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Our Summer of Grief

Category: Incest
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Two days after I graduated from High School, my dad surrendered to the cancer that had been kicking his ass for more than three years. To say my mom and I were devastated would be an understatement. It seemed like we died with him as we moved like zombies in a cloud of unreality. A world without him was no place we knew or wanted to know. And yet, there we were, the carpet pulled forever out from under us.

I was grateful that school was finished, making the hibernation into which we sank less noticed by the outside world. Other than the occasional late night grocery run, we were hermits. My mom barely left her bedroom. I would check on her from time to time but, for the most part, left her alone assuming she would emerge when she was ready.

There are many ways to escape reality – drugs, alcohol, television, video games. The method to which I gravitated was porn. That probably sounds silly, but it’s true. I found myself, more and more, tucked in my room, eyes glued to my desktop computer as I stroked myself patiently. Hours would fly by as I disappeared down the rabbit hole, one dirty scene at a time.

Though I enjoyed many different types of porn clips, I gravitated toward a distinct little sub genre featuring moms or stepmoms and their teenaged sons. In particular, I liked the ones where the always attractive mom/stepmom would catch her son/stepson jacking off and then, either angrily or graciously or eagerly or some combination thereof, offer to assist.

I need to clarify that though my mom is a very (very) attractive and young-looking 46 with thick brown hair, pretty brown eyes, athletic legs and an hourglass figure with curves and fullness in all the right places, I never thought about her when I watched the porn. That wasn’t a part of it. I wasn’t battling some forbidden lust – either before or after my dad died. I just liked something in those clips – the getting caught, the taboo nature of it all.

Late one night we needed milk and I headed out to the grocery store. I didn’t tell my mom. I assumed she was sleeping, plus, we were still in the muted, mostly solitary phase of our grieving (3 weeks since the funeral.)

When I got home and headed inside I sensed something different and remained quiet, attempting to decide what it was. As I neared my bedroom I heard a woman’s voice and walked on tip-toes to the door, which was slightly ajar. I was stunned and mortified to find my mom seated at my desk watching the scene I’d inadvertently left on display – a particular favorite in which a very sexy mom brought her son boxes of Kleenex and admonished him to stop adding to her laundry load by using his socks as cum rags.

For a long moment, I couldn’t move. I tried to read her body language, but couldn’t with her back to me. Was she sad, angry, embarrassed, horrified? I backed away slowly and silently and left the house.

An hour later when I returned my bedroom was vacated and mom had returned to her grief post.

I sat at my desk and tried to determine if anything had changed. The scene was still there, frozen on the screen as I had left it. The seat was warm but not in a way I would have noticed had I not known she had occupied it. The stunner came when I went to use the mouse and found it sticky, coated. My heart stopped as I instantly deduced what I was touching – her.

My blood thumped. My jeans suddenly tightened as my cock twitched and went rigid.

“What was happening?” I wondered as I lifted my fingers to taste her, smell her.

Caught up in a wave of something primal I pushed off my pants and boxer briefs and stroked myself off, quickly littering myself with a gigantic load of spunk.

We fell into a bizarre rhythm. Three nights a week I would disappear leaving a particularly hot mom porn scene up, and three nights a week I would return to find my chair warm and my mouse wet. On those infrequent moments when we saw each other in the house throughout our days we made our normal small talk as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring though I definitely noticed a shift in my perception of her. I gradually realized how amazing her body was, easily as attractive as the hottest of the porn star “moms.”

Did she noticed how I noticed her? I really couldn’t tell. Until…

The defining, turning point moment of our summer of grief. It was getting late on a night I would normally head out but, for some reason I hadn’t. Instead I did what I often did, sat in my room with my my dick in my fist watching porn. My bedroom door was unlocked, but closed. I pretended, with effort, not to notice when she slowly pushed it open. I continued watching, continued stroking.

“Steven,” she said quietly.

I jumped in my seat even though I knew she was there.

“Jesus,” I yelled, covering my dick as best I could as my chair swiveled toward her. “What are you doing?”

It was then that I noticed what she was wearing – not the faded shorts and T-shirt combo to which I had grown accustomed, but a tight, black, long silk slip which barely contained her tits.

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured as she stepped closer. “I know what you do in here.”

I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t look away. She was beautiful. Perfect. A goddess. Each step closer, her transformation continued – from reality mom, to porn star mom. She knelt, her gentle smile remaining fixed.

“Let mommy help you with that, baby,” she purred, my cock in her hand which turned to a fist as it wrapped and then stroked. “Let mommy stroke that big cock for you.”

Please remember that as an 18-year old boy with some but not much actual experience, I was a long way from maturity. In roughly ten firm strokes my cock erupted. Thick heavy ropes of spunk flew onto my belly and her hand. She smiled, cooing as she milked me empty.

“Who is this woman?” i wondered as she shimmied the straps of gown off her shoulders allowing her full tits to spill free…then massaged my spunk into her nipples making them nice and hard.

“Do you see how turned on I am?” she asked.

I nodded, my hard-on persisting in spite of my climax. “Amazing,” she observed, her hand returning to my shaft. “Your father would cum and be done.”

She tickled the tip of my cock with her tongue, dabbing at the remnants.

“I used to have to sneak to the bathroom after to get myself off.” She smiled a little sadly. “Mommy is going to fuck you now.”

She sucked me a little longer then stood and shimmied her nightie up to her waist. The thick, dark, thatch of her pussy came into view and my heart leapt up into my throat.

“Do you like mommy’s pussy, baby?” she asked, holding my cock in her right hand as she straddled me, guided me, sunk slowly onto me. “You can fuck mommy’s hungry cunt whenever you want.”

Her words, her pussy, her tits in my face – made me crazy. She started grinding on me, gripping the back of the chair as she moved and fucked and dissolved into her pleasure.

“You’re so fucking big and hard and beautiful,” she groaned. “Mommy’s going to cum all over you.”

Suddenly she screamed, as she arched and clamped me tightly – her climax a shimmering, shuddering marvel that left her breathless.

“How do you want to cum this time baby?” she asked once she’d regained her ability to speak.

“Behind you,” I said.

“Perfect, Steven. Fuck me however you want. Let me be your dirty porn star, baby.”

She got on all fours and I knelt down behind her. I plunged into her and went from zero to eighty in no time flat, pound fucking her decisively.

“Oh, fuck,” she cried over her shoulder. “I’m cumming again…”

I felt her juices bathe me as my second climax built and travelled…from somewhere deep into my soul, through the 8 thick inches of my dick and into the tight wet burrow of my mother’s cunt. Blast, after blast, after spine tingling blast.

We collapsed onto the floor and just held each other. After a few moments, I noticed she was crying.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing baby,” she replied. “What we just did, for better or for worse, brought me back to life.”

Her hand fell onto my now sensitive, rapidly shrinking cock.

“And this,” she said, giving me a playful squeeze, “is my new favorite play thing.”

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