Mother comes to stay with jilted lonely son

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Mother comes to stay with jilted lonely son

‘I haven’t heard from you in a while, Steven. Is everything okay?’ read my mother’s message. Immediately I was reminded how long it had been since we last spoke and of how I must have been the world’s shittiest son.

I’m that guy who isolates himself when depression and stress take their toll. I don’t think about how long it takes to get back up to speed. All I care about is that nobody feels burdened with me. But when home becomes the problem, a trap for all my prevalent insecurities, I tend to hide at work instead.

My work ethic had already cost me my fiancée, or so I’d thought. She not only took with her the ring I put on her finger, she took it and pawned it so that she could “help” to pay off her secret loser boyfriend’s debts.

How about that? Not only does Carol fall for a bigger piece of shit than I allegedly was, she leaves me for a complete dead loss; a social and emotional parasite who will no doubt leave her in utter ruin. Good luck, Carol. Enjoy that while it lasts.

So I bade good riddance and moved on the only way I knew how. I got sick to death of making myself miserable and ploughed through my work. When my mother got in touch, I was quick to see the light of day. I had a lot of making up to do…


I called her. ‘Hi, mum, I’m sorry I haven’t spoken in a while,’ I said, wasting no time.

‘Been keeping yourself busy no doubt; keeping your mind off the bitch?’ she asked.

‘I should have listened,’ I began to apologise. She wouldn’t have it, though.

‘I never really disapproved,’ mum asserted. ‘You were so happy with her.’

‘But you had your doubts…’

‘But I hate being proven right, Steven,’ she said apologetically. ‘Forgive me?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive, mum,’ I assured. ‘It was my choice. And I never stopped loving you or wanting to speak to you. I just didn’t want to appear as pathetic as I’ve felt lately. I don’t like being seen miserable like I’ve been.’

‘I have next week off. I could come and take up some of that newly acquired space of yours,’ she slyly jested. My heart immediately lifted at the suggestion. ‘We could keep each other company. I’m not really getting back into this singles game like I thought I might.’

‘I’d love that,’ I beamed. ‘I could introduce you to a new cuisine I’ve been trying out. It’s called “Sad Beans a la Tin Can”.’

She gasped and struggled then to hold back. I could hear the faint hint of a giggle batting from behind her pursed lips. ‘I’ll cook as always. Want me to bring anything?’ she asked.

‘Just your beautiful self, mum,’ I smiled, and notably for the first time in a while.


My mother’s name is Sara. At forty two she’s seventeen years older than me. My father didn’t stick around. Rather than count on the system to raise me for her, she worked her ass off and went to night school to study accounting, and rocketed me through college while working her ass off even harder to provide for the both of us.

We’ve had a unique relationship through the years, growing up, and as an adult. Being that we went through a short line of potential suitors for husband and replacement father figure, I guess you could say I matured pretty quickly, and also grew fiercely protective and loyal to her. We’re also pretty liberal-minded. She had her flings as well as her boyfriends, and so she was never in a position to deny me that either, but it was never a priority for either of us.

For the last few years Sara was engaged to an older guy, Oliver, who seemed to be the real deal. That was more or less the situation that gave me the push to get out onto my own two feet and to go make something of myself. He was the last man to lead her along. After that she grew tired of trying.

Sara is 5’5″ with wispy blonde hair and glows with fair skin, and with few lines and faint creases other than laughter lines. Stress takes its toll, but in her case I think it just expresses character. She always somehow thrived off stress, unlike me. She has a lot of character, and something of a dual personality that’s as motherly as it is carefree. I wish I was only as confident as she was in herself. It’s meeting and trusting new people where she lacks confidence, and now I see why.

She also has a great figure with all the right curves and just enough cuddle where it counts. God knew I was counting on those cuddles. She wears these sleek silver-rimmed glasses that ever so slightly magnify her cool blue eyes. When she smiles I forget everything else around me.

Mum planned to drop into town on the Friday. That gave me enough time to talk my situation over with the boss so that I could grab a week off for some much needed de-stressing. Ron asked me what took so long, stating that he could see that I was struggling and that my work was suffering. He was quick to give me some time off. So mum wouldn’t have to sit around bored waiting for me to get home every night.

I met her at the terminal at 4pm with a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, grabbed her luggage and drove her to the supermarket to grab some amenities, and then home where immediately we opened the white wine as she flew about the kitchen preparing some much needed home cooking, the way nobody else knew how.

There was nothing like my mother’s cooking. After living off of tinned food and microwave dinners, the heavenly, hearty, aroma of the spaghetti and meatballs, bolognese sauce and garlic bread had my stomach grumbling anticipation as I tipped back the wine, watching mum work her magic. And the wine was getting to me quickly – empty stomach!

‘It’s nice to see a real woman in the kitchen again,’ I said without thinking. She thought that over and laughed to herself.

‘No contest,’ she said immodestly and grinned as she sampled the sauce and then brought the spoon to my mouth. The rich tomato, garlic and herb flavours might have brought tears of joy to my eyes had I not already felt the alcohol’s effects. I groaned my full approval and nodded.


‘Amazing,’ I declared gratefully. I was up in an instant, wrapping my arms around my mother and holding her close to me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered discreetly into her shoulder, ‘I can’t help myself. I’m happy to see you again.’

‘Okay,’ she said with a slightly startled tone. Behind me one arm stuck out at an awkward angle as she tried to keep her wooden spoon at a safe distance. Light-heartedly she warned, ‘let’s not get saucy…’

I took a step back, awkwardly looked at her, and then when she moved my attention to the tomato sauce-covered spoon in her hand, I abandoned concern for laughter. Setting the pans to a lower simmer, she turned back to me, took my cheeks in her hands and kissed me full on the lips, soft, warm, and full of love. I fell right into it and reciprocated with a loving smooch, inhaling her and pulling her into me by her shoulders.

‘I’ve missed that,’ I told her.

‘Me too,’ she consoled. Then, ‘why did you stop talking to me? I was afraid I’d done something wrong.’

‘Stupid me, I guess,’ I said, offering a half-wit expression. ‘I think I was more afraid that I’d want to quit my job and run back home.’

‘And I’d have been fine with that,’ she remarked, tipping up her own glass and swallowing before kissing me on the cheek. ‘I do miss having a reliable man around. Independence doesn’t boil down to an empty home, you know. I always gave you your space.’

Shortly after, we sat down to eat.


When I snapped out my food coma an hour and a half later, I was reclined in my leather chair in front of the television and feeling great, aside from the slight hang over. Wine did that to me. It hit me so easily and then the comedown was just as quick. But just the ability to relax and not worry about work; to appreciate what I had made all the difference to my mood already.

The clock now read 8pm, which I barely made out through blurry eyes. Then the next thing I could make out was the rattle of pots and pans in the kitchen. She was cleaning up, no doubt having grown restless as I napped. Some things never changed, not that I was ungrateful.

‘I’m so sorry, mum, I’d have done that,’ I said, hurrying into the kitchen to pick up the dishcloth, but she was already done. Now she stood rolling her eyes at me as if to say, “sure… sure you would!”

‘Want to feel useful?’ she asked, ‘open another bottle of wine and come snuggle with me on the couch.’ With that she threw me a flirtatious wink and the corner of her mouth curled up.

‘Honestly is that all I’m good for?’ I exaggerated.

‘No,’ she replied, ‘it’s just all I think about!’

Then the thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. I hadn’t felt this excited in so long and I knew she would love to see it. ‘I’ve a better idea,’ I smirked. ‘Why don’t we dress a bit more comfortable and then I have something to show you. Then we can relax and snuggle.’

‘Wine, mystery, and surprises – how can a lady resist?’ she asked.

I chased her up the stairs with the glasses and wine bottle in my hands, mum whooping like a teenager; probably not the safest stunt but I might as well have been running with scissors in asking Carol to marry me, as it turned out.

Seeing mum to the spare room, I disappeared into the master bedroom to change into a pair of clean sweatpants and a loungewear t-shirt before filling our wine glasses again. I saw the blinds were still open then and strolled across the room to close them. God knows some of my opposing neighbours have roaming eyes.

‘Oh wow, a queen-sized bed,’ mum purred approvingly.

I smirked and basked in her approval, my back still turned to her. ‘I knew you’d like it,’ I remarked. I’d only bought it recently, throwing out the bed I shared with Carol, wanting every intimate memory out of my life, especially while she was now rutting with some diseased little fuckboy.

‘Well guess where I’m sleeping tonight.’

‘You? Sleeping?’ I quipped.

But I couldn’t take my eyes off her from the moment I turned to face her. She waltzed around barefoot, from one side of the bed to the other in a purple satin negligee that showed enough cleavage and thigh to set my heart thumping.

Even without the cleavage I’d be in danger of a premature heart attack. Sara was blessed with a 30F bust, which swayed seductively beneath the tight, shiny fabric as she waltzed around the large bed. The look in her eyes, the acknowledgement my reaction, so immodestly spoke of mutual approval.

I just for the life of me could not tell if I was overdressed or underdressed. Not to worry, I thought. ‘I figured it would beat squishing up together on the couch like two seals on a shrinking icecap,’ I explained.

She climbed onto the bed, padding along on all fours – and somewhat teasingly – towards the middle of the bed before curling up on her side and demanding her wine. I handed her both glasses, almost straining to reach her, before climbing up close and leaning up on one elbow at her side to drink mine.

‘I need this in my life,’ she said longingly.

‘No new men in your life, though?’

‘No,’ she said happily, sipping her wine and enjoying the firm comfort of the bed’s firm new mattress. ‘There’s nobody worthwhile,’ she explained briefly, and then, ‘I take it you haven’t been thinking about women and relationships lately.’

‘Well it’s not that I haven’t been thinking,’ I said loosely, ‘but I’m not the rebounding type, and I just don’t know if I could bring myself to trust anyone right now.’

I was quick to drain my glass and roll back to the bedside table to stand it there, then offered her more wine to which she shook her head contently. Then I returned to my mother’s side. ‘That makes me sad,’ she said.

‘Don’t be sad for me,’ I dismissed.

‘I’m sad for both of us,’ she said. I sidled in closer to hold her to me. The fresh, floral aroma of her skin and hair, the moisturiser she used and her natural scent was subtle but heady. It did wonderful things to me, as did the feeling of having her near to me again.

‘Some fools don’t know a good thing, even when it’s right under their noses,’ I mumbled.

‘Mm-hmm,’ she agreed, eyeing me intently from under my nose. ‘You don’t have that problem do you, sweetheart?’

‘Of course not, mum. Do you?’ I nudged her playfully, rolling her back suddenly and digging my tickling fingertips into her ribs. She laughed aloud and tried to combat my stealthy move by pulling me on top of her and suddenly I was very aware of how our bodies felt pressed together that way.

I kissed her then, in the way she had kissed me in the kitchen earlier, without reservation and without any real boundary, but not forcefully. There was a feeling of rejoice. Old feelings came closer yet to the surface.

I knew the look in her eyes all too well, the look of feelings having been gone too long but never forgotten. ‘Stare too long and you may go cross-eyed,’ she said inappropriately and began to laugh. Then purring she begged for another kiss and demanded with approval that I hold her closer. I did, moulding the contour of my body to hers, and we held each other and made small talk.

Time went by…

‘I missed you,’ she said with a glint in her darkened smouldering eyes. ‘The things like this have been the hardest to live without, or to try to replace.’

Two more glasses of wine emptied and we were getting all sentimental. We were embraced in a gentle hug, bodies pressed together side by side and cheek to cheek. I didn’t know how my hand caused the back of her negligee to rise up over the curve of her bottom, but I came to realise then that she was wearing underneath as my palm came to rest on her bare tailbone.

‘I missed you too, and all of this,’ I affirmed, now pleasantly more than just buzzed.

‘What else do you miss?’ she asked.

‘I miss not caring so much,’ I said heavily and sighed. She clutched tightly at my hands, her eyes baring her concern as they searched mine.

‘Well then don’t care so much,’ she simply stated. Then prodded insistently, ‘what else do you miss?’

I knew what she was getting at. I couldn’t contain myself for how hard I tried. A grin crossed my lips and I rolled onto my back and studied the faint cracks in the ceiling. I was instantly aware, as well, of one flat hand now smoothing across my flat belly, making little circles back and forth in the direction of my lower abdomen. ‘I miss that too…’

‘And for a moment here I thought she’d turned you into a prude.’ The irony of those words…

Though Carol had gone frigid over the last two years, where I had made the effort, she had been the one fucking somebody else behind my back. It made me question the validity of the principles I’d worked so hard to maintain.

Beneath the confines of my sweatpants I felt myself begin to stiffen and rise to the occasion. Imagine that your own mother could have such an effect, and that you never even had to hide it. I could try to hide it, but she knew what she did to me. It was the extension of who and what we were as family now, though we’d tried to stop it and to be ordinary, boring, mother and son.

In the end I guess we are what you always were; all of us. ‘Shall we get into bed?’ I asked.

‘Is that all I’m good for?’ she asked dreamily.


Sometime into the small hours I came around to find mum moving restlessly under the covers. It was hot under there. Thanks to the alcohol we’d fallen asleep spooning, pressed tightly together. I opened my eyes to nothing but the black silhouette of her face, the curve of her throat, and then as she moved back the duvet, the mound of her breast. Then she adjusted the straps of her negligee, but somewhat awkwardly.

‘Are you okay?’ I mumbled.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she whispered. ‘Could you turn the bedside lamp on? I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing…’

Sleepily I rolled over to the opposite side, grabbed the lamp’s base and fumbled for the switch, squinting as the bulb snapped to life and all but blinded me. Next to the lamp, the clock read quarter past three. I turned back around then only to be faced with a visual that left my eyes poking out instead.

Mum had somehow twisted herself up in her negligee, the shoulder straps having fallen down, leaving her bare fair-skinned 30F breasts squeezed out over the neckline. ‘I’m just going to take it off,’ she said absently. ‘It’s hot enough under here already…’

And then she rolled further back the duvet to show her exposed thighs, hips, and the neatly trimmed triangle of dark blonde fur above her pussy. Slipping out of her negligee, I lay mesmerised by the stark reminder of just how desirable she always was.

‘Is there anything I can get you?’ I asked dutifully. Mum shook her head, dreamily gazing at me, then took my hand in hers. ‘I’m just really hot right now,’ she said and then, ‘here, feel…’

She took my hand and placed it on her soft, smooth belly, smoothing my forearm with her free hand. ‘You’re hot too,’ she noted. ‘You must be boiling in those clothes.’

‘Well I only sleep naked these days, really,’ I pointed out,’ so I am quite warm…’

I drifted, watching her lift my hand from her belly to her ribs, and then moving from one elbow to her shoulder. The back of my hand brushed the side of one ample breast on the way past, leaving my eyes to study the faint shine and glow of her milky skin there. Her nipples were still pink, though a darker shade maybe.

‘It’s nice to sleep naked. Good to rely on body heat,’ she insisted, though I was already well in the know. ‘Take your clothes off. I’m naked. You might as well be,’ mum suggested. ‘We can snuggle some more.’

I slipped off my t-shirt without hesitation, then raised my backside off the bed and clasped the waistband of my sweatpants. All the while she watched as a little more skin came into view. When my cock sprang out, semi-erect and growing, a yearning look overcame her. She pulled herself towards me then and wrapped herself around me; a thigh gliding smoothly over my hip, her arms snaking around my neck to pull my head to her breast.

I puckered my lips gently to kiss her sleep-heated flesh and heard her gasp. Still I grew and grew and her hips bucked to rub her pubic mound back against me in response. My mother – there was no other, and nobody in the world who would understand what we had.

‘That’s nice,’ she breathed as I kissed her breast again, inhaled and exhaled heavily against her. ‘Can I kiss you?’ she asked, loosening her clasp on me.

‘Of course you can, mum,’ I said, lifting my head up until we were face to face and centimetres apart. We gazed, her hands stroking my cheek and neck, and then her lips parted to couple with mine, tempting me with an unspoken question. Our lips parted again, only for hers to return eagerly, to make her message clear. And still I grew against her.

‘Can I kiss you back?’ I asked. She nodded, her eyes remaining on mine, wide and all-aware, and when I moved into her, our mouths opened and our tongues began to dance and to writhe like snakes – languidly, seductively, sexually…


Time became a blur as we kissed and spoke sweetly of each other, rekindling our lost incestuous passion. Her sex bucked against mine as we writhed together, moistening me with her lustful love for me. And although it was inevitable that we were headed towards an act of love forbidden and reviled by most, still there was to be no doubt.

She stopped me in the throes of passion, the palm of my hand wet with her pussy juices, the air scented with her arousal, and while her hand too was sticky and wet around the shaft of my solid cock. ‘I want it,’ she said, jerking me firmly. ‘Will you fuck me like you used to?’

‘You want me in you?’ I asked. She nodded, begged like a starved nympho.

‘I’ve been dreaming of the way you used to fuck me, obsessed with the feel of you, the look of you,’ she gushed hopelessly. ‘Please, God, I want it and I want you!’

Lust took over, pure and relentless, like a force of nature. Like a shot I was halfway down the bed, forcing her thighs apart, where I dove like a duck to water. Her pussy juices, the lubrication of my mother’s own sexual arousal, were delicious; both salty and sweet. I had to have her wetness all over my face. I had to have her see and feel me as I drove my hot tongue along the rut of her vulva and labia and paddled teasingly at her bulging clit.

Soon my chin was dripping with those juices, mingled with my own saliva, which I drove into her with deep licking strokes, before blissfully licking her out, and sucking her dry. She writhed, bucked, nervously twitched against my mouth as I kissed the very lips that separated to bear me twenty-five years ago, and all she could do was completely lose her shit, go giddily and delightfully mad, as I did that and then delicately sucked her off to intense climax.

‘Let me do something,’ she begged as I pinned her down by her plentiful hips. So I stood up, stroking my thick hard pole before her, and then shot to the mattress beside her, lying back.

‘Ride me,’ I demanded. ‘Feel how slick and smooth it’ll be now.’ Id’ had a lot of practice eating pussy since we used to have sex. Back then we were more or less practicing on each other, or slamming out quickies to get over the inevitable frustration. Now she said she wanted me to fuck her like I used to, but she was in for a surprise. I was going to fuck her like she’d never been fucked before.

Mum straddled my hips, her thick thighs wrapping me up, and coddling me. My size meant there was thankfully never any fumbling, and almost in one smooth motion, she positioned herself over the head of my cock, and then sunk down to the hilt with a satisfied gasp.

‘Jesus Christ, you weren’t kidding,’ she said, wide-eyed and pleasantly overwhelmed. ‘That feels so good…’

‘Mother,’ I said with a smirk, ‘you are hotter and wetter than a summer thunderstorm right now.’

‘Does son approve?’ she winked, adjusting herself and beginning to slide against me. I held her hips, my hands soon roaming up to her soft breasts to squeeze, and gently pinched at her nipples. And between my mother and I, the mother of all scenic views, her slippery silken sex canal dripped incessantly, coating my long glistening shaft, as she swallowed me up and spat me out in glorious repetitive plunging movements.

And she rode me to bliss for endless minutes upon endless minutes, talking about how the imagination is usually supposed to romanticise and make the memory better than it was, but how fucking her own son was now too good to be true. So I rolled her over, still between her thighs, and voiced my opinion on how the feeling, and the sensations, was mutual.

We got lost in each other, deeply, hotly, wetly, and gratuitously, once like a couple made out of convenience, and now like seasoned lovers, slick with perspiration and ragged in breathing. And I’d never kissed my own mother as much – I don’t even think I did my fiancée either – as I had by this point, as we rode her to more orgasms, and more.

‘What’s it going to take to make you cum?’ she asked as we slowed down the pace. I rolled her to the side and slid back into her burning gash from behind, taking slower, shallower strokes, to tease her where she was most sensitive.

‘I’m sorry, I’m getting carried away, trying to make up for lost time,’ I realised.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she chirped, catching her breath all the same, ‘we have a whole week to catch up, and to fuck like rabbits…’

‘And to cuddle-fuck,’ I suggested.

‘Mmmm,’ that sounds delectable, she purred. ‘And maybe some soft, slow, intimate sex by candlelight?’

‘Making love?’ I asked. ‘Mum, you really have been fantasising a lot!’

‘Mm-hmm,’ she hummed agreeably. ‘But tell me yours. What would it take?’

I thought what the hell. The more I bared my soul to her, the tighter she seemed to embrace me. I repositioned myself on top of her and we sweetly made out and took the time to recuperate, basking in each other’s furnace-stoked body heat. ‘Do you really want to know?’ I asked.

‘You think I can’t handle it?’ She did ask for it…

‘I fantasised about making you pregnant,’ I confessed with a belated smirk.

‘You’re joking,’ she insisted. I wasn’t. I shook my head slowly.

‘I fantasised a lot about going too far, about not pulling out, but deliberately sliding all the way in and cumming right up against your cervix-

Mum’s shocked, almost offended gasp, cut me off. So with that, and without breaking eye contact, I guided myself back into her, slowly invading her soaked, used pussy, and began to screw her slow and deep as I waited to tell her my fantasy in full. And as her motions began to match mine, her thighs gently clamped around me, and she laced her fingers together around the back of my neck.

‘All I have to do right now is to think about that, about seeding you deep, taking you all the way, wondering how good it would feel to cum inside you, the way dad did…’

‘And that would make you cum right now?’ she asked out of disbelief. Again I nodded, bumping and grinding against her raw clit as my thick cock impaled her and stretched her out to be bred. ‘You filthy bastard,’ she cussed.

‘But oh God, I’m so close,’ I groaned and felt her thighs tighten around me. And there was a hint of a smile hidden behind her cool eyes. ‘I could cum gallons of spunk into you right now…’

‘You wouldn’t fucking dare,’ she moaned, then clamping her eyes closed, and biting her lip. And again her grip on me tightened. Was it just me or was this fantasy instantly about to make her cum too?

‘Squirting endless shots of hot white spunk into your womb, filling you up,’ I teased, or was I teasing? ‘That must feel so good, mum…’

‘You’d really want me to get pregnant with your baby?’ she begged, still moaning, faster and louder. I didn’t answer. But of course I wouldn’t. If anything it was the next step into the taboo, and the fear that went with it. All the while I could imagine the beauty of that moment and its afterglow, of the true coming together of two genuinely loving people, and the heavenly anguish of falling hopelessly in love with the woman who finally carried my seed.

And so I rode her and I rode her, fucking her deep and with reckless abandon, sending the full length of my cock to the deepest recesses where I knew I wanted to stay, and to breed my own mother, to fulfil that fantasy.

The point of no return came, and I didn’t stop, or pull out. And then the moment came where I should have pulled out and bathed her with my seed. But still I stayed, because suddenly I was gripped so tightly by more than just the orgasmic wave of panic and lustful release.

Towards the path of least resistance, deep down, I throbbed and twitched, pumped and spurted, and cried as I emptied my load; my entire hot, sticky load.

Deliberately my mother held me tight. She wouldn’t let me go. And as I came and came again, she convulsed and quivered, drinking me dry…

Jesus Christ, I was so hard!

Added by PanzerFeck

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