I 'm a freak .

I 'm a freak .
After many attempts, I finally mustered up the courage and today everyone is going to know about my relationship with my 23-year-old son.
My name is Odete, I'm 58, live in a village of Portugal. I dated for about 2 years and got married at 21. A year later was the mother of a girl, beautiful as all daughters are my husband worked as a shoemaker, I sewed, so we lived in the 60s with difficulties but happy love existed, but did not even know it: some kisses, some caresses and occasionally had sex. Although always being the same way, always in the same position, I liked it. At first made love because "should be" wife, always embarrassed, never naked I'd wait in the kitchen for my husband to lie down, then go upstairs and take off all of his clothes... always with a combination on. ...I would lay beside him once a week at his suggestion... ..open my legs and be possessed by him.. When we kissed, which rarely happened then yes I felt pleasure, loved him and that was very good for me, really very good. And if I dared to touch my husband's face or caress it then I would feel completely fulfilled but no more than this
A few years after we were married - Fernanda was only three and a half - my husband emigrated to Brazil for lack of work, staying there nine years while I continued the miserable life that I had always lived alone with one little girl. 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 expertise and malice... managed to get me to make up erotic stories as if they were my fantasies. And I commented that every day she satisfied me with her fingers by imagining the penis.
You really need a dick, but I don't have one.
Embarrassed but very excited, I asked her to tell me about these fantasies of hers that she immediately went on and told me how she liked doing things like what did you do? What would you want done with your dick anyway. She loved it if they came in handy which made me feel an enormous craving remembered the way I squeezed my thighs to hold the sperm inside myself and even though I didn't have orgasm felt so close at this point after this conversation there were a few sleepless nights but for shame never masturbated
After all these years of living in solitude, it was time for my beloved to return. I lived with anxiety and almost despair because the long-awaited moment had been delayed but that day would come.
And it came. It was a Sunday morning, I was home alone with Fernanda in catechism class when I heard the car pulling up outside my door and ran like crazy overtaken by such great nostalgia that made me throw myself into his arms right there on the street which at the time was condemned in my country but without shame I kissed him as I'd never done before holding his neck and painfully kissing him on the mouth for the first time in my life And so it was, very hot and needy and excited and teased as they say. Already inside the house while Nandinha did not arrive we kissed like two crazy out of control until after I had finished preparing lunch when she arrived that afternoon all three of us were at home missing each other but on this night we made love in a way we'd never done before After long kisses and tender caresses I gave myself completely to an act of sexual frenzy yet tenderness and great pleasure For the first time I wished to be penetrated and not possessed, cursed, moaned and screamed, touched and stroked that marvelous penis, felt my testicles in my hand for the very first time, even let out a word I'd never uttered before.
But pretty soon, we were back to normal: I was lying there with my legs open and he's on top of me going in and out, coming and going... And it wasn't like before -- not tight thighs but wide-open legs wanting more. Frustrated, I thought of all the things that could be done to get from my husband what was lacking in me and came up with a solution which turned out to be quite simple: let my female instincts make him more masculine. And it worked one day we went for dinner outside and watched an unforgettable movie called "Taboo". Despite the initial shock because I had never seen a pornographic film before, I took full advantage of the lead actress' experience there was this scene where a woman while dressing sensuously is spied on by her own son. It made me feel a sense of disapproval, but the way she dressed caused in her son who was spying on her an apparently great desire and it helped to 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 because it wasn't 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 husbands sex but had never dared do so;
I started by putting on my favorite socks, black and clear with seams at the back up to half a thigh attached in an alloy belt -- lightweight as I called it.
I studied all the moves, and started my show. I walked into that room, looked him in the eye lying there naked, kissed him, stroked his dick, gave him a nipple-kissing, then back to him at halfway through the room took up a chair, leaned down on it with my butt sticking out of its socket exposed to your eyesight even though you could see from underneath me the relief caused by the leather strap. At this moment I felt like a whore ready to give pleasure to any man, only I knew it would bring me what I wanted most: an orgasm... come. I provoked him by undressing lustfully, and with the sensuality that was possible
I got him so horny that his dick stood up, and he stayed like this for several minutes, erect as if asking to be penetrated into a wet cunt. That sight of seeing the monster stretched out in midair made me get itchy! Made me become an actual sex worker!
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 mad act of sex. We fucked each other in various positions including me on the kittens' side and him behind my back which was something I had never done before being totally exposed to him even though I thought that if he wanted anal penetration it would be okay but it didn't happen this is one of the best fuck i have ever had
After a few minutes of frantic back-and-forth, we found ourselves simultaneously in my favorite position: me down so I can see his little face the moment he spits on me -- that's how I always come. 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
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, there were always four or five days off, which was enough to satisfy me sexually. Fernanda studied at the university while I stayed alone with Peter who by then had already started high school. One day, when I went to get my laundry out of the washing basket and noticed that it had been touched up -- nothing suspicious at all -- but then I started noticing this more often, and I would notice that my underwear and panties and brassieres were always being touched.
Did Peter...? I thought.
No, I'm crazy, Pedro is a boy, I can not be like that get it out of your head you mad. I was angry with myself but the idea persisted even though I didn't want to every day I would check clothes there in my underwear i wanted to know more about what was going on and one day found sperm still liquid , desire, fear and sorrow all of these things went through my head for a moment but the craving was stronger so I put my underwear in my mouth smelled it licked it tasted the viscous liquid that had been deposited there mixture of odors and flavors the smell of my body mixed with my son's sperm caused me to have an erection which forced me into delicious masturbation on the corner of my room using my fingers and imagination this strange feeling Finally, everything went where it shouldn't have because from then on every day I indulged myself in the solitary pleasures of masturbation with an "aggravating" part about pretending to be my son's lover. I started wearing less appropriate lingeries for everyday life, panties of various colors including red, going through necessarily my favorite color - black, leather socks, high heels, clothes that only used to wear by my husband such as; tight skirts, exaggerated cleavages, anyway, I spent all days excitedly never forgetting to find out what present he left behind in my underwear. He would go out after lunch, and there I'd delight myself by licking whatever was left of the milk he had deposited. There was a phase where I couldn't find anything, no trace of sperm, but he kept on moving just not masturbating; later I learned that he also preferred to isolate himself for masturbation as soon as I knew it was hidden. This lasted several months until I decided to put an end to all this madness of mine once and for all, which is when I stopped putting my underwear in that basket. 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 the father penetrated me, I imagined his son not penetrating me but turning up in my underpants and then immediately licking all the liquid ejaculated by him and absorbing it. Curiously enough, I had never thought of being penetrated by him, only imagining him coming at my feet very rarely masturbated him in my fantasy but one day I dreamed a wonderful dream -
"Do you like it, Mom? Is my milk good? Do you want more?" Come here I'll give it all to you and in the dream on my knees sucked him until he came into my mouth drank everything, sucked everything squeezed then was going to kiss his lips when I woke up. Lying down recalling everything again felt that I was wet not wet but actually wet as much or even wetter than being penetrated caressed myself rubbed clitoris put two fingers inside pussy pulled them out and suck... wonderful this dream spent hours awake trying to say something back but for my frustration couldn't do so
More days of suffering went by, me craving sex and a man living in the same house with me without my being able to touch him. Even good morning or night kisses became different; I feared some loss of control on my part and did not want to go through life feeling guilty which would surely be worse than my sexual frustration,
- Good afternoon , Pedro .
- Good afternoon , Mother .
I avoided the kiss, but I missed it; I miss all those caresses we used to give each other in our good morning kisses - a gentle handshake on my face, an embrace, a stroking of my neck -- innocently symbolic gestures that were harmless.
The feeling of guilt, although it did not torment me much, persisted in my mind. I often thought about the subject, which ended up making me desire, causing me to feel insecure, indecisive, now rejecting, then accepting and even desiring. I imagined Peter as a man, though I hadn't seen him naked since he was ten years old, recalled that image of a boy who when washed by me felt embarrassed for having caused him a slight erection. When I bathed him, never fully undressing myself, washed his organs which were not yet sexually developed but already noticed hardness in the member when massaging it during the act of washing. At that time everything was perfectly normal to me; today I have another opinion: if he understood being touched by me, this was 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? Would you have seen me shave my pubic hair?
No, it couldn't be. He certainly would have arrived at that time.
In the days that followed, I noticed Pedro leaving but never hearing him come in. 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. To the point that instead of passing it on, I grabbed a skirt from mine and put it under my belt as if to see whether it would suit me well, trying to arouse some sort of habit within it. This was a red dress not too short but regularly worn with leather stockings and equally 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, loosely, I take the leather belt, put it on my waistband, squeezing in front of me, then rotate until it fits properly around my hip, leaving the bands dangling, grab one sock, turn towards the mirror, stand sideways toward the door, place one foot on the chair, bend over, slip into half, slowly pull my leg upward as far as mid-thigh, fasten the front strap, drop your foot onto the floor, curl down, gas, and wearing only skin-colored stockings with a white leather belt tied at the front I look in the mirror. I admire my beauty, the beauty of a mature woman. At that time I was fifty years old with medium breasts and protruding nipples surrounded by a dark halo small belly steep tail thick thighs high legs full brush there I stood naked in 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 three fingers into my vagina, 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, then anxiously 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 turned him on 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 coming out of our little house in the backyard where we keep all the tools used for gardening work. His behaviour with his head down as if he felt guilty about something wrong he did made me believe that I gave some pleasure to him. Later I found out that he left home not from shame or fear but to be alone remembering everything and masturbating.
From that day on, my guilt was gone. I made sure not to hurt him or violate his wishes and if he liked what he saw, I loved showing it all out there whenever I could show myself by changing clothes sometimes wearing a skirt with lots of wheels so when I got down in the middle of things I would give him an intimate view of me even though I always wore underwear, thighs for him to admire.
I found out that in all the magazines he sneakily bought, women in lingerie were predominant. Also noticed they're all elderly; never saw him on girls of his age, but over thirty, which made me think he was attracted to me even though I didn't know this preference for mature females had been brought about by myself and now knowing it makes me feel vain.
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. He came to say goodbye with a tender kiss on my forehead and put his hand on my bare thigh right up against my freckles.
Our relationship, although discreet was intense. I knew of the desire that he felt for me but did not know how to move forward, make progress in this relation until we both wanted it; I knew what he wanted and that he desired me, but lacked an ideal safe way to talk about it with him because deep down I even wished the situation would stay like this, provoke his wishes and there is no risk of being rejected maybe my fear of going ahead and having him refuse so I lived with it as naturally as possible
One day after lunch, I was smoking a cigarette in the kitchen when he walked in.
- Don't put it out, smoke all the way through.
- Are you leaving now?
- No, but I like watching you smoke.
- Of course. I said, "Sit next to me".
It was the best opportunity for me to start talking more comfortably with him, and I did. By then he would have been over fifteen years old, but he was a big boy with broad shoulders who had always done gymnastics.
- You never smoked, did you?
- No, but I've felt like it.
Without thinking, in an act of domination I asked:
- You want to try it?
And I offered him my lighted cigarette, and halfway through he opened his lips slightly.
- Pull, but don't swallow the smoke.
He soon coughed, choking on the smoke but it quickly passed. That cigarette ran out in no time at all but I then lit another one which accompanied by a shot of brandy was savored while he watched me. Smoked some raisins with me and loved to be in my presence "curturing" me smoking. We talked about the evils of tobacco but also emphasized how much pleasure 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 a categorical no, adding that he knew what should and could not reveal, whoever it might be, and asked me also not to say anything to my father. That's what I wanted to hear, a mutual compromise, nobody made any comments about anyone.
- You know mother, you're very beautiful. I love to see her so much that there is no one in the world like you.
I'm old, nothing compared to your friends.
- It's different mom, they are friends. You're my mother.
This statement confused me: "They are friends, you're a mother". What did he mean? With them it is natural, with me it is forbidden? Is that so? Being prohibited will be