Your erotic stories

Jesus Christ! Had he just said that? Really? He couldn’t believe it. Here he was, 64 years old, and he finally couldn’t prevent blurting out a yearning which should have stayed private for ever. It was a cliché, sure, but at that moment time just froze. He was conscious of no other sound or movement; perhaps his heart even stopped beating. The room was a photograph.

It had been a morning like countless others when he went to visit his mother for a couple of days. The day before had been full of the usual lively conversation and he’d treated her to a good pub lunch. She may be 85 now but she was full of life, independent and could eat, drink and joke with more gusto than some of his boring colleagues in their forties. She was no mug and still retained a naughty sense of humour.

But more than anything she loved her eldest son – and it showed. Theirs had been an especially close relationship before his brother had come along six years later; they’d done everything together. It was her he had to thank for his enquiring mind and extensive general knowledge. Only a few months ago she’d confided, whilst taking great pains to avoid suggesting a favourite, that she always felt “safe” when she was with him.

And now what had he done? He’d let the mounting frustration and unhappiness at home overcome common sense. Truly an elephant in the room…He yearned for a woman to pay attention to him as a man again; to feel other fingers than his own around his cock just once. He harboured all sorts of lusts for his sister and fantasised about his stepdaughter to a worrying degree. But he’d managed to hold it all in; to act “normal” for years. And now this! Please let the ground swallow him up. Instantly.

He had to admit that his thoughts about his mother hadn’t always been entirely honourable. His parents had had a rocky marriage when he was in his teens and they were effectively living different lives by the time his mum hit 40. Although she was never explicit, she must have had about 4-5 guys on the go as the marriage collapsed, seeing some more frequently than others. She made no secret of it and sometimes they’d even come around to the house to pick her up! And the hours she kept confirmed that she wasn’t just going for a nice little walk in the country…

She was clearly highly sexed and had had to try very hard to keep quiet when she and Dad were fucking earlier in their marriage. He had slept in the bedroom above and there was never any doubt when Mum was in the mood! He was about 20 years old and although he was enjoying himself with plenty of women, he’d realized that he fancied his mother and often dreamed of fucking her. She had cute little tits and it used to drive him wild thinking of guys playing with them while they fucked her or she sucked their cocks. She had long legs that she wasn’t afraid to show off and he’d been treated to great views of her in bra and panties for years.

Long before he’d ever enjoyed anal pleasures personally he’d wondered as a fantasy about his mum doing anal – at that time in her life he imagined she’d have said Yes to most things.

A few years after Dad had died Mum had had a few too many drinks and confided that although Dad had been very well endowed he didn’t really know what to do with it and consequently sex with him was not very satisfying for her. That was a big factor in their marriage going sour and she’d admitted what her son had always guessed: she’d basically gone out to get all the cock she could. By now he’d been in his mid-forties but it was as horny as hell to hear his mother open up about her physical needs.

He knew his father had taken a few naughty pics of Mum. He’d seen one briefly, after Dad had died, of her posing in a black basque, high heels and stockings, sat in a chair with her legs wide open – although sadly she was wearing a little pair of black panties. You could clearly see her bush through the lace. It was terrible to admit but he hoped all the other photos would turn up when Mum died! Finding naked pics of her when she was young – he’d die of masturbation!

He’d constantly agonized over the big question: if he’d caught mum in the right mood at the time she was promiscuous, could he have had a chance of fucking her? She’d known all about his sexual exploits at the time and always took a very indulgent view. Could she ever have guessed that he’d been fantasizing about fucking her, or at least having her masturbate him? There were a number of times when she’d been very upset about things and enjoyed a cuddle with “her big son”. He’d been so aroused when they were close and had always masturbated hard as soon as he could manage afterwards. Perhaps if he’d kissed her in the right way during a cuddle and perhaps “accidentally” stroked her breast it may well have led to something else? She’d known he was very sexually active – perhaps she was waiting for him to make the first move? The speculation was sometimes torture!

But that was then and this was very much now. And how was he going to get himself out of the massive mess he’d just created for himself? A mess for both of them.

She had woken up in the space of a millisecond. Her morning had just changed shape dramatically.

She loved having him come to stay and she’d followed the usual routine. He always allowed himself a lie-in when he visited so she was always first to rise. It was a warm July morning so she had just slipped on a thin housecoat; she only slept in a nightdress during the winter. She’d never lost the childlike pleasure of stretching her bare legs over cool, freshly-laundered sheets.

She’d made him a cup of tea as always and had taken it into the spare bedroom. She always knocked first – he’d always slept naked and, well, you never knew did you? He’d been sound asleep but awoke with a smile and pursed his lips for the habitual morning peck. They’d exchanged pleasantries and because he was on his own he shifted sideways a little so she could sit on the edge of the bed while they spoke. (Strange how rarely his wife accompanied him these days. He often seemed a bit miserable now when they spoke on the ‘phone and she couldn’t help wondering… After all, it had been her own mother who firmly believed that if a marriage didn’t work in bed it wouldn’t work at all. Her marriage had failed for that very reason and she knew that her son had a high sex drive. Was he being neglected?)

They’d chatted for ten minutes and she’d got up to clear up the kitchen before showering and getting the day underway. She’d reached the doorway when he spoke. “Would you masturbate me please, Mum?” How long had she stood in the doorway with her back to him? Seconds; minutes; hours? Odd: she felt numb all over but her mind was racing. It was trying to translate what she’d just heard into something that made sense. All the years that she’d known him were flashing like pages through her mind. She didn’t know whether to feel angry, upset, insulted or piteous.

But she knew one thing: however she reacted she wasn’t going to make him feel silly or ashamed. She loved him too much for that.

She’d tried hard all these years to make sure that none of her four children felt that they were less favoured. She’d striven hugely to treat them all equally. Not the same, but equally according to their differing personalities and needs. But there was something about her eldest; some indefinable thing that set him slightly apart. She still cherished the memory of having those six years alone every day with him. A real wife and mother with a real young son to love.

And love him she did; with all her heart. He’d grown into a wilful boy, not always easy to handle, but he’d always helped and supported her. She’d never forget how, as a teenager, he’d protected her on a couple of occasions when things between her husband and her had become unpleasant. He’d grown up fast in those unsettled years and she’d come to rely on both his physical presence and his caring side; a part of his character that he’d usually only revealed to her when they were alone in the house.

Those times with him had been special to her, but also a challenge. She valued his closeness and love but this was a time when she was starting to assert her sexuality outside her marriage. To meet her long-unfulfilled needs she’d started responding to approaches from a number of men. She was enjoying the discovery of her sexual power. She was able to manipulate men more than she’d ever dreamed. And she was loving it. The other children were younger and had the usual selfish interest in their own lives and needs. But she knew her eldest could see what was going on. But he never reproached her and seemed to understand her needs.

And that was what often concerned her when they were alone and close together. How closely should a mother and her nineteen year old son cuddle? They’d often lie close on the sofa, either chatting or watching TV. Sometimes with a drink. She was sometimes a bit tearful and he’d put his arms around her. She’d felt his slim, firm body next to hers and she’d pray that he wouldn’t move away. He only ever had his arms around her shoulders, or perhaps around her waist, but she’d never been sure: had he wanted to become closer still? And what would she have done?

She’d been vulnerable then; that’s true. But had she also felt a little tingle of desire? Or was it just motherly love spiced with the relief that she could just be open and natural with him? She’d certainly noticed that he’d been very aroused at times with her – a mother sees these things. And she’d felt it once or twice – had he moved closer to her on purpose? Or had she put herself in a position to answer the question: did she excite her son? A mother shouldn’t have been even thinking these thoughts but were they in fact like two peas in a pod?

She’d like to think that if “things” had taken just one step forward she could have resisted. But would she have been that strong? He’d been sexually aware and active very early and by the time her marriage was breaking up he seemed to be seeing a new girl every night. He’d had intercourse with several girls by the time he was eighteen and she was ashamed to admit that she’d become a bit jealous of the attention he’d given them. As she was becoming increasingly ignored by her husband, her son was enjoying the physical pleasure that she craved.

It was probably just coincidence that in his teens he’d managed to catch the odd peek of her in bra and panties. Surely it was just chance that when he did she always seemed to be wearing the pretty lingerie that she wore, in vain, to excite her husband? Had she really needed to walk from bedroom to bathroom when her son was around, amazingly when she was wearing stockings and suspenders rather than the far more sensible pantyhose? She wouldn’t have deliberately shown off to her son, would she?

And when they were sorting out her late husband’s belongings, when she was nearly sixty, surely it was by chance that she “found” the photo of herself posing in lingerie with her legs wide open at just the moment that her son was kneeling right beside her? And did she let slip that there were plenty more somewhere? Surely she wasn’t shallow enough to be trying to excite her son again?

How she had contained herself on occasion when she and her son were together she never knew. For the truth was that sometimes she could hardly wait for him to go, such was her excitement. She’d either use the bathroom if it were free or just remain in the living room. She was an expert by now at giving herself an orgasm; it was almost unknown for her to climax when having sex with her husband. So once she knew she wouldn’t be disturbed she’d slip her fingers into her panties or take them off completely if she was feeling really brave.

She never felt she had the time to luxuriate over her pleasure. She loved feeling her moistness on her fingers and would tease her labia out to caress them for a couple of minutes, inserting two or three fingers to feel the tingle of doing something “naughty”. But once she moved her attention to her clitoris she could give herself an orgasm within seconds. And then again. And again. After ten minutes she’d be wrung out; satisfied. Sort of helpless in a lovely floating way. When she’d still been in her teens she’d discovered that she got a thrill from doing something she considered very dirty: she loved the taste of her fingers. Part of the ritual was to lick her fingers clean afterwards; perhaps she’d even put them in herself again just so she had to lick them again!

And in the sessions after the evenings with her son she’d asked herself many times: was she imagining his fingers playing with her, exploring her secrets? And she never told herself the truth. It would have been too unsettling. She had enough turmoil in her life then; best to avoid any more…

As she stopped in the doorway and turned back to face her son she had absolutely no idea what she was going to say. So it must have been someone else who actually said “How flattering. Would you really want me to?” It couldn’t have been her – she was his mother; she was in her eighties. Things like that shouldn’t happen; shouldn’t even be thought about.

It was only two or three paces to the bed. In that short distance, and only a few seconds in time, she would have to formulate exactly what her actions and response would be. Her mind was spinning. Apart from all the moral questions about, only whisper it – incest, she realised that she’d had no sexual experience for nearly twenty years. Would she mess it all up anyway? But she also felt empowered. She realised incredibly quickly that she was actually firmly in the driving seat. Once he’d asked his question his son had passed control of what happened next to her. She hadn’t felt a surge of excitement like that for years. She could do what she wanted! And in the next instant she discovered the final piece of this very animal jigsaw: she now knew that she wanted to hold her son’s manhood. She wanted to cross the boundary and finally connect with him in a way that few mothers do.

And God forgive her…

He was sitting there, motionless. He wasn’t convinced that his heart was even still beating. His mother turned around and he was about to die a thousand deaths. And then she spoke. And he could breathe again. She was flattered? Really? Did he really want her to stroke his cock?

“Mum; I’d love you to. I’ve dreamed of it for years but suppressed it. I’m so lonely these days and I can’t think of anything more wonderful.”

“You don’t have to; I shouldn’t have said it.”

“You can stop when you want. Are you disgusted by me?”

“Oh mum; it was terrible when you were with other men when I was living at home. I wanted it to be me.”

“Oh God; I should have kept my big mouth shut…”

He looked up and saw that she was smiling. Not beaming but in a quietly reassuring way. Perhaps; just perhaps it was going to be alright. And the years just dropped away. He was the slightly awkward boy wondering what on earth to do next and she was just Mum again. Her smile, he noticed, hadn’t changed. Yes; her body had aged. Obviously. But it was still very much her inside. And she was going to show her love for him in an intensely special way.

She sat on the bed and hesitated – this was going to be a momentous few seconds by any measure! She reached over and slowly pulled the duvet aside. So much to take in almost at once. First impressions were good. She’d known that he’d taken care of himself but she was surprised at the tanned, firm body she’d uncovered. True, he had a bit of covering now – but he was in his sixties! That brought a shock of realisation of her own age and her nerve almost failed. Was she making an absolute idiot of herself? But almost as quickly she concluded that she couldn’t stop now; that would be even worse.

He had nice legs, kept fit by plenty of walking and cycling. But she had to admit that she really only had eyes for his penis and scrotum. The shock was that it was completely hairless. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen a man without a generous covering of pubic hair. She remarked upon it and he said that it felt nicer that way and it also looked nicer in photographs. Photographs? She’d have to get that explained later…

He was so apprehensive that it almost hurt. The events of the last couple of minutes (Is that all it had been?) had completely scuppered any chance of an erection. Wanting to curl up and die did that to a cock! And now things were certainly not as he’d have wished: his mother was gazing at him naked and his penis didn’t seem much bigger than when she’d have seen it when he was about eight! Christ; things could only improve.

She eased herself closer to him on the bed and started to caress his thighs. She gently kneaded his muscles, commenting on how lovely his legs were. She ran her fingers (were they shaking slightly?) up the inside of his legs and back down again, enjoying the softness of his skin at the top of his leg but deliberately staying clear of his scrotum. She was supporting herself with her left hand so she could only stroke him with her right-hand fingers. So, almost idly, her fingertips caressed his legs gently, making sure that they reached as far as possible under him as well.

She loved the look of the front of his hips, where his legs joined his torso. He was leaner here, less covering. She stroked around his hip bones and the fold of skin where his thighs ran into his abdomen, only an inch from the base of his penis. And for the first time he started breathing more deeply. And was that a slight push against her hand as she ran her fingers over his abdomen and up towards his navel? And then she turned and headed towards his penis again, just stopping short once more. He pushed his hips upwards towards her now. Perhaps she hadn’t lost her touch?

She looked up and saw that he had his eyes shut and was gently biting his lower lip with a very slight smile. She looked back down again to see he penis move by itself; it was straightening as it started filling with blood. But it could wait a little longer – she was enjoying her power!

He was beginning to relax into this. The whole thing was other-worldly! He was lying here naked; the sun was streaming in between the curtains; his mother (!) was stroking him and his cock was getting hard. What was there not to like?

She leaned further forward and reached for his chest. As she was now resting against him she could use both hands. She stroked his body from his navel to his neck and shoulders, admiring his muscular physique and noting that he had a nice covering of hair on his chest. He felt solid and reassuring; well built. Her son was an attractive man!

His neck was smooth and soft and she ran the back of her hands against his cheeks and ears. She was close to his face now and she realised with a shock that she had another big decision to make. She decided to let things take their course and so, taking her weight on both hands, leaned over and kissed him on the lips. So gently; just a brush at first. It gave the option of leaving it just like that or allowing the possibility for something more.

He responded. After she’d drawn her lips away just a few millimetres he raised his face towards hers and kissed her again, this time with his lips slightly open. And she took the next big chance: she gently probed his lips with her tongue. My God; what a day this was turning out to be! And there was his tongue, electrically meeting hers. Their mouths opened and for the first time in their lives mother and son were kissing like lovers. Their lips and tongues were hungry for each other and they couldn’t get enough. She wondered if she’d ever been this excited. They were actually slurping as they kissed and she was stroking his face and neck, pulling him as close as she could. Urgent. Hungry.

His arms were around her shoulders, pulling her towards him, his hands around her head and caressing her ears. This was ground-breaking, huge, unprecedented.

He was thrusting his body upwards now almost violently, bracing himself on his shoulders and legs. It was time. She broke away from his lips and turned away. And what a sight greeted her! No wonder her son had been popular with women since his early teens! She’d never had any complaint with the size of his father’s manhood but his son’s was in another league! It was only slightly longer than his father’s, to be fair, but it was so thick. And she loved the blue veins that visibly fed its erection; it looked so animal. And although he’d not been circumcised his blue smooth glans was fully uncovered. The whole thing just looked bursting with life and vitality. It was almost menacing.

And so she reached out, gently wrapping her fingers around it. He felt huge and she could have sworn that it was throbbing. As her fingers touched his penis her son gasped and groaned, pushing his groin into her grasp. “Oh Mum; fucking hell. You’re a marvel!”

She treated herself to yet another first in their relationship. She whispered to him, almost hoarsely “You have a fantastic cock, son. It feels wonderful.” Did she ever think she’d say those words?

And then she started to concentrate on the job, literally, in hand. She stroked his thick shaft very slowly, sometimes lightly but every now and then gently digging her nails into the firm organ. She ran her fingers over the very tip of his cock head and carefully probed its slit with the very tip of her finger. And her son was completely in her control. She’d hurt him with her nails and he’d groan and push against her harder. When she slowed down and stroked his shiny helmet he’d moan and whimper and lie there almost in agony.

She knew enough to heed the warning signs. She had no idea when he’d ejaculated last and she didn’t want him coming too early. So she released his pulsing tool and paid attention to his scrotum for the first time. She had to admit that it felt wonderful without hair; the skin felt so soft and he felt so vulnerable. With an uncomfortable pang she imagined herself back when she bathed him when he was young – had she really not had a forbidden thrill as she’d soaped his little penis and felt for his testicles? And then washed it again just for the hell of it?

She took his cock in her left hand again and cupped his scrotum with the other. She loved the way his balls moved as she wanked him. (Oh God; it was so exciting to even be thinking these words again! She hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed sex over all these years.) Another experiment: she ran one fingertip away from his scrotum and down his perineum. Yet more heavy breathing and squirming: excellent!

And now for something she’d never had the nerve to do when she was younger. She almost idly stroked her finger around her son’s anus and almost instantly he stopped moving and seemed to be holding his breath. “Am I doing something wrong?” she breathed, worrying whether she’d made a big mistake. “Bloody hell, Mum; you’re doing everything right – I’m just so excited about what I think you’re going to do next.”

“Well; you never know” she said almost coquettishly, almost instantly pushing her fingertip gently a little way into his private hole. She’d never heard a moan like it. It was so exciting to know that she could get a man, her son, to enjoy something that much. Perhaps life began at eighty five! She carried on very slowly masturbating him, all the while probing more deeply into his rectum. Finally her finger was in as far as it would go and she slowly withdrew it before pushing all the way in again. She’d read about this: she was finger-fucking her own son! And all the time it sounded as if he was one thrust away from a heart attack. He was in heaven – and she was doing it!

But he wasn’t going to last much longer and she still had one more plan for him…

She left her finger inside him and leaned forward, gently brushing the tip of her tongue over his glistening bell-end. “Look what I’m doing now” she breathed like a slut. He raised his head and rolled his eyes. “Fucking hell Mum, you’re a dirty bitch!” That was like music to her ears. She’d been a dirty bitch forty-five years ago; she knew it at the time, but this was taking it to a whole new level. She leaned down again and slowly took his thick penis in her mouth. She could taste his seminal fluid now, sweet and carnal. It would only be a few minutes now. She began to pull her mouth up and down his cock, sucking hard all the while, sometimes pulling out altogether and letting her lips smack together with a dirty slurping sound. Her left hand was clamped around the base of his shaft, still wanking, whilst her lips worked their magic further up and a finger was still probing the secrets of his arsehole.

It was almost impossible to keep a good rhythm as he was thrusting into her so hard, all the time moaning and telling her how much he loved her; how he’d wanted her all these years. Oh God; she loved her son…

She stopped sucking and looked towards him. His eyes opened and looked down at her. “It’s OK; you can come when you like. Where do you want to shoot it?”

She’d have loved to have seen his seed spurt out of his penis in great gobs; it had been years since she’d seen a man ejaculate. She had guessed what he’d say but it still came as a thrill to hear the words: “Mum; is it OK if I shoot my load into your mouth?” And she meant it with all her heart when she replied: “Darling; that’ll be wonderful; I can’t think of anything I’d like more. I want my mouth full of your sperm.”

He must have been waiting to hear that because he started breathing even faster and he even dared to gently guide her head back down towards his groin. There was no point holding back now so she tried to get as much as possible of his engorged penis in her mouth. She’d never been that good at fully taking a man into her mouth and she started to gag as he pushed into her harder and deeper. She was struggling not to choke and ruin it all for him and her eyes were starting to water. But then she realised: her lips were down to the base of his penis – he was fully in! Perhaps a bit late in life but another achievement nonetheless!

Her mouth was absolutely full of his hot meat; his tip was pushing into her throat. She’d never experienced anything like this. And then…

He came. Well; he exploded inside her. Her mouth was already full of penis but he seemed to be pumping gallons of hot, thick, strong-tasting sperm into her anyway. She thought she’d be able to cope with it at first but she was fooling herself. She managed to swallow his first spurt and felt good about it.

But he didn’t stop; he just kept ejaculating. She wished she could have seen it! She had to open her mouth and let it pump out between his penis and her lips. And then she choked… At that point she couldn’t take any more and so his last pulses ran out of her nose.

She felt dirty and humiliated, looking a mess in the eyes of her son. What would he think? But she was pleased to realise that she also equally felt alive and elated. She’d done something she could never have dreamed of all those years ago. This was big; this was completely carnal. She’d pleased her son hugely and the way he was stroking her head and neck and running his fingers through her hair as she laid on his sticky stomach told her all she needed to know. She hadn’t lost him as a son and it was clear that their relationship had taken a huge leap into the unknown.

And she couldn’t help savouring the delight of meeting some of her neighbours in the future. To them she’d still be a dear old lady. Perhaps she was, but she was growing old disgracefully!

“Mum; you were just fantastic! I just couldn’t have believed that it could be that good. Thanks for taking a gamble; I just died when I blurted it out. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

She looked up, his sperm already drying on her face and hair. “I’ve been thinking about that – and yes, there is…”

Anyone for Part Two??