Mother’s Confession

As many know this is a story that is of a delicate nature. If such stories bothers the read, then kindly move on. Besides why did you come to the incest section anyway?

For the sake of this story I will call myself Heather. It’s not my real name and for various reasons I think its best we all just leave it at that, if you think about it I’m sure you can understand why.

I’m a 35 year old widow and mother of one. I stand five feet three inches tall and I weigh around on hundred thirty-five pounds. I know most women would not dare to speak of how much they weigh, but I have the added bonus of being anonymous, so it makes no difference here.

I have 36D cup breasts, 29 inch waist, and 34 hips, and an ass that even at the age of 35 is still as full, large, round and as firm as it had been in my 20’s. I suppose you could call that an hour glass figure, God knows it was that figure, and my ass, that drew my late husband to me, and he was more than happy with it.

Anyway to continue, about five years ago I lost my husband to cancer. He put up a hell of a fight, and even though I know he was finally at peace, it was hard to deal with, not only for me but, at the time, for my 10 year old son as well. We both took losing him very hard, and for the longest time I felt as if the world had somehow cheated us out of the joy and happiness that we deserved to have.

As a result of my husband’s death ,my son- whom I will not name- grew up rather quickly right before my eyes. He was always a serious little boy, but even at such a tender age he took to doing things around the house like mowing the lawn, and simple chores around the house even more seriously. That was his father in him, dedicated, loving, and giving to a fault. There was nothing that I could ask of him that he would not try to do his very best to fulfill, even when it might have been beyond his capabilities.

During the first year of not having my husband with us, I use to cry at night at how my child lost all of his carefree innocents, but he would come to me put his arm around my shoulder and say. “Its ok Mom, its ok.” in an attempt to comfort me, and that would spark another storm of weeping to which I would cling to my son as if for dear life. I suppose you could say that it was for dear life since as the days months and years that past I had come to depend more and more on him. He became the steady rock in which I could draw strength from, and he became my sole reason for living now, and there is nothing in this world that I would not do for him.

A month or so after his fourteenth birthday I had begun to notice how my son had changed. He was growing to be tall, fit, and handsome with a boyish quality still to his face, but it was late one night that I realized how much more of a man he was becoming then I wanted to admit, and how far his steadfast presents in my life had impacted me.

You see, one night I was feeling particularly lonely. It was late, and I thought my son had gone to bed. So I had a few glasses of red wine to loosen myself up a bit, and then went up to my room to tend to my loneliness. I even made a personal event out of it, dressing in a black sheer teddy that flaunted my curves, and matching crotchless panties that framed my always freshly waxed sex. I don’t know why I still took so much pride in the act of keeping my womanhood hairless, maybe it was just for the simple fact that in doing so I still felt like a woman. I did my honey blond hair, and even applied on some makeup. I wanted to feel sexy, desirable, even wanted. I suppose, that even though it was only me, I wanted to feel some of that passion, even a small fraction, I use to feel when my husband was still alive, and before he got sick.

After I had looked myself over in the tall floor mirror, caressing my body and enjoying the soft sensations of the sexy nightwear against my skin, I reached into the top drawer of my dresser and took out my trusty vibrator. The poor thing had been getting more of a work out over the last couple of years then I think it was supposed to, but I knew I could count on it to get the job done.

I then laid back on my bed spreading my thigh as wide as I could possibly get them and began pleasing myself. Slowly at first, using it to tease my rapidly swelling clit, feeling it’s soft humming reverberations ripple through that small sensitive button sending sweet chills up and down my spine, and wishing for all the world that it was a real cock that was pressing and grinding me into temptation, pushing me to want a nice hard long fuck.

I don’t know when my son had awakened, but that is not the point. The point is, however, that I had forgot to shut my bedroom door, maybe it was the wine I had earlier in the evening that had made me so forgetful, but looking back on it now I doubt that it was mere forgetfulness.

I don’t know how long he had been watching me, but through my half closed eyes I could see his reflection of my tall floor mirror. His eyes were locked on me, and reflected in those deep brown eyes was a burning passion I had not seen in anyone else, save from my late husband for far too long.

I was, by that point, in the full throws of wildly pumping my bald pussy with my vibrator on the highest level, feeling the vibrating tip hitting my G-spot, and listening to the nice wet slurping sound my cunt made while it clenched at the shaft of my toy. All the while however my son was standing off to the side of my door frame watching me intently, his eyes glued on every quick thrust I made with my pleasure toy into my glistening steaming slit. I could also see that he was rapidly jacking off, his hand wildly pumping up and down his long thick cock shaft as he watched me.

I know, I should have stopped right then and there, but it had been more than four long hard years since anyone except my husband had showed that kind of interest in me, and I guess I got caught up in that longing look of desire he was giving me.

So, I continued to masturbate with my vibrating toy driving it harder and faster into my dripping hole, while my son masturbated to me. Knowing that he was watching me so closely sent a wild shiver up and down my spine, and I found myself whimpering and moaning louder than I should have, saying things like, “Fuck yeah that feels so good!”, and “Oh God yeah, right there baby! Come on give me all of that big cock!” God I was so turned on by the moment, even though every fiber of my being knew there was something so very wrong about it.

Then it hit me, the most intense climax I could remember having in recent years. That kind of orgasm that felt like ever nerve was electrified and making my cunt flood with nectar as it quivered in ecstatic contractions. Even as I rode out the wave after wave of pleasure saying “Oh, oh, oh God yes right there! Oh shit, I‘m cumming!”, my hips bucking wildly off the bed, and my cunt oozing with my warm sweet cum in a virtual lava flow of my sexual release, I could see my son still jacking off in my mirror‘s reflection, his face contorted and twisted with concentration until at last he too reached the point where he was shooting off stream after milky white stream of young tender boy cum all over the floor. That sight alone, even through half closed eyes was enough to send me off into another wave of orgasms, my cunt quivering insanely once again, and me moaning even louder than before, but by the time I came down from my lust driven high, my son had made a hurried escape to keep me from fully seeing him.

For most of that night I stayed in my room curled on my bed and felt ashamed guilty, and like the worst mother on the face of the planet, even as my slit kept oozing the last remains of my self induced sexual high.