CUM, YE MOTHERFUCKERS, CUM

CUM, YE MOTHERFUCKERS, CUM

By Oediplex 8==3~
This Oedipus opus is dedicated to my mother, Dell

PREAMBLE

Greeting to all Oediplex OediPals, both sons and mothers who ever thought about committing incest with their parent or child, most especially those who did share that intimate act. This piece of writing is produced to make you cum. But it has a second purpose as well. I am working on building a network of all those who are interested in the subject of mother/son sex.

In past I have written many stories in this genre and I believe that they were well received, if you could overlook my weak grammar. This has allowed me to make contact not just with those who enjoy reading such stories, but some folks who’s real situations are as hot as the best fantasy out there on the Internet. Some of these have allowed me to help them tell their true narratives. Any who contact me are provided information as where they might find these accounts.

I seek to share high quality erotic on the subject of mother/son incest with everyone that I can reach. We all need a cum. To that end . . .

I have included in this work the true ‘The Confessions of Oediplex’ my real story. Sadly, I am but a want-ta-be motherfucker, having never actually had the opportunity to do so. Or rather, the opportunity I had passed by unrealized, which is the second part of this writing, the part created to make you cum. (Patience you’ll get there, but you’ll miss the best part if you skip ahead.)

That lost opportunity is recreated in fantasy below as the consummation of having sex with my mother. It is based on the real circumstances of our lives, but extends in fiction what might have been, if things had taken just the slightest turn differently. If they had, this is how I believe I would have gotten to fuck my mom. It could have really happened this way. The names are not changed, as I am not innocent and she has now passed to paradise. The story action is written from her perspective which I think makes it hotter, though I begin the narrative with the set-up of our circumstances.

The best part is this, if you will contact me – your email definitely will be answered and you will be provided with information that will lead you to having many more orgasms from exquisite erotica available no where else. I am not promoting a commercial site, but a society of like minded people that read this genre because it turns them on. Some of my other stories (like “Pandora’s Box Got Me Mom’s Box” – available as well) were produced to inform folks of some of the material I have. But there is so much more in store for any who will consider themselves Oediplex Oedipals.

So read what is below, then write me for more. I promise a cum to all who would call themselves my pals.

Oediplex 8==3~ Connecticut 2004,

The Confessions of Oediplex

Why I wanted to, but never got the chance to fuck my mother.

I believe from my study of the subject of incest, that the familiarity of family life breeds (pun) not contempt so much as neutrality. The exotic, exciting, erotic, romantic feelings are directed to those who are outside the genetic-unit. Though, interestingly enough, they may very well resemble a family member. In other words, ‘birds of a flock don’t often fuck, but birds of a feather will tend to nest together’.

When I was in sixth grade, we moved to Connecticut and the split level house was such that sounds carried more than the old one. Also I was staying awake later as I got older, and began to hear strange sounds from the recreation room in the floor below, after I had been sent to bed. The voices of my parents, in odd patterns, moans and muffled cries. Then one night I was sure that I heard my mother saying, “No . . . no . . NOO!” My parents had highly emotional fights and I thought that perhaps my father was getting physical with her, though he had rarely ever done so.

I crept down the stairs and peeked over the banister to see what was going on. My dad was squatting in front of my mother who sat in an easy chair, she had slid down so her behind was at it’s edge. His boxers were at his feet and her nightgown raised to her waist, he was between her legs. I ask if everything was okay. After an initial moment of surprise on my pop’s face, that passed though irritation to understanding, he assured me that they were fine and well and I should go back to bed. Mom was red faced and said nothing, but she appeared to not be in distress. I returned to my bedroom with mixed thoughts as to if I had witnessed them having had an altercation or sex.

A few weeks later the same scenario played out twice more. These times, however, I saw the flash of uniting genitals before they realized they were being viewed. My father was quite brusque and firmly ordered me back to bed in a commanding voice that conveyed his annoyance with me and my hampering their activities. But my mother spoke also, to me reassuring me that all was okay and encouraging me to go back to sleep.

Now I was sure it was intercourse. A couple nights in the following month I sneaked down to peek again, but was afraid to get caught and so only watched for a few moments to observe their private action. The last time I even arrived just as they were climaxing together and stayed just long enough to observe the aftermath. Then my folks no longer did it downstairs but behind the closed door of the bedroom.

My Oedipus Complex comes from years of masturbating outside the door of my parents bedroom while I listened to them. My mother was quite verbal when she had an orgasm, and it was “yes, yes, yeess!” then. But she had a conservative upbringing. Even so, my folks had pre-marital sex in the parlor of mom’s Sorority house (behind the upright piano). So when she was building to the climax, it was like she was resisting the feeling of loving sex, and it was “no, no nooo . . .” before she would give into the overwhelming climax my dad brought her to. Several times each eve that they fucked mom would be very vocal when she came, though it wasn’t every night they did it, but often. So that is where my love of seduction themes comes from, my mommy’s “no!, no, noo” then “yes, yes, yeess!” when orgasming.

In my youth I fantasized about most anything half pretty and wearing a skirt. In my sophomore year of college, something, I’m not sure what, began to swing me to older women images (teachers) and particularly mother/son stories for my turn-ons. By my Senior. college year I was totally into incest, mostly mother/son. The observation I made about the books which served to fuel my rod, was that those with incest were of people who loved and cared for one another. The rest of the porno literature made more of the physical mechanics and how many beds and combos could be done with the stock of characters in the story.

The non-incest were, for the most part, too dry, no emotion, lacking of feelings for the partner. The best part of making love is the relationship. Cheap meaningless sex has it’s place, God knows I’ve never gotten enough of it myself, but screwing the most forbidden, seducing the loved one and the conquest of lust over morals and propriety, and future complications (i.e., don’t tell Dad), that is my cup of tea, my fantasy, hot button, turn on, fetish, kink, deviation, perversion, decadence, etc.

I would call most of my real sexual experiences pedantic or pedestrian if it didn’t make it sound like I was a pervert of the kind I’m not, no foot fetish here. Each of the three ladies I wed (that was no lady that was my bitch) knew what kind of pervert I really am, and were perfectly aware of my proclivity to mother/son incest fantasies before we wed. Generally they had no problems with that and indeed we role played too. So my three divorces were due to other problems, none sexual.

At one point my mother might have actually been coming on to me. In reflecting back on the period of when I when I was home from graduate school during one summer, I recollect several times when we kissed in greeting her tongue would French me. I was a bit befuddled by this, never imagining that my conventional mom might have the same kind of imaginings I had about her and I doing it. I thought that she had been making an error in her affections. Kissing me like she would dad, but unintentionally with her son. In retrospect perhaps it was no mistake but rather a testing (or tasting?) of the waters, of whether I might follow through on my fantasies.

There was one time, which never happened, but might have been the occasion that I finally got to fuck my mother. Here’s what I think might have happened.

When I was fresh out of grad school, in my first house, as a young professional and single, (having recently ended an engagement with a gal in Indianapolis); my mother asked if she could come and visit me, alone. Knowing now, what I later found out from my dad; that at the time, that they had stopped making love several years before, I can imagine she was very horny by then.

Added to the quite possible discovery by my mother (possibly at sometime in the past) of my incest pornography with mother/son sex themes (I didn’t try too hard to hide it), then it is conceivable that I might have gotten to fuck my mother on that visit. Which never happened, as before she had set a date to visit (and of course I had no idea of the potential of that stay) I met my first wife and we were very quickly engaged.

No matter what, at that point my mom would have not interfered. She wanted grandkids. But my father told me one thing about my mother that would have been critical, if we had started down the path of incest. Dad told me (after mom died of cancer at 54) that she was a goner if you ate her pussy, then she had to have it in her, she couldn’t allow herself to cum that way for some reason, she would say “Put it in, put it in, now!” That explained the vocalizations I had heard at their door. While my father was in a talkative mood that night and similar evenings, I wrung all the information on their sex lives and my mother’s body that I could from dad.

I could say I pumped him, but that would give a different misimpression! Get this, when I told him that night that I had the hots for mom for all those years, he said he had wished he’d known; that he had such power over her that he could have arranged it. I assumed he meant during that period after they had stopped making love and that I was as yet unattached. Where is a friggin’ time machine when you need one! Someday I will write a fantasy of the visit that never happened. I’ll let you know!

Well here it is, read on for your promised climax of the story,
mothers are encouraged to have more than one climax.


The Seduction of Jocastrix
How Oediplex might have gotten to fuck his mother, if only . . .

Her son’s tongue slithered over her clit again in his serpentine style that drove her to the peak of sexual excitement and she reached the point of no return. “Put it in,” she gasped and uttered the words in a breathy most urgent plea, “put it in, now!”, was all she could say as she repeated her begging.

Dell had reached the point of no return, she must have a cock in her cunt, even if it was the penis of her son. But even better, that it was the organ of her beloved David, the devoted son who now was filling her long emptiness and the longing they had both had hidden for so long. She reached the point of no return and gladly welcomed it as she welcomed the tool of her boy, as she was well deserving of the cum to come.

She had reached to point of no return. And this is how she reached it.

Dell was a typical suburban housewife of a commuter husband. He made a six figure income and life was very comfortable in Connecticut for them. But they had been estranged in sexual matters for nearly three years. She was sure that her spouse, while his interest in sex had waned with older middle age, was occasionally getting a piece from the attractive secretaries at the office, though not his own – as she did trust that particular woman. Dell also suspected there was a call girl once in a while.

The situation was a source of bitterness, but otherwise life was sweet and she really had no other options she cared to pursue. She would not give up on a marriage that, aside from the lack of sex, was exceptional. There were no men she cared to take as lovers, sometimes she was propositioned, it embarrassed her. She was not without desire and needs, and the clunky vibrator of those days helped to relieve things when she resorted to it.

But it wasn’t a penis. So she was a frustrated lady with a reasonable figure and a sex drive at peak in her late forties. There was one other man alone she might consider having sex with. Except that he was her son David. She only had those musings because she had found a regular parade of pornographic books between his mattress and springs when she changed the bed linens. The sheets were so stained with the yellow of his semen she had switched from white to a matching pale lemon for his bedding.

She couldn’t help notice the titles when she did this chore in his room. “Mommy Does Sonny”, “Her Son Was Her Lover”, etc. David had never approached her or even let on in his conversation about his desires. But he must have a powerful Oedipus Complex thought Dell, as all the books were of the same genre. She had begun to read one or two out of curiosity when she as sure she was alone in the home and would not be interrupted.

It was easy to find the good parts, the books’ spines were cracked by repeated opening to the section where the mother and son consummated their passion. The greasy fingerprints from the Vaseline lubrication were evidence of his masturbation, as if the volume of Kleenex in the wastepaper basket some feet away was not enough of a telltale. She noted that over the years David had become proficient at tossing tissue and getting it into the receptacle.

Curiosity had lead to reading, reading had led to arousal, being turned on and horny she had masturbated to the fantasies her son had cum to. Thus Dell was introduced to think about what her conservative midwestern background would have seen as sinful, but her liberal arts college education informed her was not an unheard of phenomena. She might never have thought about having sex with her son, save for his dirty books, but she had and her fingers had done the walking while she lay on yellow sheets.

Indeed, sometimes with the confidence of complete privacy and plenty of time, she had gotten totally naked on David’s bed with his books on incest and read and cum so much that she made a huge wet spot on the linens she was about to change. But all that had changed as her son had moved to Long Island to a place of his own, leaving no naughty literature to peruse for self-abuse. Now she was even more frustrated and the vibrator had quit working several weeks ago. But a plan began to form in the back of her mind.

David was in his late twenties, but unattached, his engagement of a the past year having collapsed and none others had been serious, even though he did date. He, like his parents, had most certainly engaged in pre-marital sex. These days, in the Seventies, that was much more accepted as being okay and open, than when she had taken his father behind the piano in the Sorority house parlor to be taken by his father.