Madre Renuente #2

🔥 A incestuous story that I hope you enjoy a lot 🔥 ... The nightstand lamp wasn't very powerful, but I could see Mom was blushing intensely. She then remained silent for a long time: I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't know you'd be back. I... had read something in my book and I... Well, it made me feel a little, you know, warm. The thing is, Mom, that I couldn't get you out of my head. I thought about you all the time. I thought about you as a sexual person like a woman instead of just my mother. I had never done that before I added. I know it was wrong I continued, but with wine and a free day and everything else, I couldn't help myself. You seemed so desirable. Mom gave me a half-smile and I relaxed a bit. There wouldn't be a catastrophic dispute or a family breakup. That wasn't my mother's way, but it was good that she confirmed it anyway. I don't know if I should feel flattered, horrified or both, she paused, ordering her thoughts. Literature is full of young men with a maternal fixation, so the idea isn't new to me. But when it manifests in your own son, it's a big shock. She made another pause and I waited, holding my breath, unable to guess what she would say next. Besides, I suppose I would have expected a Oedipus complex to pop its ugly head up when I was a bit younger, not when I'm almost sixty! I never saw you masturbating before, I said, changing my position a bit. Suppose, she replied. And obviously you won't tell anyone else, will you? Of course not! Mom sighed. And obviously there can never be anything of that nature between us. Do you understand, Michael? Yes, I sighed and she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and I had to hold back the impulse to turn my head and kiss her lips again. This little discussion had brought me to new heights, we had almost brought out the taboo of incest into the open of the day, and certainly within the scope of a future discussion. My cock was incredibly hard underneath the duvet. 'Goodnight, Michael.' 'Goodnight, Mom.' That Sunday's breakfast wasn't as uncomfortable as I had feared. Mom made an effort to make me feel comfortable and neither of us spoke about the previous night. The plan went more or less according to schedule. There were fifteen days left until the next step. In reality, that step took place on the weekend when it was my mother's birthday. I told her to leave Sunday free and she got excited with anticipation. I was also excited, for different and darker reasons. Good weather continued as January turned into February, so on that Sunday morning I took my mom to the hills again and we walked along a different route, but with a stop at the same pub for lunch. Mom was wearing shorts this time and I could admire her legs subreptitiously; they weren't the thinnest I had ever seen in my life, but they were well-formed, muscular, and honey-colored. We got home around three and Mom opened the few gifts she had received; I had bought her a huge bouquet of flowers and a latest-generation coffee maker. Then I told her there was a table reserved at a city restaurant for nine-thirty and after that we would see a show at the Royal Theatre. Mom was ecstatic with excitement; she rarely went out to eat and even more rarely went to the theatre. When I told her it was Guys 'n' Dolls, she squealed with pleasure and hugged me tightly, pressing her breasts against my chest; Guys 'n' Dolls is her all-time favorite. She disappeared upstairs and I heard the sound of a running bath. The restaurant cost a fortune but was worth it. Good food, good service, and good atmosphere. And my mom looked good too. She was wearing a black cocktail dress cinched with a single string of pearls. 'I think I'm a bit too big for this dress,' she had confided to me While waiting for the taxi. 'Foolishness, highlight your figure' I said, and it was true. Her waist had thickened a bit with age, but she still had curves and full breasts and wide hips that were the epitome of a mature woman, although I abstained from mentioning that. 'Thanks', she replied, giving me a slightly mocking smile. She had also washed her hair and shone under the subtle light of the candle on the table between us. She applied makeup carefully and made an extra effort using facial sprays, eye shadow, eyeliner, and a dark crimson lip pencil that made her lips seem even more plump and juicy. I also noticed she was wearing black tights and salon shoes, so in general, I felt a bit overwhelmed by my mother's appearance. I didn't expect her to look so good! And she was in a rare mood; chatting quietly with the waiters, making jokes, looking at me over the rim of her glass while drinking her Chianti. I wondered what she was thinking. I also noticed with some surprise that she had painted her nails with transparent varnish, something I don't remember her doing before. Was she doing all this for me? Was she telling me in a subtle way that maybe things could progress between us? I doubted it but it was a pleasant fantasy and I enjoyed eating, talking, and looking at her across the table. The show was also good. I'm not very fond of musicals, but the cast performed professionally and Mom was captivated, which was the objective of the exercise. During the interval, I led her gently through the crowd to the bar with a hand on the lower part of her back and we drank cocktails and she chatted animatedly about the show and it was all I could do not to attract her towards me and kiss her. My mother was beautiful! We returned home at 2:30 am and I suggested a nightcap before bed, to '... Mom had agreed with good will, so I served her a strong Remy Martin, her favorite liquor; I took a whisky. We sat down and took sips of our drinks on opposite sides of the living room. Mom on the sofa, as always, and I in the armchair. We talked about food and the show and the clock struck three and finally I left my empty glass and got up. 'I'm about to go to bed', I announced. 'Me too', smiled mom, getting up. She stopped in front of me. 'Thanks for giving me such a special day, Michael. It's been... splendid' she finished. 'You've made an old woman very happy'. She took a step towards me and kissed my cheek and I felt my desire reaching a shout level and put my hands on her hips and pulled her in closer. She gave me that mocking smile again. 'Aren't you going to ruin it now, aren't you?' 'Okay', I said, and I was glad I had taken the whisky because I felt a little numb and could continue with my speech. 'I've repressed my feelings towards you for the last two weeks and it's been very difficult'. I paused and mom looked at me with her head slightly tilted to one side, in an inquisitive pose. 'Then I thought tonight you looked absolutely dazzling that almost left me breathless'. I was being quite forward now, but it was something that came from my heart. 'I completely understand everything you said in my room, but I thought maybe this night could steal a kiss from you, just to avoid going totally crazy. Can't a kiss do any harm, right?' 'What worries me is where it might lead', mom said. She looked at me attentively, considering it. 'Just one kiss?' 'Just one kiss', I promised. And so, incredibly, we kissed. Mom put her hands on my shoulders and pulled herself towards me with my hands still in her waist and leaned her head to the other side and our heads met slowly and I was... conscious of her hair framing her face and her aroma, then tentatively our lips met and brushed against each other and slowly increased the pressure and mom didn't move away but neither did she respond. I kissed her more firmly and opened my mouth. This was the breaking point; did a kiss mean a French kiss with the intimacy of open mouths and tongues? With my heart pounding strongly in my chest and my head spinning, I felt her mouth opening slightly against mine and touched her lips with my tongue and she remained passively against me so I pressed harder with my lips opened wider and slid my tongue inside. My mother's mouth accepted it and we kissed for long seconds, I working my mouth against hers, she giving weak but discernible responses with her lips. It was I who broke that first kiss; I didn't want it to be mom. I had my eyes closed showing shadowed eyelids of blue but opened them and looked at her. Is that what you wanted? she asked calmly. Yes I whispered. Then I leaned forward, kissed her on the lips and said goodnight. Naked in my bed, I masturbated violently then a second time more quietly remembering the feel of my mother's lips, their taste and smell, the sensation of my tongue in her mouth, touching her tongue at that moment. I don't know how many times I came that night; I kept waking up, masturbating, sleeping and waking up again until the sun came out and it was time to get up and go to work. I didn't see my mother at breakfast but she was home when I returned from work and entered the kitchen where she was preparing vegetables for dinner. How was your day? I asked. It's fine she replied neutrally. And how about yours? There was an unease between us that was completely new, a barrier to be broken down. Fine I said. Does something need to be talked about? Do we need to talk? Well, what do you think Michael? Last night we kissed How do lovers do it. So yes, I think we need to talk. He was standing in front of me on the other side of the kitchen counter, with his hands on the wooden surface and his palms facing down. It was just a kiss, I started. What's next? Do you want to squeeze my breasts? Caress my ass? And then what? Mom's voice had risen. She never yelled, but this was strong for her. I tried not to look surprised that she had outlined the next two steps of my master plan with such precision. Suddenly I knew what I had to do. I walked around the counter unit, took her in my arms and kissed her strongly and passionately. For about ten glorious seconds she responded like a lover, opening her mouth, sliding her tongue over my lips, grabbing my shoulders with her hands, digging her nails into my back. Then she stopped and interrupted me. Her hair was a little messy and her lip gloss had run. She tried to push me away but I hugged her tightly. Just a kiss I said, That's all. There's nothing wrong with us kissing. She relaxed and looked at me tiredly. —I don't think you understand, Michael. You're not the only one who has feelings. I let go of her and she picked up the potato peeler and selected a carrot from the counter. I was speechless so I walked, in a trance, to the living room and tried to read the newspaper that day, but it was useless, so I threw it on the floor and sat down looking out the French windows, trying to process what my mother had said. Did she mean that kissing was dangerous because it excited her just as much as me? I went back to the kitchen. Sorry I said. I think I've been pretty selfish. Mom put down the carrot and came over to stand in front of me. Oh, Michael, she sighed. What's going on here? It's my fault, I said. I've obsessed over you. More like a perfect mature sexual image than a mother. I'd love to kiss you -I added. Don't try to lead the way things farther away. If you didn't want to —I added, trying my luck again—. But it's wrong, darling. We should never have kissed like that. I'm your mother. It's just a kiss mom. Nobody got hurt. Nobody else needs to know. My mother stayed there in the kitchen, thinking about what she had said, with her face unreadable. I had a knot in my stomach; it seemed we were reaching an inflection point. Finally, she sat down on one of the stools in the kitchen and looked at me. I saw you masturbating a few weeks ago. It was fun to hear her use the word. And I suppose that's what started all this. Not a question. You might be surprised to know that I masturbate quite a bit. Not in the garden, but in bed. In fact, most nights. My stomach did a double flip and I stood there with my mouth open. Oh, come on, you can't surprise me that much, she said. I'm sure you do it too. She clasped her hands on the table. The thing is, it's fine to say 'it's just a kiss', but I also have feelings. When you kissed me a moment ago and I returned the kiss, that was a dangerous terrain! But if we get excited a little with kisses then both of us have the safe option of masturbation, I argued, aware that it was a rather fatuous point. Oh, okay! That reassured me. I couldn't believe we were having this conversation. —Promise you'll think about it? I begged. I certainly will be thinking about it, she replied, and that was the last time the kiss was mentioned that night, although, to be fair, it wasn't mentioned much more. That night I stayed awake again, full of doubts. Trying to seduce my mother had seemed like a crazy and exciting idea, but now, with the plan developing in directions I hadn't anticipated, I was worried. I was worried about drifting away from my mother, one of the few relatives I had and someone I loved very much. Was it all worth it? I could probably go out and find a woman If I were sixty years old and that's what I wanted. But she wouldn't be my mother, and it was with my mother, Liliana, who I was inextricably obsessed with. I told myself I would never sleep with her but an inner voice said: Never know. Even so, the next night surprised me with Mother's proposal. We had eaten earlier than usual and were watching a boring movie on TV when suddenly Mother took the remote control and turned off the device. That's enough of this trash, she said. And besides, I have something to tell you. Suddenly I was left breathless and my stomach seemed to jump into my throat. “I've been thinking a lot about us lately. About this issue of kisses. About what you said about an option for security. I waited, tense. If I were to say we could have an occasional kiss, a suitable kiss, I mean, would you promise not to try to take it further? I swallowed involuntarily. Of course, I said, sitting down. Absolutely. Okay, she said slowly, let's see how it works. I sat down on the sofa next to her in an instant. I said occasional, she smiled, but didn't resist when I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards me. And that was really our first suitable kiss. We worked our lips together like experienced lovers, each of us anxious and willing. My mother tasted delicious, her saliva on my tongue as I explored her teeth and gums. She pressed her mouth against mine, sucking my lower lip and gently nibbling it. I was in heaven! I had never imagined that my mother could kiss like this! It reminded me of Valerie at her most lascivious and suddenly I remembered Mother licking her fingers and got very hot and excited. That night we kissed for a long time and when I finally said goodnight to my mother and went up the stairs, my mouth was tender and I could still taste Mother on my tongue. During the hour that we we kissed, I had an uncomfortable and hard as glass erection and it was a relief to undress and release it. The glans was purple, swollen, and covered in sticky seminal liquid. I barely had to caress myself before ejaculating in the small bathroom of my room. My second masturbation was slower and accompanied by fantasy images of my mother, mostly naked but also wearing sexy lingerie. I imagined her on top of me, riding my penis; kneeling in front of me, sucking me off, and most erotic of all, tied to the bed while I had sex with her. My thoughts were intertwined with reality; I had kissed my 50-something-year-old mother correctly. I would kiss her again as often as I could. I thought about the promise I made not to take things further. Well, I told myself, if I never went beyond kisses, I would still die a happy man. My master plan assumed that kisses would become normal through habit and then tentatively follow more forbidden paths; caressing her breasts, for example, as she had mentioned. But I had promised not to do that and if I broke that promise, could they take away the privilege of kissing her? This made life harder because after that first night, we kissed almost every night and often in the morning before going to work. As a consequence, I spent a considerable part of the day (and night) in intense sexual excitement. That's why it was completely natural for me to want to go further with my mother. In fact, as far as possible. But I kept my promise for more than four weeks until well into March, when the weather changed and the late summer rain hit the windows of the house and the soccer game was suspended, so all I had to do on weekends was kiss my mother and masturbate nonstop. I assumed my mother was doing the same. Finally, on a Saturday afternoon, I asked her. In the morning we had done the household chores and it still smelled bad outside. After a salad and cold cuts lunch, we sat down to watch an old David Niven movie in black and white: A Matter of Life and Death, one of Mom's favorites. We curled up on the sofa, with my arm around my mother and her head on my chest. As the end credits rolled, she turned her face towards mine and we kissed slowly and softly, and while we were kissing, I caressed her hair, back, and arm, and once I touched her breast with my hand. What will you do when we finish kissing? I joked, Will you go up and masturbate? That's not the kind of question to ask a lady. Do you still masturbate a lot?, I pressed. Yes, she replied in a low voice. A lot. Her words made my stomach churn with desire and possibility. I could do it for you someday, I whispered in her ear. You made a promise, she reminded me. Just kisses. I love you, don't you know?, I said, feeling like all barriers to frankness had fallen. I know, she replied in a low voice and slightly sad tone. After the first week of March, a high-pressure ridge moved over the Atlantic and chased away the rain. The days returned to having clear skies and were hot, and the nights were warm and stifling. Sleeping was difficult, even without covering the bed. The windows were open wide, but no breeze disturbed the thick air. One night, I think it was Friday, I lay there sweating for a couple of hours before getting up, putting on a light robe and going downstairs, where it was a few degrees cooler. It was just past 3 am, so I was surprised to see that there was a light on in the living room. My mother, wearing a long plate-gray robe, was sitting on the sofa reading a detective novel. university, my mother's literary tastes were decidedly more basic. She looked up when I entered the room. Couldn't you sleep either? she asked, smiling at me. There's no possibility with this heat. I sat down beside her and pulled her towards me to give her a kiss. You never stop, she said, although she let herself be kissed and even left her book on the sofa to hug me and return my kiss. Her mouth had a slightly stale taste, but I imagine mine did too. But this time there was something different. Something very, very exciting. My mother, 57 years old, was naked under her nightgown. I could feel the softness of her breasts against my chest through the fabric. And, most erotic of all, I could smell a humidity odor on her, an odor I was used to smelling in a woman's pussy. The aroma of her juices. I imagined a sudden vision of Mom twisting, soaked with sweat in the dark bedroom bed, with two fingers deeply inside her. 🔥 To Be Continued... 🔥