Eternally Bound Pt. 01

Within minutes, I came across a story called "Tender Moments." As I delved into it, I discovered it was about a guy my age coming to terms with his very hush-hush love for his mother. As I read each tantalizing paragraph, I became enraptured with the extraordinary journey that would lead him into her arms-not as her son, but as her rightful lover. He treated her the way any man would treat the woman he so deeply adored: He sent her cards and love notes and showered her with flowers and gifts.

Finishing the first installment of the story, I sat back and let it all soak in. I couldn't help but see myself in this guy's shoes-he, too, had a buxom knockout of a mom who was the object of his friends' lewd comments. The more I thought about it, the more I found myself thinking how lucky he was to earn the right to bed his very own mother.

I was hard as a rock as I recalled something his mom said in the story. I scrolled back in the story so I could read the line again.

"A mother needs to be needed and wants to be wanted."

The truth of that line said it all; it just made perfect sense. And who could need and want a mother more than her own son? My reaction spurred me on to read the next part of the story.

As the tale continued, the son confessed his devotion to his mother and arranged to take her out for a special evening. On their "first date," at her very favorite restaurant, romance blossomed as the two held hands, flirted and teased each other under the cover of the tablecloth. Heading back to his apartment at the end of the evening, he and his mother found themselves relaxing on the couch together.

With great affection and patience, the son moved his arm around his mother's shoulder and drew her close. His fingers brushed the hair back from her forehead then made their way down the side of her soft cheek as he leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. She sighed softly and returned his kiss with tender passion. His hand slipped slowly over the delicious roundness of her breast, and hers approached his crotch provocatively.

My hand was down my shorts and around my cock, which was at full attention. I couldn't read one more word. Standing, I moved to my bed, quickly discarding my shorts and letting my hardness spring free. Grabbing a nearby bottle of lotion, I squeezed a generous glob into my hand and lay back, stroking as slowly as I could manage. Behind my half-closed eyes, I was seeing visions of mother and son, lips meeting, tongues dancing, hands roaming and caressing. The muscles in my legs were flexing as the pleasure built and I was harder than I'd ever been. I wanted to cum-I needed to cum-but I didn't want the feeling to end.

As I continued to jerk my rock-hard dick, imagining the mother and son sharing their forbidden desires, I came to a staggering realization: The mother I was seeing was MY mother. Her soft blonde hair, her golden tan, her busty curves...all of it was mine.

That vision rocketed me over the top, and gobs of hot cum shot from my twitching cock.

"Mother...oh yeah, m-m-mother!" I moaned through gritted teeth. I thrashed against my twin bed until my balls were empty.

Spent and sweaty, I lay there staring at the ceiling and trying to process what had just happened. I had jerked off many, many times in my life, but this was something completely different. My mind, body and soul had hungered for my mother, and I knew that I would never see her in the same way again. Thoughts of her sweetness surrounded me as I drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER 5 - A WHOLE NEW WORLD

Waking early the next morning, I reached for my phone and checked my email. My cock twitched as I saw one from Shannon, and I opened it quickly.

"Great job on the questions, Chris. Go ahead and send it out, and let me know what day next week is good for us to meet. I'm incredibly excited about looking at the responses with you. Regards, Shannon."

I lay back for a moment, thinking about how excited I'd be to see Shannon's responses as I stroked my morning wood. After a quick shower, I jumped into some clothes and sat down to get the questionnaire distributed.

First, I placed a link to it on my personal webpage at school, explained the nature of the assignment, and added a disclaimer that it was for educational purposes only and that all responses would be completely anonymous. Next, I pulled up my personal email list and wrote a blanket email to my friends and acquaintances. I gave them a little background about the assignment and asked them to complete the questionnaire, assuring them that their answers would remain anonymous. I also asked them to share the link on my page with their friends so that I would have plenty of responses. After making a few final changes, I hit send and the wave of emails flew off.

The next couple of days were hectic. I was working some extra shifts at the coffee shop so I would have holiday money, and I had two big papers due for other classes. Finally, I had a chance to sit down and see how many questionnaires had been answered.

The link on my website had drawn 10 responses so far-not too shabby. I opened my email account and saw a long list of responses to my personal mailing, many of them with smart-assed comments from my friends about the topic. I guess that was to be expected, and some of them were actually pretty funny.

About halfway down the list, I spotted an email that made my eyes grow wide: It was from my mother.

"No, I couldn't have," I muttered, quickly clicking my personal email list to check the addresses.

As I scrolled down past friends, drinking buddies and classmates I had worked with on various projects, I came to a dead halt at my mom's email address.

"Oh, fuck, no!" I shouted, covering my eyes with my hands. "How the hell did that address get on this list?"

I jumped up from my chair, pacing back and forth in a panic. What would I find in the email? Would it be my mom freaking the fuck out over getting this questionnaire? Would it be her questioning me about what kind of sick freak I was? Maybe I should just delete and ignore it...

But I couldn't do that. I sat down at my computer, clicking on Mom's email with a shaky hand, and read:

"Chris,

I hope school is going well and that you're okay. I was so happy when I saw this email from you, but then I saw it was something about schoolwork and figured it probably wasn't meant for me. I'm sure you're really busy, but when you have a minute it would be nice to hear how everything's going.

Love you, Mom."

I nearly passed out from relief. My mother was clearly a saint.

Regaining my composure, I began to wonder: Had she read the whole email, or stopped once she saw it had to do with one of my classes? If she'd read the whole thing, had she looked at the questionnaire or just ignored it? What the hell should I say when I wrote back?

I paced back and forth for several minutes, trying to clear my head enough to figure out what to do. Then I remembered: I had remote access to Mom's computer!

Mom wasn't particularly computer savvy when it came to problems, and when I lived at home I always fixed anything that went wrong with her system. When I left home for college I wanted to be able to continue helping her, so I set up a remote access system that let me log into her computer. "That is sure going to come in handy right about now," I thought.

I logged into the remote access as quickly as I could, entered my pass code and went straight to Mom's browser. Reviewing her history, I spotted the link to the questionnaire. Okay, that still didn't mean she'd done anything with it, right?

Taking a deep breath, I clicked on the link. My heart sank all the way to my feet as I read the message that came up: "Thanks for completing the questionnaire and helping with my class project."

Shit.

My mom had answered the questionnaire-and I could only imagine what was going through her head as she read those questions. Now I absolutely had to write to her and explain. But what should I say?

I was up and pacing again, my stomach in a knot. My mind started playing out all of the possible scenarios related to my stupid blunder: Mom telling me she didn't want me at the house any more, calling me a sick pervert and disowning me, and things spiraling out of control. How could I possibly fix this?

Then, suddenly, I stopped.

Maybe-just maybe-this was the icebreaker I needed with Mom. Talking with her about the questionnaire might be the perfect way to broach the topic and get a sense of her feelings about it. But all the research I'd done so far indicated that caution was absolutely necessary. My head was spinning as I sat down at the computer and tried to figure out how to put this all into words in an email. I stared at the blank form on the computer for a long time before giving it a shot.

Over the next hour, I started and stopped at least a dozen times. I just could not seem to write the email I so desperately wanted to send to my beautiful mother. I was totally frustrated and knew I needed help and advice.

I needed Shannon. Unfortunately, I would not see her for another week. What the hell was I going to do in the meantime?

After agonizing for another 20 minutes, I decided that I would send my mom an email that would avoid the obvious, but have a generally positive spin.

My mind made up, I started typing:

"Hi Mom,

Sorry about the mix-up with the email about my class project. It was only supposed to go to some classmates who are giving me a hand with it.

I just wanted to let you know that classes are great so far, even though some of the projects and papers are headaches. I'm working at the coffee shop again this semester, and in between that and classes I try to get to the gym and an occasional party-typical "kid at college" stuff as you always call it. LOL

Christmas break isn't that far away, and I seriously can't wait to get out of here. Start making a list of things that need to be done, and I'll take care of everything for you when I get there.

Love, Chris"

I read it over twice, hoping that it would be enough to smooth things over. Just before I hit the send button, something inside me said: Be a tad braver...direct, yet subtle.

I re-wrote the sign-off as "I love you Mom, Chris" and sent the email.

The days passed and I was busy going to classes, studying and working on the research, brewing coffee, and blowing off pent-up sexual energy and frustration at the gym. It was good to have things to occupy my mind, but I had to admit that it kept wandering back to that online story and to my mother. I'd be walking across campus to class and see a couple holding hands, and all of a sudden I could smell the special perfume my mom would wear at Christmas and feel her gentle touch. I'd spot a guy and a girl curled up in the corner of the coffee shop, snuggling and exchanging kisses, and I'd see my mom's flowing golden hair cascading around her shoulders like some exotic waterfall.

At night, in bed, was the worst. I'd lie there staring up at the ceiling, my mind teeming with thoughts of her and me together. I wasn't sleeping and, as much as I needed the rest, I resisted because I didn't want to stop planning all the things I would do to her once I had seduced her. Touching her hair, her face, kissing her sweet lips... just like in the story I had grown to appreciate.

After several nights of self-imposed madness, I had to do something. I kicked the blankets aside, got up and grabbed my iPad. Opening the browser and hitting the bookmark, the sinful story popped up on my screen almost immediately. I hit the link for Chapter Two and dove right back in.

The guy and his mother were entwined on the couch, just as I'd left them, but the intensity of their desires had unquestionably intensified. They were kissing deeply and intimately, their lips and tongues finally acting out their secret lust. The son gently began to unbutton his mother's blouse, slipping his hand inside to caress her full, delicious breasts. Though she briefly resisted, he whispered encouragements and guided her hand toward the zipper of his pants. Her hesitance evaporated as she pulled it down and grazed his cock with her soft palm. Both of them overcome with wanton need, the son rose proudly, like a warrior before a mighty battle, and offered his hand to the woman he so dearly loved. I felt my own rush of arousal as I read how he ceremoniously led his sacred mother to their lush bedchamber, as if they were in some epic romantic film.

My thoughts drifted away from the story for just a moment as I reflected on the fact that someone other than me had these thoughts as well, that someone else had looked at his mother in the same loving way I looked at mine. It was a real affirmation for me.

As I returned to the story, the son slowly and methodically bared his shapely mother's flesh, staking his claim with every touch. She quivered and blushed, but that did not prevent her from running her hands over his strapping body with equal ardor and desire. It was then that both mother and son realized there was no going back.

I was so fucking hard as I read page after page filled with deep romantic intent and purpose. Every detail was as if the writer had copied and pasted the emotions from my very soul. When, at long last, he slid his cock into his dear, sweet mother-returning home-I howled in ecstasy. This amazingly evocative story of a son making love to his mother triggered a need in me that was both true and surreal.

My rising cum teetered dangerously on the brink as the son put his mom on all fours and began pounding into her like no other man had. Of course, no man before this had ever been her son, and that made the act even more enticing.

My entire body was writhing and tingling from the approaching orgasm as I imagined my own mother's hot curvy ass pushing against me. I could see my cock vanishing between her thick, rounded globes. The tablet slipped from my hands as I gave chase to the sinful vision: The sweat-soaked hair plastered to her forehead, my hands holding her wide and golden hips, her big motherly breasts bouncing as I filled her again and again. The whispers of "Mother" in my head were now screams of raw need.

My orgasm shook me to my very core. The blinding explosion was so hard and fast that I thought I had lost consciousness. It was several minutes before I regained my senses. I was gasping for breath as I noticed the streams of hot cum across my chest and dribbling down my neck. I sighed heavily, relaxing in the blissful afterglow. I had never felt so completely content before.

Fishing around for a towel, I quickly cleaned up. Just before I fell into a deep sleep, one last thought crossed my mind.

"What a shame so much cum isn't inside my mother's womb."

CHAPTER 6 - THE WINDS OF CHANGE

A week later I was standing in the hallway of one of the academic buildings, knocking on Shannon's office door.

The door opened and there she stood, smiling up at me.

"Hey, Chris. Come on in," she said, stepping aside. "I can't wait to hear about your progress."

"Hi, Shannon. Thanks," I replied, walking in and taking a seat.

She closed the door behind me and walked around to the far side of the desk, giving me the opportunity to check her out. She was wearing a form-fitting navy blue skirt and a crisp white blouse with a sweater over it. The sweater was open and the blouse was unbuttoned enough for me to have a clear view of her full, tantalizing breasts. We were well into autumn, but this woman was as hot as a July day at the beach.

Taking her seat, she interrupted my ogling by saying, "So, tell me about how everything is going. How many questionnaires did you get back? What kinds of things have you been researching?"

I felt like I had a hundred questions and a hundred things I wanted to tell her, but I had no idea where to start. I was also very unsure about exactly how much I should-or could-share with her.

When I looked up she was watching me with an observant eye and a kind smile.

"Look, Chris, I know this topic can be frightening for a lot of people. I want you to know that I am completely open and non-judgmental when it comes to what you share. I want you to consider this a journey of sorts rather than a hardship."

That was all I needed to hear. It was like a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders, and the thoughts, experiences, and questions just began to flow.

"I can't even tell you how much that means to me, Shannon," I said, taking a deep breath and feeling much more relaxed.

"So, tell me. I'm really excited to hear what's going on!" she replied eagerly.

"Okay," I began. I've gotten about 20 questionnaires back and I feel like that's a pretty good start. I've also found three or four research papers that mention the frequency of incest fantasies, and another two that have some stats on how often incestuous relationships actually happen."

"That's excellent, Chris," Shannon beamed.

"I'm not sure how excellent it really is," I told her, "since that's pretty much all I've been able to find, at least in terms of hard research."

She nodded. "Admittedly, it's not a popular topic. Have you found other kinds of material?"

"Yeah, I've been to some of the sites you gave me for reference, and I've read a lot of stories and accounts of incest. That sort of brought up a question for me..."

"And what was that?" Her tone was gentle.

"Well," I continued hesitantly. "How many of those stories and accounts do you think are based on reality?"

Shannon considered my question for a moment.

"That's really hard to say, Chris, as I'm sure you understand. If you're asking for my opinion or for an educated guess-I'd say probably 30 to 40 percent of them."

"Damn," I thought to myself. "That means that the incredibly hot story I was reading last week could be completely true..."

Suddenly, my stomach was in knots and I was right back in the throes of lustful ecstasy that the story had triggered in me-imagining myself touching my beautiful mother, stripping her naked, pressing my cock against her...

"Chris?" Shannon said, quietly.

I blinked, trying to return to the conversation. Instead I blushed bright red, unable to speak.

"Are there other things you want to share?" Shannon asked.

I stared down at my lap, horrified to see that my hand had drifted down into it. Had I really just touched myself in front of a professor? What the hell was wrong with me? What was this topic doing to me?

Then I remembered what Shannon had said-that this was a journey, that I could tell her anything. I looked up at her slowly.

"I sent the questionnaire to my mother accidentally," I said.

"Oh, my," she said, lowering her voice. "What happened?"

"You mean after I totally freaked out?" I asked.

She chuckled and nodded.

I explained how I was able to access my mom's computer, how I found out that she had responded to the questionnaire, and how I had sent her an email that avoided the topic.

"Well, it sounds like you dodged that bullet."

"Yeah, I guess." I took a long pause. "There's more."

"Go on..."

"I told you that I read through some of the stuff on the sites you gave me. I swallowed hard. Well, there was this one story. It has multiple chapters and was written by a guy around my age. It tells about how he slowly but surely seduced his mother and took her to his bed."

"I take it you liked this particular story better than some of the others?" Shannon asked.

I nodded. "It was so hot, and romantic at the same time. I found myself having certain thoughts while I was reading it..."

"Thoughts about your mother?"

"Yeah. It was like it was me in the story, with her-Mom, I mean-doing those things to her."

A hushed silence fell over the room as we both considered the full impact of what I was saying.