Get Undressed, Mom. And Come To Me.

This true story, which happened to me many years ago, still does not leave my memory. And I really want you, dear readers, to know about my story. I will never forget the sensations and feelings that I experienced when I was waiting for my dear mother in my bed. While my brother and sister were sleeping...

My heart was beating like a steam hammer, my thoughts were racing in a frenzied round dance... And my groin was filled with the sweet languor of excitement, incredible in its severity... These feelings cannot be described. A chilling shiver somewhere under the heart in front of the unknown, but so desired and just about to happen. Anticipation.. Fear.. No, even horror, from the consciousness of what I already dared to say to my own mother.. And not even to say, but with such unexpected ease to demand from her.

Just demand... And as if not a son from his mother, but a master of his slave. As if this is how it should be and she is simply obliged to fulfill my whim.

Eh, if it weren't for Andreevich's nutcracker, I would probably never have decided to say THIS to my own mother..

Although.. Remembering the three previous days that my mother was visiting me.. For three days, it was like a sleepwalker, torn between a sudden and wild desire for her and the son's elementary sense of shame and fear of his own mother, for his wild unnatural feelings for her.

However, of course, my mother could not help but feel THIS in me during these three days that we spent continuously together. Andreevich, after all, he even released me from duty for the first week when my family came to me.

Yes, in those moments when I could no longer control myself and, as if by chance, my hand lay on her bare leg below her dress when she was sitting in front of me, or seemed to accidentally touch her breast, or lingered longer than expected on her shoulder or thigh.. Or while swimming in the river, losing his head from her proximity, he suddenly pressed her to himself. Yes, but how he pressed... Chest to chest, hips to hips, lips to lips. A son does not hug his mother like this, just like a lover seeks affectionate embraces from his mistress.

I don't think that my mother had much experience in this, but, of course, during these days, more than once or twice, she could feel and feel the fire that was raging inside me. And most importantly, it was impossible not to notice the root of all the excitement, which every time rose like a powerful stone mound under my swimming trunks or shorts.

I remember how, every time, a slight, bashful blush suddenly filled her cheeks and, hastily pulling away, my mother furtively cast alarmed, frightened glances at me. Probably, at these moments, she thought that she had come in vain... My eloquent ardent glances and persistent touches frightened her with the abyss and the fall that opened behind them. And it is unlikely that such statements on the part of her own son, especially knowing the somewhat puritanical mindset of her mind, could please or flatter her.

Every time, naturally, although strained, my mother tried to attribute everything to a joke, saying that I was completely wild here, or she playfully shook her finger and smiled through her strength.

It seems to me that if she had reprimanded me at least once, really harshly, reprimanded me sternly, or, in general, rudely scolded me for such behavior, then my brains would have fallen into place. But every time, my mother just seemed to run away from me, hiding her eyes, and nothing more... And after, each time, I more and more boldly fixed my gaze on her and in my thoughts all these three days, step by step, I rose higher and higher and higher on her invisible pedestal, until tonight, for the first time in my entire life, I looked down at my mother. And finally, I didn't admit to myself that I was thirsty for this woman. And for the first time, I did not find in my soul any insurmountable barriers to my desires standing between me and my mother.

I don't know why, but now, sitting in my bed, I was already completely sure that my mother had given up. Finally and irrevocably. Now she will come to me. It's not going anywhere. Now he'll clean up the kitchen and take a shower. And she will come, sighing sadly, swallowing tears, all unhappy and heartbroken, showing with all her appearance that she is ready to do anything just for the sake of her maternal duty, undress and lie naked, like a darling, in my bed.

Mom won't go to bed tonight, like she did the last three nights in the next room with Leska and Dimka, on the sofa. No, today she will come to my bed.. And she will stay with me this night.

True, somewhere in the depths of my soul, the last glimmer of reason still tormented me, like a thorn. He shouted that it would be better for my mother to slap me in the face, throw a tantrum, attack me with abuse, and, in the end, lock herself behind a latch in the very room where my younger brother and sister slept..

That the line from which there is no return has not yet been passed. It's not too late yet. And tomorrow, in the morning, when the drunkenness has passed and the passions have subsided, we can still talk about all this. It will still be possible to understand and forgive. And never again in our lives will we remember tonight

But this spark of reason was too small and faceless in the ocean of passions that overwhelmed me.

A new feeling, still new and unfamiliar to me, intoxicated me more than any vodka. This feeling had one name - power. Invisible, but strong and firm power over one's own mother. Now it's difficult to understand when this new feeling appeared both in me and in her, and even more so, how during these three days it imperceptibly matured and strengthened. Now it's difficult to understand when this new feeling appeared in both me and her, and even more so how during these three days it imperceptibly matured and strengthened, and forever entered our relationship with my mother. In any case, our relationship has never been the same.

What was a barely noticeable sprout just three days ago has now turned into a mighty, strong oak tree. And we could no longer ignore this. Although, in my opinion, my mother did not try to ignore this. Maybe it was all due to her quiet and submissive character, but she obediently and resignedly accepted the new thing that arose between us. My power and my right to it.

I knew before, of course, that my mother was pretty tormented by the fact that I had already been here for a whole year, on a God-forsaken island. Where for thousands of years not a single living soul had managed to settle, the island was too small, although it was rich in dense forests and flooded souls. And for another thousand years not a single soul would have set foot on this land if it had not attracted our "native, invincible and legendary" so much.

How my mother did not stay awake these three days while I introduced her to the local nature with Leska and Dimka (there were no other remarkable things here), but she was constantly overcome by horror that I had already been stuck in this dense wilderness for a whole year. And every time, she hugged me and sobbed quietly, burying her face in my chest.

I consoled her as best I could, although the island had been scratching my heart for a long time. But my mother kept blaming me that it was because of her and my father that I ended up here and only sighed sadly at my admonitions.

This is probably the whole recipe for this new, unquestioned power over my own mother, which my mother silently and without the slightest resistance recognized for me and was ready to submit to her just as unquestioningly.

If I weren't so ardently overwhelmed by a passionate desire for my mother, I would sincerely feel sorry for her. But the whole point was that I, on the contrary, without any twinge of conscience, was ready and going to use this power, not at all in the way that a good son should...

After all, I knew what was going on in her soul. Who can know his own mother better than her son, who always loves tenderly and enjoys her complete and tender trust.

Oh yes, this is her hypertrophied sense of maternal duty, multiplied by her boundless love for me, her eldest offspring, by the boundless pity that I am a St. Petersburg home boy, like some Decembrist in exile, for a whole year, without any guilt, without friends, without girls, in the utter wilderness, I serve on this damned island.. Yes, it's worth adding to this the torment and remorse that, in general, it was with her and my father's suggestion, in the end, I ended up here..

Hmmm, I can imagine how this fiery, spicy cocktail was brewing in her soul. Brr.. You wouldn't wish it on your enemy. And especially knowing the quiet, kind, gentle character of my mother...

Damn.. Of course, if it weren't for a whole year on this damned island, how could it even have entered my head? Is it possible to desire your own mother like this?

After all, a mother is a mother. And it is completely out of place for a native son to experience any erotic feelings towards her.

But everything happened the way it happened. This is probably a manifestation of the most masculine or filial egoism, but I have never regretted anything.

Hmm.. On the very first day, I remember when they arrived, the first thing my mother did, of course, immediately began to do a general cleaning of my house, while the children and I splashed noisily and happily in the pond that was dug right in the yard of my house.

It must be said that in terms of everyday life, everything in the tiny garrison was decorated very comfortably, although this comfort in its development had not left the nineteenth century. For the three officers, that is, and me, of our unit there were three log houses standing here a little apart from each other, right in the middle of a birch grove.

I remember that at first, as soon as they crossed the threshold of this cozy little log house, buried in the shadow of a dense garden of lilacs, maples and birches, they all even clapped their hands together.

- Oh, beauty! -- Mom even squealed with delight, "I can imagine how much something like this would cost near St. Petersburg."

Dimka, however, turned his nose skeptically at his mother's exclamation:

- Come on. No light, no Internet, no telephone, not even TV..., - the child of civilization chuckled, - look, even the heating is stove.

I just threw up my hands. And my mother suddenly suddenly became sad and shook her head sadly.

I don't know, it seemed like my home didn't really need to be in order. I didn't even have any special things, just books, of which I had hundreds.

There was plenty of furniture in the house, probably dating back to Stalin's times, all of it strong and good quality, although, of course, it was already worn and shabby. But a woman's hand, especially a housewife like my mother, is always able to bring comfort, even in such spartan penates. That evening, cabinets, bookshelves, and coffee tables were constantly moving from corner to corner in all three rooms of the house. Dust was carefully swept out of all corners. From the huge suitcases, as if from a magician's chest, countless curtains, tablecloths, openwork napkins and a bunch of other household necessities were taken out, in general, everything that makes any home a cozy homely nest.

I remember leaving my sister and brother sunbathing by the pond on the young grass, I was wet, and in my swimming trunks I went into the house to see when my mother would finally finish and join us.

She had already changed from the weightless short sundress in which she jumped into my arms on the pier from the boat into short light pants and a T-shirt - a top, her hair was tied at the back of her head with a silk blue ribbon.

When I entered, she was on all fours in my room in front of a bucket of water and scrubbing the floor under my bed with her hands with a huge rag that was once my sheet.

Involuntarily, I stopped in the doorway and admired her figure, especially her protruding ass, feeling with surprise how, at this picture, the blood rushed to the groin and the penis was filled with a pleasant warmth. For a moment, a crazy thought even came into my head - what a pity that this woman is my mother. Now come and take it... Right here on the floor.

It should be noted here that in her youth, judging by the photographs, my mother was a gorgeous little thing. A pretty, blue-eyed, petite blonde, long-legged, with a wasp waist and simply gorgeous, firm, high breasts. She came to enroll in Leningrad in Ped from the region. I met my father, then already a graduate cadet. And the father fell in love at first sight and married his mother six months later, although she was not yet 18 then.

Ped. Mom finished with a sin in half when I was already three years old. However, she did not work for long, only five years, as a teacher in schools, while her father served and wandered around the garrisons.

Then, when I was already ten, Leska appeared, and two years later Dimka appeared. And, in general, my mother spent most of her adult life as a housewife, devoting most of herself and her time to us, her children.

Of course, age and childbirth took their toll - her figure swam a little, her belly became slightly plumper, her mother could no longer boast of her former wasp waist, her gorgeous breasts became heavier and sagged a little, but they became much more curvy, and her butt was no longer so elastic and toned. Mom's legs were and are now very good, long, slender, well, a little plump, with graceful feet and slightly curvy thighs. But my mother retained her former girlish lightness, and most importantly, over the years, her charming figure seemed to be filled, like an exquisite fruit, with some kind of ripe juiciness, which only added to her feminine attractiveness and sexual seductiveness.

And, of course, we cannot forget about her special charm and indescribable elegant gloss. They say about people like my mother that even with a rag and a broom in their hands or standing at the stove, they manage to be and look like a real princess.

Meanwhile, my mother raked out a whole mountain of "playboys" and "penthouses" from under my wide oak bed. Red as a lobster with embarrassment, I rushed towards her, hastily snatching these, let's say, not at all literary works from her hands. Mom also blushed.

"Hmm, I thought it was over when you turned 15," she tried to joke, "and you started having girls..

I felt wildly uncomfortable in front of her.

- Mom, there are no girls here! "In general!," I muttered loudly, flying out of my room like a bullet.

It's probably not worth describing in detail the first three days that my mother stayed with me along with my younger brother and sister. I have already said about the most important thing - a real revolution took place in my consciousness and my mother was already arousing in my heart and body not filial feelings and desires. And, of course, what my mother could not help but feel was the tension and ambiguity that arose between us for the first time in our entire lives.

The inevitable happened on the third night...

Adreevich invited my mother and me to visit him when my household members were already visiting me for the third day. Dimka and Leska, having done a lot of running during the day, fell asleep early and my mother and I went to visit my commander together.

Andreevich, this is the beginning. object. That is, Dots, as our tiny military unit was called at the division headquarters.

Captain Bozhanov Viktor Andreevich. A good man, who had been serving ten years on Tochka and, unlike other officers, did not consider his service on the island to be an exile. He was an avid hunter and fisherman, and everything suited him here. He was already about 50 years old, like his wife, he was an "old" captain for his age - the division command extended his term of service from year to year, because how to find another such altruist and good specialist who would be willing to serve in this on a godforsaken island off the coast of Japan, despite the generous increase in salary and "in three years" it was a very difficult matter. People at such facilities had a habit of either drinking themselves to death, and very quickly, or falling into a black depression, which usually resulted from the first circumstance and often ended with crossbows in the temple area from a service weapon or a noose around the neck on a chandelier hook.

Andreevich and his wife were quite happy with life here. They themselves came from a remote Siberian village and another, and they didn't seem to know life, and they didn't want anything better for themselves. They had a son, about thirty years old, and a bunch of grandchildren, somewhere near Irkutsk, where Andreevich and his wife went every year, generously helping their offspring with finances, which they were always incredibly proud of.

The second officer of Tochka, Andreevich's deputy, Petrov Afanasy Nikolaevich, or simply Nikolaich, as it was customary for us to address each other among officers, is also a captain, also no longer young, ready to exchange his fifth decade. He asked to come to Tochka himself, to get a couple of years before retirement in order to gain good experience. He and his wife did not have children and, apparently, were no longer planning to. They were also quiet and very good-natured people.

I was the third officer at Tochka. Lieutenant Igor Olegovich Inzheevsky. A native of St. Petersburg, he graduated with honors from St. Petersburg State University of Dental Engineering, a specialist in communication systems.

That, in general, is the entire command staff of Tochka.

Of the personnel, there were a dozen soldiers who served on guard duty at the locator and tower (although who the devil knows to protect him from here), and spent days in the barracks, in the kitchen, and in the local huge vegetable garden and orchard.

The whole service was, a day or two later, duty on the tower, and on other days, preparing firewood for the winter with the soldiers (heating at Tochka is stove), and, probably, that's all. It was also a pleasant event that when at least some of the numerous equipment on the tower broke down, repairing it provided at least some interesting pastime.

The rest of the time, only books helped me out. The Internet, of course, couldn't exist here. The TV didn't pick up either, the locator jammed everything to hell. Once a month, a boat arrived from the base (also an island, only larger) with provisions, mail, newspapers - well, this day was generally here, like a holiday.

I don't know how I didn't go crazy here during the first year of service. This is me, a St. Petersburg resident, a club kid and a party animal, who until recently changed girls like gloves (so there were quarrels with my mother when I didn't show up at home for days).

Oh, how many times have I cursed in my heart that damn decision to wear officer's shoulder straps. Hmmm, but all my dad's advice and his officer's past. Like, you'll become a specialist in the army. Yes, and I had to wait for urgent work after university. True, when I put on officer's shoulder straps, it was understood that I would serve at headquarters and much closer to home.

But it turned out the way it turned out. Somewhere my dad's connections went horribly wrong. And I came here to serve. To the Point. Fuck!!! Damn, there are only two women on the entire island, and they were half a dozen years older than my mother, and they were also the wives of both my commanders.

Damn, if only there were drinking buddies here, I would definitely get drunk to hell. But Andreevich and Nikolaevich, although they treated the feast with respect, but what is called in moderation - in other words, no more often than on Saturdays.