noticed a slight erection, that delicious skin glowing from the moisture of fucking had certainly the taste of my cunt mixed with his sperm. Curious, I went to inspect closely, approached my favorite sexual object and felt an odor indescribable, a mixture of smells impossible to narrate but not unpleasant at all such was my state of excitement because smell is associated with flavor The image of the film came back to me at that moment, a mother's sensuality caressing with her mouth her son's penis not because he was my child but because I thought it beautiful and kissed his bright red head for sex which had made me delirious moments before shamelessly put my head in my mouth and licked softly went down and swallowed slowly until halfway into my mouth as big as this looked bigger than before but I loved sucking till it burst. I confess that it was not a good idea to go all the way, because I choked when you came but he loved. That night made my first blowjob and after few days already wanted him in his mouth causing such great pleasure , The years passed, and in the meantime Pedro was born not by accident but also it wasn't desired beforehand just happened I got pregnant because our sex life had been so wonderful i felt very happy knowing that this pregnancy resulted from an excellent relationship which didn't happen with my first pregnancy everything went naturally and at the right time a boy came along we named him Peter Time passed and now, Pedro was 13 years old I was still a fiery woman with an active sexual life despite my husband's frequent absence for work reasons and longer or shorter periods of time sometimes he would be away two weeks in a row when he came back he always had four or five days off which were enough to satisfy me sexually Fernanda was studying at the university while I stayed alone with Peter who by then was already in high school but something happened that would positively change my life. One day when I went to get my clothes from the laundry basket, I noticed that they were stirred up - nothing which made me suspect anything. But then I started noticing it more and more often, and I saw that all of my underwear, panties and brassieres are always being moved around. So I was paying attention, and one day there's a stain on my used pantyhose. A malicious thought came into my head: "Could this be Peter?" I was angry with myself, but the thought persisted even though I didn't want to. Every day I would go and check my clothes inside of me; I wanted to know more about what was going on. And one day I found sperm still liquid in the very tissue that all previous days had been rubbing against my penis. What a strange sensation - desire, fear, sorrow -- it all went through my head for a moment, but then the craving got stronger, so I put my panties into my mouth, smelled them, licked them, tasted the viscous fluid deposited there. The mixture of smells and flavors, the smell of my body mixed with my son's sperm caused me a craving that forced me to masturbate deliciously in the corner of my room using my fingers and imagination. That strange feeling, desire, fear, shame, sorrow... finally everything went where it shouldn't have because from then on every day I indulged myself into the solitary pleasures of masturbation with the "aggravating" fantasy of being lover of my son. I began to wear less appropriate lingerie for the day-to-day, underwear of various colors including red, passing necessarily by my favorite color, black, leather socks, high heels, clothes that only used to be worn by my husband such as; fair skirts, exaggerated cleavage. There was a phase where I couldn't find anything, no trace of sperm, but he kept on moving, except that he wasn't masturbating; later I found out that he also preferred to isolate himself for masturbation, although I knew it would be hidden. This lasted several months until I decided to put an end to all this and stop my madness altogether by stopping putting underwear in the hamper. But soon I missed the pleasure that I was giving myself, and fought it out for about two weeks, but failed, resigned, started putting my clothes back in the basket again. He had already given up looking; he didn't know I put his underwear there anymore so he wouldn't go. Desperate, I thought of a ploy, if it worked everything would return to normal. And what did I think then? A frightening fear prevented me from doing this crazy act, and I decided to fight against myself as a mother. I fought with my wife but always reflecting on everything, always in the subconscious looking for a solution is that during moments of meditation, When my husband was present, I wasn't supposed to think about Peter. But that is not what happened; even though his father penetrated me, I imagined the son not penetrating me but turning up in my underwear and then immediately licking it and absorbing all the liquid ejaculated by him. Curiously enough, I had never thought of being penetrated by him, only imagining himself at my feet, rarely did I masturbate him in my fantasy, but one day I dreamed a wonderful dream - I dreamt he caught me sucking on the spore from my panties and asked: "Do you like mom? Is this good milk?" You want more? Come here I give it all to you, and in the dream, on my knees I sucked him until he came into my mouth, drank everything, sucked everything, squeezed it out, and then was going to kiss his lips when I woke up. Lying there recalling everything again, felt that I was wet, not wet but even wet, as much or more wet than when I'm being penetrated, caressed myself, rubbed my clitoris, inserted two fingers into her vagina, pulled them out and sucked ... wonderful this dream, spent hours awake trying to start over, but, to my frustration, could not do so. More days of suffering went by, I greedy for sex and a man living in the same house with me without being able to touch him. Even kisses good morning or good night became different, I feared some loss of control on my part, and didn't want to go through life feeling guilty which would certainly be worse than my sexual frustration, worse that my unforgivable rage. - Good day Pedro - Good morning mother. I avoided the kiss, but missed it. Missed those caresses that we used to give each other in our good morning kisses: a gentle hand on my face, an embrace, a stroking of my neck - all innocently symbolic gestures which were harmless; even this had been lost for me. The feeling of guilt, though not too much tormenting, lingered in my mind. Often thought about it and ended up giving me desire, making me feel insecure, indecisive, sometimes rejecting, sometimes accepting, even wishing. I imagined Pedro as a man, even though he hadn't seen him naked since he was ten years old. I recalled that image of the boy who when washed by me felt embarrassed for having caused him to have an erection. When bathed, never fully undressing, his organs were not yet sexually developed but hardness in the member could be detected while massaging it at the time everything seemed perfectly normal; today my opinion is different: if he understood being touched by me, this would already constitute desire, albeit innocent. The days went by, the situation remained but now it was much easier for me. I could not remember Peter as a man for many days only occasionally and everything seemed to normalize until one day when I was alone in my house casually wearing just a gown over my naked body and with summer approaching I who never shaved my armpits decided to do so because I had complexes about using sleeveless blouses due to having hair on my hips I went into the room, undressed and began to shave using my husband's beard case, scraped off his hair. In the mirror he looked different but liked how it felt. After work, put on some underwear without a bra, left the room towards the laundry basket where I had left my used panties; there in the dressing-room I put on my gown and walked out with unbuttoned buttons as I normally did when alone at home. A few minutes later I realized that Peter was inside. Panic <unk> Did Pedro see me naked? No, it couldn't have been he had certainly arrived at that time in the following days I noticed Pedro going out but never heard him come back when i realized he was already inside... Although in my heart, this was what I wished for, I did not want to go back to the same nightmare and tried to forget about it, resumed normalcy of a quiet life in the village; I got up in the morning, made breakfast, Pedro ate and went to school, I took care of the house, cooked lunch, had lunch and spent the afternoon doing what all housekeepers do: repetitive tasks that sometimes allow sinful thoughts. I didn't look, but was sure that he was inside the house and felt it with a conviction. It even made me feel observed. And unconsciously I started to be more discreet in my movements without ever looking directly at the door of the wardrobe where I had been passing some clothes; Of course erotic thoughts took hold of me, and shortly afterwards I had already decided to be more "generous" in my movements, so much so that instead of wearing it, I grabbed a skirt from mine and put it on my waist as if to see whether it would suit me well, trying to arouse some kind of habit. It was red, not too short, worn regularly with leather stockings, and also with high-heeled red shoes. I go into the room, and leave the door ajar with a frosted edge to allow him to see me. I walk over to my dresser drawer where I keep my underwear, pull out some socks and their truncheon, set myself up in movements that I find sensual such as unbuttoning buttons one by one slowly until my robe is fully open, turn my back on the door, let it fall off, leaving only my body covered by normal panties for day-to-day continuous act of taking them down from behind I have no such desire. When I got naked, it made me horny. I was intentionally provoking a situation that he thought would be pleasing to him, and unashamedly in an effortless way, I take the leather strap, put it on my waist, squeezing forwards, then rotate until it fits properly around me. Leaving the bands hanging down, taking one sock, turning towards the mirror, standing sideways toward the door, putting one foot on the chair, bending over, placing half of them, slowly pulling up through the leg as far as mid-thigh, fasten the front shoe, place your feet on the ground, curl, tie the other shoe onto the sides of my thigh, and, wearing only leather-colored stockings with a white lace belt tied at the front, I look in the mirror. I admire my beauty, the beauty of a mature woman with medium breasts and protruding nipples surrounded by dark haloes small belly steep tail thick thighs high legs full brush there was me stripped naked from prejudice stirring up my beloved son. Stroking the buttocks, I raise my hands up by the waist and literally feel his breasts. Soaking a finger in my mouth and rubbing it on my nipple with my thumb and forefinger, rolling around the tip of my chest causing me to have such an erection that I let out a slight groan. Something he will never forget. After a few minutes of exhibition, I decided to lie down on the bed and engage in delicious masturbation by putting two fingers into my pussy, rubbing it against his groin, opening my lips, doing movements that resembled real penetration until I came out. I loved this masturbations after some moments 'relaxing', I got up and finished dressing myself, put on red skirt and white blouse, wore red high-heeled shoes and scaredly left the room. I didn't see him but was sure he had seen everything, now I wanted to see him, wondered if I had aroused him and could still feel the excitement inside those pants, but I did not see him. I didn't worry because I was sure that my show had been enjoyed by the person who aroused in me the greatest desire on earth. Minutes later, I see him leaving our little house in the backyard where we keep tools used for gardening work and his behaviour with his head down as if feeling guilty about something wrong he did made me believe that I have given some pleasure to it. Later I learned that he left home not out of shame or fear but just to stay there reminiscing and masturbating. From that day on, my guilt was gone. I made sure not to hurt him or "violate" him; it was his wish as well. And if he liked what he saw, I loved showing off and showed everything whenever I could - exhibiting myself by changing clothes sometimes wearing a skirt with lots of wheels so that when I got down in the middle of things I could give him an intimate look at my body even though I always wore underwear -- thighs for him to admire. I discovered that in all the magazines he bought secretly, women in lingerie were predominant. I also noticed they were all of an older age and had never seen him in any magazine for girls his own age. They were all over 30. Whenever I could, and since we spent many days alone together, I would wear provocative clothing. Always with a leotard belt, cuffs that made it impossible for me to go out without changing my blouse first. From the age of thirteen, I showed myself indiscriminately and he watched me. My days were always spent staring at my face imagining new positions where I could show myself more openly even taking a shower with the door opened but by then he was no longer hiding from seeing me; we had reached a point when it became normal for me to go into the kitchen in the morning often without wearing anything except a nightgown which is completely transparent sometimes very short so that you can see your bristles, tail, breasts, nipple erect finally almost naked kisses come back now more intentional permission pushing myself to caress her face several times, as well as receiving a few touches on various parts of my body such as breasts, back, buttocks and even the belly. One time, he almost touched me in sex while I was sitting at the table and came over with a tender kiss on his forehead to say good-bye and put his hand on my naked thigh right up against mine. I knew the desire he felt for me, but didn't know how to move forward and make this relationship go as far as we both wanted it. I knew what he wanted, that he desired me. But there was no ideal safe way of talking about it with him because deep down in my heart I really wished things had stayed like they were so long ago without risking rejection. I apologized, knowing that he didn't like the smell of tobacco and was going to put out his cigarette when he said: "Don't put it out; smoke until you finish". - Are you leaving now? - No, but I would love to see her smoking. Can I watch?" - Of course", I replied. "Sit down beside me". It was a good opportunity for me to start talking more comfortably with him, so I spoke. By this time he must have been over fifteen years old, but he was a stout boy with broad shoulders who had always done gymnastics. And I offered him my lighted cigarette, and already half. He opened his lips slightly, and I put the cigarette in it. - Inhale but do not swallow the smoke. Immediately he coughed up, choking on the smoke, but quickly passed away. That cigarette ran out quickly, but soon I lit another one, which, accompanied by a shot of brandy, was savored while he looked at me. Smoked some raisins with me, and loved to be in my presence, "cutting" me off from smoking. We talked about the evils of tobacco, but also emphasized the pleasure that I had when after a meal I smoked a cigarette. There are pleasures that aren't forbidden, they're not practised openly. In my case I never smoked in public much less before the children and maybe this is why exposing myself to Peter gave me a nice feeling of someone who was doing something unusual as if I were doing something other people shouldn't know about. When I smoked in front of him, it was creating the idea that I did things for him and not for others. It was also very intimate to walk casually half-naked around the house even with his eyes on me; we already had a commitment between us: It was then that I asked him if he had ever commented with his friends, the fact of having seen me in smaller costumes to which he replied with a categorical no, adding that he knew what should and could not reveal, whoever it is, and asked me also not tell anything to my father. That's what I wanted to hear, a mutual commitment, nobody comments nothing to anyone.
The author's name is Dete, and her writing is brilliant... full of innuendo.
The story is huge but extremely exciting to read.
Well, read it and draw your own conclusions.
It's not like I don't have a lot of money.
After many attempts, I managed to find the courage and today everyone will know about my relationship with my 17-year-old son. My name is Odete, 52 years old, living in a village of Portugal. I had few boyfriends - three to be more precise; I dated briefly for around 3 years and got married at 24. A year later I was mother of a little girl, as all beautiful girls are like that. My husband worked as an advertiser for his company's products, I sewed clothes and made repairs on them, so we lived through the 60s difficult but happy. Love existed, but we didn't give a damn about it: some kisses, some caresses and from time to time we had sex. Although always the same way, always in the same position, I liked it. At first I made love for "duty" of wife, always shy, never naked. I stayed in the kitchen waiting for my husband to lie down, then went upstairs, took off his clothes, was always combinations, lay beside him, and once a week on his initiative opened her legs and was possessed. It was always in this position that I satisfied his sexual desire, because most of the time I pretended to like him even though it rarely gave me pleasure. I didn't feel any pain; moreover, I never felt pain during sex but I did not know that pleasure could give me sex. When we kissed each other, which seldom happened, then yes, I had a feeling of pleasure and love for my husband - very good indeed! A few years after we were married - Fernanda was only 3 and a half <unk> because of unemployment, my husband emigrated to Brazil where he stayed for 9 years while I continued the simple life with one little girl that had always been there but now it's gone... somewhat more difficult. In that period when I was alone, I never felt the lack of sex. Certainly because it seemed to me that sexual intercourse is only for my husband's satisfaction. The truth is... Only once, after imagining myself in his arms, I unintentionally touched my chest and caressed it for a few moments but only briefly because then a feeling of guilt invaded my mind and I tried to forget everything and fell asleep. For me sex was just an obligation that I had - make my husband "pour out" inside me all his masculinity without taking any pleasure from it. Interestingly, I never felt "dirty" after making love. Never washed immediately after being used by him. My thighs were tight as if to contain all that hot liquid inside my body. One day I was "besieged" by a friend and neighbor, an older woman than me, very - how to say it here - excited because she wasn't satisfied with her husband. She quickly found herself a lover and shamelessly talked about this relationship in public without any prejudice so much that the village considered her nymphomaniac. That day I felt what all women feel when they're aroused, and if it wasn't for the fact that she was so "cheap talk", I would have opened up more to her. Even then we talked about our intimate lives; This woman, with her experience and malice, got me to make up erotic stories as if they were my fantasies. I commented that every day she satisfied me with fingers imagining the penis, which she countered by saying: "A dick fucking you isn't it? You really need a stick but I don't have one, and I do not like cones". Embarrassed but very excited, I asked her to talk about her fantasies, to which she immediately acceded, telling how she liked doing things, what she did, what he wanted done to him, finally everything about his problems. She loved that they came in hand, which made me feel an enormous desire, I remembered how I squeezed my thighs to hold the sperm inside of me and even though I didn't have an orgasm, I felt very close to achieving it at that moment. After this conversation, I went through some sleepless nights but for shame never masturbated myself after all these years living alone was the time when my beloved returned. Upon receiving confirmation of his return I lived with anxiety almost desperate because he waited so long for such a delay, but there would be day. Early Sunday morning, I was home alone and Fernanda in catechism class when a car pulled up outside the door. I ran like crazy with such great longing that it made me give myself into his arms right there on the street - which at the time would have been reprehensible in my country - but without "embarrassment", I kissed him as I'd never done before. Once inside the house, while Nandinha wasn't there we kissed like two crazy people until after her daughter arrived I had finished making lunch and that afternoon all three of us were at home longing for each other but on this night we made love as never before. For the first time, I wished to be penetrated and not possessed, cursed, moaned and screamed, touched and stroked that wonderful penis, felt for the very first time his testicles in my hand, even let out a word I'd never uttered before - beautiful balls you have for me, my love... But we quickly went back to routine: I lay down with open legs, he was on top of it, inserting and taking off, coming and going ... I started wanting more sex, not being the same woman anymore, no longer feeling like an object but a female needing to be penetrated and enjoying that fantastic sensation of orgasm. Frustrated, I thought about everything I could do to get from my man what was lacking in me, and found a solution which turned out to be quite simple: let my feminine instincts make him masculine, and it worked. So one day we went for dinner, watched this unforgettable movie called "Taboo". Despite the initial shock, because I'd never seen a pornographic film before, I took full advantage of the experience as lead actress. There was one scene in which a woman while dressing sensuously is being spied on by her own son. It caused me to feel disapproved, but how she dressed made the boy who was spying on her have an apparently great desire and that helped free my mind. I was brought up in a very retrograde environment, but my mother who came from less modest backgrounds than me and whose maternal grandparents were wealthy. My grandfather's foul habits ruined the family; she always dressed elegantly, wore long skirts, whenever she went out wearing socks even at a time when it was difficult to find stores that sold them after the mini skirt appeared. She never used pantyhose, found where to buy those stylish stockings which she often worn. That night, after the movie we went to a bar for drinks as it was not pleasant and quickly returned home carrying in my head an idea of a different evening. I knew that there were women who sucked on their husband's sex but had never dared do so because I thought this is something prostitutes would ever have done, not from disgust but out of modesty however that night I wanted to imitate that woman I saw in the film, wanting to undress myself before him like she was a bad wife I started by putting on my favorite socks, black and clear with seams at the back up to halfway down my thighs fastened in a leather belt -- ligature as I called it. I studied all of his moves, then began my performance: I walked into the room, looked him straight in the eye while he was lying there naked, kissed him, stroked his cane, gave him a nipple-kissing handshake, and from behind me towards him in the middle of the room took out a chair and leaned over her, leaving my tight ass exposed for your eyesight. Even though I was wearing a skirt, you could see the relief caused by my leather strap. At that moment... I provoked him by undressing lustfully, and with the sensuality that was in my power I aroused such a horny desire in him that his dick stood erect for several minutes as if he were asking to be penetrated into a wet pussy. That sight of seeing this monster stretched out high made me horny, it turned me into an actual sex worker who took pleasure from imagining myself a sexual object - woman, female, whore! Completely unkempt, already naked, only in high heels, socks and a leather belt, manipulating the hips, stroking my nipples that were hard with erection, touching the breasts which weren't very big, flicking them slightly I pass one hand on my butt, caress it and go closer to my pelvic area. lustfully use my tongue and pass it on the upper lip... I slightly close my eyes, and feel completely mad, delirious. The desire had taken over me. I go to him with a slow step and rolling of my body, sit down beside him in bed, and start licking his face, coming closer to my language from its mouth in muddy movements, kisses him, puts my Tongue into his Mouth, sucks out his Language, hands are running along his Body while he caresses my back, this causes me even today some delightful shivers. After long and wonderful kisses, caresses and sensual touches we indulged in a crazy sexual act. We fucked in various positions including me on the kittens' side and him behind my back which I had never done before being totally exposed to him even thought that I would accept anal penetration if he wanted but it didn't happen. It was one of the best fuck i have ever taken after few minutes in a frantic go-around we found ourselves simultaneously in what is my favourite position: I loved that night, but the best part was afterwards... we smoked a relaxing cigarette and talked about fucking. Until I noticed a slight erection, that delicious skin glowing from the moisture of fucking had certainly the taste of my cunt mixed with his sperm. Curious, I went to inspect closely, approached my favorite sexual object and felt an odor indescribable, a mixture of smells impossible to narrate but not unpleasant at all such was my state of excitement because smell is associated with flavor The image of the film came back to me at that moment, a mother's sensuality caressing with her mouth her son's penis not because he was my child but because I thought it beautiful and kissed his bright red head for sex which had made me delirious moments before shamelessly put my head in my mouth and licked softly went down and swallowed slowly until halfway into my mouth as big as this looked bigger than before but I loved sucking till it burst. I confess that it was not a good idea to go all the way, because I choked when you came but he loved. That night made my first blowjob and after few days already wanted him in his mouth causing such great pleasure , The years passed, and in the meantime Pedro was born not by accident but also it wasn't desired beforehand just happened I got pregnant because our sex life had been so wonderful i felt very happy knowing that this pregnancy resulted from an excellent relationship which didn't happen with my first pregnancy everything went naturally and at the right time a boy came along we named him Peter Time passed and now, Pedro was 13 years old I was still a fiery woman with an active sexual life despite my husband's frequent absence for work reasons and longer or shorter periods of time sometimes he would be away two weeks in a row when he came back he always had four or five days off which were enough to satisfy me sexually Fernanda was studying at the university while I stayed alone with Peter who by then was already in high school but something happened that would positively change my life. One day when I went to get my clothes from the laundry basket, I noticed that they were stirred up - nothing which made me suspect anything. But then I started noticing it more and more often, and I saw that all of my underwear, panties and brassieres are always being moved around. So I was paying attention, and one day there's a stain on my used pantyhose. A malicious thought came into my head: "Could this be Peter?" I was angry with myself, but the thought persisted even though I didn't want to. Every day I would go and check my clothes inside of me; I wanted to know more about what was going on. And one day I found sperm still liquid in the very tissue that all previous days had been rubbing against my penis. What a strange sensation - desire, fear, sorrow -- it all went through my head for a moment, but then the craving got stronger, so I put my panties into my mouth, smelled them, licked them, tasted the viscous fluid deposited there. The mixture of smells and flavors, the smell of my body mixed with my son's sperm caused me a craving that forced me to masturbate deliciously in the corner of my room using my fingers and imagination. That strange feeling, desire, fear, shame, sorrow... finally everything went where it shouldn't have because from then on every day I indulged myself into the solitary pleasures of masturbation with the "aggravating" fantasy of being lover of my son. I began to wear less appropriate lingerie for the day-to-day, underwear of various colors including red, passing necessarily by my favorite color, black, leather socks, high heels, clothes that only used to be worn by my husband such as; fair skirts, exaggerated cleavage. There was a phase where I couldn't find anything, no trace of sperm, but he kept on moving, except that he wasn't masturbating; later I found out that he also preferred to isolate himself for masturbation, although I knew it would be hidden. This lasted several months until I decided to put an end to all this and stop my madness altogether by stopping putting underwear in the hamper. But soon I missed the pleasure that I was giving myself, and fought it out for about two weeks, but failed, resigned, started putting my clothes back in the basket again. He had already given up looking; he didn't know I put his underwear there anymore so he wouldn't go. Desperate, I thought of a ploy, if it worked everything would return to normal. And what did I think then? A frightening fear prevented me from doing this crazy act, and I decided to fight against myself as a mother. I fought with my wife but always reflecting on everything, always in the subconscious looking for a solution is that during moments of meditation, When my husband was present, I wasn't supposed to think about Peter. But that is not what happened; even though his father penetrated me, I imagined the son not penetrating me but turning up in my underwear and then immediately licking it and absorbing all the liquid ejaculated by him. Curiously enough, I had never thought of being penetrated by him, only imagining himself at my feet, rarely did I masturbate him in my fantasy, but one day I dreamed a wonderful dream - I dreamt he caught me sucking on the spore from my panties and asked: "Do you like mom? Is this good milk?" You want more? Come here I give it all to you, and in the dream, on my knees I sucked him until he came into my mouth, drank everything, sucked everything, squeezed it out, and then was going to kiss his lips when I woke up. Lying there recalling everything again, felt that I was wet, not wet but even wet, as much or more wet than when I'm being penetrated, caressed myself, rubbed my clitoris, inserted two fingers into her vagina, pulled them out and sucked ... wonderful this dream, spent hours awake trying to start over, but, to my frustration, could not do so. More days of suffering went by, I greedy for sex and a man living in the same house with me without being able to touch him. Even kisses good morning or good night became different, I feared some loss of control on my part, and didn't want to go through life feeling guilty which would certainly be worse than my sexual frustration, worse that my unforgivable rage. - Good day Pedro - Good morning mother. I avoided the kiss, but missed it. Missed those caresses that we used to give each other in our good morning kisses: a gentle hand on my face, an embrace, a stroking of my neck - all innocently symbolic gestures which were harmless; even this had been lost for me. The feeling of guilt, though not too much tormenting, lingered in my mind. Often thought about it and ended up giving me desire, making me feel insecure, indecisive, sometimes rejecting, sometimes accepting, even wishing. I imagined Pedro as a man, even though he hadn't seen him naked since he was ten years old. I recalled that image of the boy who when washed by me felt embarrassed for having caused him to have an erection. When bathed, never fully undressing, his organs were not yet sexually developed but hardness in the member could be detected while massaging it at the time everything seemed perfectly normal; today my opinion is different: if he understood being touched by me, this would already constitute desire, albeit innocent. The days went by, the situation remained but now it was much easier for me. I could not remember Peter as a man for many days only occasionally and everything seemed to normalize until one day when I was alone in my house casually wearing just a gown over my naked body and with summer approaching I who never shaved my armpits decided to do so because I had complexes about using sleeveless blouses due to having hair on my hips I went into the room, undressed and began to shave using my husband's beard case, scraped off his hair. In the mirror he looked different but liked how it felt. After work, put on some underwear without a bra, left the room towards the laundry basket where I had left my used panties; there in the dressing-room I put on my gown and walked out with unbuttoned buttons as I normally did when alone at home. A few minutes later I realized that Peter was inside. Panic <unk> Did Pedro see me naked? No, it couldn't have been he had certainly arrived at that time in the following days I noticed Pedro going out but never heard him come back when i realized he was already inside... Although in my heart, this was what I wished for, I did not want to go back to the same nightmare and tried to forget about it, resumed normalcy of a quiet life in the village; I got up in the morning, made breakfast, Pedro ate and went to school, I took care of the house, cooked lunch, had lunch and spent the afternoon doing what all housekeepers do: repetitive tasks that sometimes allow sinful thoughts. I didn't look, but was sure that he was inside the house and felt it with a conviction. It even made me feel observed. And unconsciously I started to be more discreet in my movements without ever looking directly at the door of the wardrobe where I had been passing some clothes; Of course erotic thoughts took hold of me, and shortly afterwards I had already decided to be more "generous" in my movements, so much so that instead of wearing it, I grabbed a skirt from mine and put it on my waist as if to see whether it would suit me well, trying to arouse some kind of habit. It was red, not too short, worn regularly with leather stockings, and also with high-heeled red shoes. I go into the room, and leave the door ajar with a frosted edge to allow him to see me. I walk over to my dresser drawer where I keep my underwear, pull out some socks and their truncheon, set myself up in movements that I find sensual such as unbuttoning buttons one by one slowly until my robe is fully open, turn my back on the door, let it fall off, leaving only my body covered by normal panties for day-to-day continuous act of taking them down from behind I have no such desire. When I got naked, it made me horny. I was intentionally provoking a situation that he thought would be pleasing to him, and unashamedly in an effortless way, I take the leather strap, put it on my waist, squeezing forwards, then rotate until it fits properly around me. Leaving the bands hanging down, taking one sock, turning towards the mirror, standing sideways toward the door, putting one foot on the chair, bending over, placing half of them, slowly pulling up through the leg as far as mid-thigh, fasten the front shoe, place your feet on the ground, curl, tie the other shoe onto the sides of my thigh, and, wearing only leather-colored stockings with a white lace belt tied at the front, I look in the mirror. I admire my beauty, the beauty of a mature woman with medium breasts and protruding nipples surrounded by dark haloes small belly steep tail thick thighs high legs full brush there was me stripped naked from prejudice stirring up my beloved son. Stroking the buttocks, I raise my hands up by the waist and literally feel his breasts. Soaking a finger in my mouth and rubbing it on my nipple with my thumb and forefinger, rolling around the tip of my chest causing me to have such an erection that I let out a slight groan. Something he will never forget. After a few minutes of exhibition, I decided to lie down on the bed and engage in delicious masturbation by putting two fingers into my pussy, rubbing it against his groin, opening my lips, doing movements that resembled real penetration until I came out. I loved this masturbations after some moments 'relaxing', I got up and finished dressing myself, put on red skirt and white blouse, wore red high-heeled shoes and scaredly left the room. I didn't see him but was sure he had seen everything, now I wanted to see him, wondered if I had aroused him and could still feel the excitement inside those pants, but I did not see him. I didn't worry because I was sure that my show had been enjoyed by the person who aroused in me the greatest desire on earth. Minutes later, I see him leaving our little house in the backyard where we keep tools used for gardening work and his behaviour with his head down as if feeling guilty about something wrong he did made me believe that I have given some pleasure to it. Later I learned that he left home not out of shame or fear but just to stay there reminiscing and masturbating. From that day on, my guilt was gone. I made sure not to hurt him or "violate" him; it was his wish as well. And if he liked what he saw, I loved showing off and showed everything whenever I could - exhibiting myself by changing clothes sometimes wearing a skirt with lots of wheels so that when I got down in the middle of things I could give him an intimate look at my body even though I always wore underwear -- thighs for him to admire. I discovered that in all the magazines he bought secretly, women in lingerie were predominant. I also noticed they were all of an older age and had never seen him in any magazine for girls his own age. They were all over 30. Whenever I could, and since we spent many days alone together, I would wear provocative clothing. Always with a leotard belt, cuffs that made it impossible for me to go out without changing my blouse first. From the age of thirteen, I showed myself indiscriminately and he watched me. My days were always spent staring at my face imagining new positions where I could show myself more openly even taking a shower with the door opened but by then he was no longer hiding from seeing me; we had reached a point when it became normal for me to go into the kitchen in the morning often without wearing anything except a nightgown which is completely transparent sometimes very short so that you can see your bristles, tail, breasts, nipple erect finally almost naked kisses come back now more intentional permission pushing myself to caress her face several times, as well as receiving a few touches on various parts of my body such as breasts, back, buttocks and even the belly. One time, he almost touched me in sex while I was sitting at the table and came over with a tender kiss on his forehead to say good-bye and put his hand on my naked thigh right up against mine. I knew the desire he felt for me, but didn't know how to move forward and make this relationship go as far as we both wanted it. I knew what he wanted, that he desired me. But there was no ideal safe way of talking about it with him because deep down in my heart I really wished things had stayed like they were so long ago without risking rejection. I apologized, knowing that he didn't like the smell of tobacco and was going to put out his cigarette when he said: "Don't put it out; smoke until you finish". - Are you leaving now? - No, but I would love to see her smoking. Can I watch?" - Of course", I replied. "Sit down beside me". It was a good opportunity for me to start talking more comfortably with him, so I spoke. By this time he must have been over fifteen years old, but he was a stout boy with broad shoulders who had always done gymnastics. And I offered him my lighted cigarette, and already half. He opened his lips slightly, and I put the cigarette in it. - Inhale but do not swallow the smoke. Immediately he coughed up, choking on the smoke, but quickly passed away. That cigarette ran out quickly, but soon I lit another one, which, accompanied by a shot of brandy, was savored while he looked at me. Smoked some raisins with me, and loved to be in my presence, "cutting" me off from smoking. We talked about the evils of tobacco, but also emphasized the pleasure that I had when after a meal I smoked a cigarette. There are pleasures that aren't forbidden, they're not practised openly. In my case I never smoked in public much less before the children and maybe this is why exposing myself to Peter gave me a nice feeling of someone who was doing something unusual as if I were doing something other people shouldn't know about. When I smoked in front of him, it was creating the idea that I did things for him and not for others. It was also very intimate to walk casually half-naked around the house even with his eyes on me; we already had a commitment between us: It was then that I asked him if he had ever commented with his friends, the fact of having seen me in smaller costumes to which he replied with a categorical no, adding that he knew what should and could not reveal, whoever it is, and asked me also not tell anything to my father. That's what I wanted to hear, a mutual commitment, nobody comments nothing to anyone.
No reaction yet.
0
curtidas
17 views