The Mom Memories: Marilyn's Story


"Wow, Mom. That was awesome."

"Yeah," I said, turning to smile at him.

"Are you ok with that? It was pretty intense."

"Yeah," I said.

"Awesome," was his only response.

I turned on my side, brushing his chest with my fingers, reaching up to stroke his face and cup his cheek.

"You're my lover now. I'll do anything for you, at least once."

Nathan looked at me intently, seriously. Then he smiled and looked down at his cock, and reached over to touch his finger to the corner of my mouth.


I couldn't help but laugh. What a little bugger.

"Yes, anything," I confirmed. "But not tonight, and you, mister, have a promise to keep first."

I got up then, surprised to find that my dress was still on, in a band around my waist. I stepped out of it and stood in front of my son, still wearing my bra above my bedraggled dress. "Goodnight," I said and walked to my room.

Mark came home sometime while I was in the shower. He was passed out. I turned out the lights and went to sleep, waking up to a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning. Mark always slept in on Saturdays.

I got up, though it was earlier than my norm. I didn't bother putting on a dressing gown, leaving our room in just my nightie. It was a three quarter length affair and, though not of erotic design, it was still obvious that I wasn't wearing anything underneath. Not the kind of thing I had ever worn outside my bedroom in front of anyone but Mark without being covered by a robe. But I was just going to get a coffee and come upstairs to read the paper. So out I went.

At the top of the stairs, I changed my mind, and turned back, walking carefully and quietly into Nathan's room. He was laying on his back, dead asleep. How beautiful my son looked. I stood admiring him, love swelling up to spread through my body, flooding my mind.

Gingerly, I crawled onto his bed, slowly, taking great care not to wake him. Finally, I reached my goal, and straddled his chest, knees on either side of his shoulders, and thighs wide open. I turned to look back at the open doorway, listening for and comforted by the distant sound of my husband's gentle snoring.

I began to gently stroke Nathan's face. So softly. It took several minutes to wake him. He'd been sleeping so deeply he was even startled when his eyes fluttered open an he saw me looking down at him. Confusion turned to questioning and then to concern. I rarely woke my son.

"Mom! Is something wrong?"

"No sweetie." I smiled.

"Then ... what ..."

"You promised," I said, looking down at my lap, my nightie pulled back to my hips.

Nathan followed my eyes, only then noticing my wide open, bare pussy, now nice and clean and perfumed. I pushed my hips forward, grazing his face with my eager, already moistening pussy. I lifted his head up slightly to bring his mouth into firmer contact, making our orifices one.

"Yes," I groaned as his tongue slipped through his lips to toy with my lower ones, flicking them side to side, then running up and down my slit a dozen times. Soon he was digging deeper, gouging a trench which kept filling with my fluid.

It's hard to believe I didn't wake Mark with my moaning appreciation over the next twenty minutes. I climbed off my son's bed with a huge smile on my face and left his covered in my juice. I turned to look back before I left his room, my smile turning to sympathy as I saw the huge moving tent on his bed. He had already begun to take care of himself.

I swirled my tongue quickly around my lips and whispered, "You have a huge treat coming sometime today."

I went downstairs for my coffee, completely forgetting to put on a robe.

Part 3 from Chapter 20

"You have a huge treat coming sometime today."

That's what I'd said to Nathan Saturday morning after he'd fulfilled his promise, selflessly licking me to a thunderous orgasm, letting me squeeze my juice all over his beautiful young face. He seemed to truly enjoy it, keeping his eyes closed while he patiently worked his tongue inside me, then swirling it all around my lips and up to my sensitive little button. He worshipped every part of my pussy I pushed against his mouth, content to let me control the what was most deserving of receiving a religious experience from his moist little snake. And when I was coming, when I was bucking my hips and jerking my cunt all over his jutting chin, sucking his tongue inside ... he opened his eyes and sent me over the top, lost, flailing about in uncontrolled ecstasy.

But I didn't follow up with my own promise. I couldn't. Mark was with us all day and he was keen to go out for dinner again. Nathan declined but Mark didn't appear too upset. So hubby and I were out late, and we were both a little inebriated when we finally got home. I meant to make it up to Nathan after Mark fell asleep but I drifted off while waiting for my chance to sneak out of bed and didn't wake up until early the next morning. Mark was still snoring, so I quietly made my escape and went downstairs.

It was too early to wake Nathan, so I made a pot of coffee and sat down with a cup, thinking about how I'd take care of my son the same way he'd looked after me yesterday morning, and afterwards crawl back into bed with my cheating husband. The wickedness of it all started a tingle in that little triangle down below. Maybe I'd do more than service him with my mouth. I smiled at the thought. Mark and I had taken a taxi home, so maybe I'd get Nathan to drive me over to pick up his father's car and get him to fuck me in the back seat. My reverie was interrupted when Nathan stumbled sleepily into the kitchen.

"Hey Mom," he mumbled sleepily.

"Hey yourself. You're up early."

"Yeah," he answered, looking from me to my cup and then to the coffee pot, dozily shuffling over to pour himself a mug.

He turned around to lean back against the counter, sipping his coffee black.

"You and Dad were out late. Have a good time?"

"Actually, yes," I replied. "Your father was very attentive for a change. I don't know what got into him."

I smiled knowingly at Nathan, then added, suddenly not wanting him to be jealous, "We were both a little tipsy when we got home but we were so tired we just crashed right away."

I turned in my chair to face him but Nathan didn't give any indication if he was upset or not.

"He's still sleeping," I added.

Nathan just nodded and sipped his coffee.

"You may have to drive me down to get his car. We cabbed it home."

Nathan's nod was similarly noncommittal.

I felt like I'd lost control of the situation. It wasn't going the way I'd played it out in my mind and I wished he'd just stayed in bed so I could have sneaked in and surprised him awake with my mouth. My eyes dropped to the bottom of his t-shirt and beneath, to his bulging shorts. Was that a piss hard, or had he already relieved himself?

"You don't have to wear that."

"What?" I asked, caught off guard, not sure I'd heard him correctly.

"You don't have to wear a robe, at least when Dad's not around."

My hands automatically clutched my robe, pulling it tighter about my neck.

"You are wearing a nightie aren't you?" Nathan's gaze seemed suddenly reproachful.

"Yes, I am." Why was I nervous?

Nathan abruptly pushed himself from the counter and stepped deliberately toward me, taking care not to spill his coffee. He stopped in front of me but didn't say anything or make any gestures. He simply stood there, looking down at me.

I twisted to face him more squarely. Slowly, uncertainly, I relaxed my hold on my robe, allowing it to open just enough to reveal my neck. Nathan smiled.

I smiled back, faintly, still curiously unsure of myself. Nathan sipped his coffee. I opened my robe wider, then again when he didn't smile, continuing to display more of my cleavage until he smiled again. Nathan calmly sipped his coffee, watching me. My hands fidgeted in my lap, then timidly began to loosen my belt. Nathan smiled.

I pulled the belt apart and opened my robe, exposing the sexy nightie I had put on last night. It was cut low. I must have been expecting something from Mark last night or I wouldn't have put it on, but he was passed out by the time I came out of the bathroom, and I must have fallen asleep shortly after because I don't remember sitting up awake.

Nathan's eyebrows raised when he saw how low cut the nightie was, my breasts almost spilling out in front. I suddenly felt inexplicably guilty for wearing a sexy nightie for my husband. Nathan kept staring vacantly, so I pulled the robe completely open, then opened my knees a few inches so he could see my legs. He smiled at that so I opened them more and pulled my nightie higher. Nathan nodded, taking another sip, so I pulled the nightie slowly up, and up, until my pussy hair was showing.

He nodded, as if confirming something he had suspected. I had gone to bed in my sexiest nightie without any panties on. Whether or not I got any, I had wanted to get fucked.

I felt annoyed by his knowing smile, yet guilty and apologetic at the same time. The emotions that washed over me were confusing, but the rising excitement wasn't. I was exposing myself to my son and acknowledging that I'd wanted to get fucked the night before, but didn't. I pulled the nightie up that last little bit so he could see my lightly haired pussy, open and hungry. My tits were shaking with heightened breathing, and I slid my hands up my waist to tug on the nightie until it spread wide enough to let my one of my nipples spring out.

Nathan stepped forward until one of his knees leaned against the chair between my legs. I stared at the growing tent in his shorts, right in front of my face. I looked up.

Nathan smiled and nodded. Tentatively, I pulled the waistband of his shorts out and down, freeing his own hungry beast. It almost touched me as it sprang out and rested on the stretched out elastic band of his shorts, his balls still hanging inside. I tried to take him in my hand but he batted me away. Confused, I looked up seeking direction but he just stared back, his eyes listless.

I tugged his shorts further down until his balls were free, slipped my hand underneath and tickled his hairy scrotum, lightly scratching his nuts. He seemed to like this but when I moved my hand up to grip his shaft he pushed my hand away again.

When I looked up, he leaned forward until his cock bumped against my chin. Our eyes locked. I cast mine down and tilted my head forward, allowing his cock to slide forward, the helmet rubbing over my lower lip. When I opened my mouth, he slid inside.

I sucked him. For the first time in my life, I sucked my son's cock. For the first time in my life, I sucked a man's cock in my kitchen, for the first time anywhere in my house outside of my bedroom. My son was the first man to fuck me in my living room and here he was with his cock in my mouth. I licked and swirled my tongue around, bobbing my head, slicking his shaft and teasing the tender underside of his tip.

I tried to take his cock in my hand again, to jack him in my mouth, but again he pushed me away. Fine. I slid one arm behind his ass to pull him closer and dropped the other to my lap, slipping it between my legs onto my pussy, rubbing the damp mat of hair I found there.

I was surprised when his cock suddenly lurched forward an inch, filling my mouth and pushing my head back. I renewed my sucking effort, swirling, licking, bobbing my head, losing myself in it. Mark could have walked in and I wouldn't have noticed.

Again, he caught me off guard with a sudden thrust into my mouth. Deeper this time, gagging me. I coughed on his cock and he withdrew, holding back as if waiting to see if I was alright, only then slipping his now very slick cock back into my mouth.

I worked harder at sucking him now, as if I needed to make up for the interruption I'd caused by coughing. I was still surprised the next few times when he suddenly lurched forward in my mouth. I couldn't predict it. Each time, he pulled back, waited, then pushed inside me again, each time more quickly, and each time his cock grew slicker as my saliva became more copious.

The next time he lunged forward his hand cupped the back of my head, holding me while he kept his cock in place for me to cough on, finally pulling out to wait for me to recover, a string of gooey saliva connecting his throbbing muscle to my open mouth. He seemed more eager to get back inside that time.

The next time came quicker yet. Again, he held my head, pushing himself into me while I gurgled around his cock, only pulling back when the squelching sound showed how desperately I needed to breath. I felt used, gasping for breath, his slick pole waggling around in front of my nose, waiting to shove back in.

He wasn't concerned about my comfort. The thought flooded through me like a revelation. He was using me as a warm, wet orifice, and he was enjoying the roughness of it. Had I done the same, mashing my cunt against his face? My own juices suddenly surged and I pushed my fingers inside myself, opening my mouth wide at the same time, beckoning him.

He plunged in quickly and didn't wait for me to start sucking him. Instead, he stared fucking, sliding his cock in and out, holding the back of my head, fuckng my face. Strangely, I was aware of him setting his coffee mug down on the kitchen table beside me, grasping my head in both hands, increasing his thrusts until I was gagging again, pulling back, waiting for me to recover, thrusting inside as soon as I did.

I don't know how long this went on. I lost track of how many times he paused, waiting, before starting the onslaught again. Each bout of squishy, squelching thrusting lasting longer and longer as I learned to take him, to let him sloppily fuck my mouth, taking him deeper, matching his oral attack with my own assault down below, my fingers jamming in farther and faster with each passing second.

Finally it came, bursting, gushing, filling my mouth, then back and blasting into my face. Splat, spat, splat. His hard cock was rubbing back and forth on my cheek, along my nose, to the other side of my face, back into my mouth. He was moaning. Had he been moaning all along? Were we loud?

His body was shaking, his legs straining with the effort to squeeze the last drops of his jizz inside me, his cock sliding about between his mother's lips until, finally, he pulled out.

Once so strong, he now seemed barely able to stand. I pulled my robe tightly around me and, despite the white deposits flung across my cheeks, nose, and forehead, mustered a motherly tone.

"You'd better go back to bed."

Nathan nodded and turned away.

I got up and walked half shocked to the sink, bending over to wash my face, my knees buckling as the second wave of my orgasm thundered through me as the warm water splashed over my face.

Later that morning, while my husband was lying hungover in bed, we drove down to get his car which was sitting by itself at the end of the parking lot. And yes, I did entice my son into the back seat of the car, opening my legs wide and laughing at his fumbling eagerness to get his pants down as soon as he saw me lay back in the seat, pulling my skirt up to reveal my bare pussy. His thrusts were frantic, goaded on by my whispers in his ear and my flicking, swirling tongue, urging him to fuck me hard, that I'd need him again that night.


And now, here's the surprise. A letter from Nathan, unaware that his mother had already written us.


Hello. You're such an interesting group of people. Let introduce myself. My name is Nathan. I've enjoyed learning about your experiences and I'm looking forward to sharing mine with my mother Marilyn. My mother is one of those just past forty women that look younger than they are, mostly because they have worked hard to preserve their figures, but whose sexiness isn't recognized by the men that pass by without noticing them. And this is largely because these women have long stopped committing the effort required to look sexy since they're focused on their family and have more important things to do. But given the right set of circumstances that could change and once their sexuality is rekindled, though intrinsically different from that in their younger days, is likely to be far stronger.

My father's attitude triggered such a change in my mother and I have been the beneficiary of a revived woman that now exudes sexuality from every pore in her body. For several months now, since before I finished high school and joined my father to learn his business, I have been fucking my mother on a daily basis. Missionary, doggy, standing in front and from behind, kneeling, licking her and letting her grind her pussy all over my face, riding me face on and from behind, and her sucking and letting me spunk all over her face. Sometimes, we're at each other as soon as my father leaves but then we can spend hours together -- talking, reading, watching a movie or working in the garden -- before something triggers one of us into action.

I'll tell you how all this started, but first I'd like to tell you how I convinced my mother to cede the one joy she had not provided me, or anyone else for that matter. Strangely, it all came about because of my father, although it certainly wasn't intended.

My father is one of those successful, outgoing types with a huge ego and a way with women, at least, certain types of women. My mother knew about his escapades and this was, in fact, what first opened the door for me with her because, though he promised her it would end, he started up again after a few months.

Dad didn't pursue women that worked for him. He was smarter than that, but everyone else was fair game. Typically, he chased women working for companies that did business with his, sometimes customers but more often suppliers that had a vested interested in falling to his amorous advances. I guess everyone uses an edge if its available.

But my father wasn't above seducing the wives of his business colleagues if they were attractive and he sensed an opening, either because they were ignored by their husbands, as his own wife was, or their husband's bread was buttered through doing business with him, and they were unlikely to complain. After all, it was just a few fucks.

In the typical scenario, Dad would arrive in town for a supposed business meeting when the husband was out of town, something he had assured himself of earlier. He would act as if he was supposed to meet for a dinner meeting with the woman's husband, being miffed at first but soon turning into an accommodating gentleman. He would insist that the husband not be called, lest it embarrass him, and that she share this secret with him to spare her husband. How kind, right?

Of course, he would mention that he was now in a strange town with nothing to do. If there were no children there, he would allow himself to be talked into staying for a bite to eat and a drink or two. Dad would casually remind his target of how important his company was to her husband's business, usually grossly exaggerated, while directing compliments to him but later exclusively toward her. Eventually, he would have her comfortable and laughing and would manage to get her to put on some music, suggesting something they could dance to.

A slow number would soon play and while he wouldn't make a move on the first one, he would get closer and closer with each subsequent song, making her aware that she was in a the company of a handsome, personable man. Between her loneliness and the drinks, she would become aroused. My father would sense the right time to make an explicit move, direct or subtle, depending on the woman. It might lead to immediate, fervent sex right there on the floor, or the need to laugh off that initial suggestive move and keep her going, slowly working her around to the idea. If he had to, he would refresh her memory about how important he was to her husband's success.

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