Happy Valentine's Day, Mommy!byandtheend©
A son buys his mom a sexy, red nightgown for Valentine's Day.
Like most grateful children, I love my mother. Maybe I love my Mom a little more because I'm an only child and she's a single mom. In hindsight, maybe I loved my Mom too much. What happened between my Mom and I went beyond the acceptable norms between a mother and a son.
I'd never tell anyone what happened, as I'm not proud of what we did. Based on the distinct, separate, and expected roles of a mother and her son, I know it was wrong of us to do what we did. Yet, if I could turn back time and relive that part of my life, I'd still have sex with my Mom. It was a beautiful experience and I don't regret having sexual relations with my mother.
It all started Valentine's Day. Every year I buy my Mom the same Valentine's Day gifts, a dozen roses and a box of chocolates. Only, this year, I was thinking more with my penis than I was with my commonsense. Unfortunately, I didn't know my penis had taken control of my brain. I bought my Mom a sexy nightgown from Victoria's Secrets. At the time, I didn't realize I was buying it for her but, in retrospect, I was and I did.
I crossed the line by buying such an intimately personal gift. I wasn't thinking straight. I had just broken up with my girlfriend and every year for the past three years, I buy my girlfriend a little sexy something from Victoria's Secrets. So, there I was at the Mall to buy my Mom a Happy Valentine's Day card, when I found myself standing in front of the sexy lingerie store and staring in the window at the display of red panties, bras, corsets, bustiers, and nightgowns. Their window display for Valentine's Day is always enticing and enthralling.
I don't know, maybe I missed buying something sexy for my honey. Maybe I enjoyed and missed the personal and attentive service the saleswomen paid me. Maybe, I just enjoyed perusing the sexy lingerie. Yet, for whatever reason, there I was looking at the nightgowns and imagining my Mom wearing it.
At first, without a doubt, my intentions were honorable, that is, until I imagined seeing my Mom modeling what I bought her. Wow. Still, it was about time that someone did something nice for her. She works hard. She works two jobs to make ends meet, while helping to put me through state college. I help out when I can, but there are only so many employment opportunities open to a full-time student.
I don't know what it is about red but it's like I'm a bull whenever I see that vibrant color. I love red, not so much for me, but on a woman. I mean, I'd never buy a red shirt or a red car, but I'd be attracted to a woman who wore a red dress or drove a red car, a red convertible, with big, bright headlights, if you know what I mean. Weird, huh?
Anyway, I was shopping in the store looking through the nightgowns and imagining Amy, my ex-girlfriend, who I still miss, wearing something red, when I saw this absolutely gorgeous red nightgown. Wow. It was short, low-cut, slit up to here, and cut down to there. Imagining the woman I'd give it to, I had to buy it.
At the time, I wasn't thinking of my Mom wearing it, really. I just knew that I needed to buy it. It was, by far, the most sexiest nightgown I've ever seen.
It was expensive, but I had just received a credit card in the mail. Yeah, I know, here we go with the credit card debt, but this was a luxury that I just couldn't afford to miss. Maybe, I thought, I'd save it for my next girlfriend and give it to her next Valentine's Day, so long as she took a size 6.
Coincidentally, my Mom takes a size 6. Maybe I knew that subconsciously at the time, maybe I didn't. I don't know. Whatever.
I bought it for whatever reason because I loved it, no doubt. It made me feel good. I bought it, I just bought it. It made me so happy to buy it, so I did. As soon as I bought it, I didn't feel so alone and lonely any more.
It was as if I was drunk with testosterone and the color red was my devil of temptation that made me buy it. Call it fate or kismet, but the nightgown was the catalyst to me having sex with my Mom. Blame it on the nightgown, if you must, only, I had no idea of that at the time. I was just missing my girlfriend.
Once I had the nightgown in hand, I remember walking out of the store, as if I was taller. I was so excited about my sexy, impulsive purchase. I walked around the corner to the card shop and bought Valentine's Day wrapping paper, one that was kind of sappy, with hearts and flowers. Then, I bought a funny, but sentimental card for my Mom. Even then, I didn't put the both of them together. I thought of the card and the nightgown as separate gifts for two different people.
I really didn't realize that I had bought the nightgown for my Mom. I didn't know that I was going to give it to her. Certainly, I wasn't thinking of my Mom in that way, at the time, sexually and lustfully, but I was. I may have had a fleeting thought about my Mom, but certainly, it wasn't my intention to go to Victoria's Secrets to buy my mom a sexy, red nightgown for Valentine's Day.
I continued my shopping and while walking through the Mall, I couldn't take my mind off of that sexy, red nightgown. Since I had already bought the nightgown, I forgot that I was there to buy my Mom something different, something other than chocolates and flowers. Yet, there I was again, buying another heart shaped box of chocolates and another dozen roses. So preoccupied with that nightgown, that skimpy piece of lingerie had put me on automatic pilot. I wasn't thinking of anything but that damn nightgown.
My Mom was still at work when I got home. She's never home. She's always working and she's always working late to make some extra overtime money. I never know when to expect her home.
I put the roses in water, filled out the Valentine's card I bought her, and put the chocolates on the living room coffee table, along with the flowers and Valentine's Day card. Then, I went in my room and closed the door. I don't know why I closed the door, since I was the only one home, but I did. In hindsight, obviously, I was feeling guilty over something, embarrassed perhaps, for buying the nightgown and over my incestuous feelings towards my mother, which at that point hadn't yet manifested, only surfaced.
I took out the nightgown and it was beautiful, so sexy. Made of silk, satin, and lace, it just felt so luxurious. It made me excited just to touch it and to feel it, while imagining the sexy woman I'd give this to wear it.
I had bought some nightgowns for my girlfriend in the past that after washing them a few times, they'd fall apart. Not this one. This one wasn't made in China, Bangladesh, or Sri Lanka. This beautiful garment was made in Milan, Italy. Imported from the city of fashion design, right up there with Paris, France, the workmanship and detail of the garment was extraordinary.
An old movie buff, I imagined Sophia Loren or Gina Lollobrigida or Claudia Cardinale wearing such a creation. As soon as I imagine one of those women wearing this nightgown, I was horny. As soon as I was horny, I thought of my Mom.
Carefully, lovingly, knowing that whoever I gave this sexy nightgown to, the woman of my dreams, I'd be having hot sex with her, while they wore this nightgown. From a simple piece of red material, in my eyes, it had become magical, alive almost. I tried to imagine the size 6 woman who would wear my Valentine's gift. A blonde with blue eyes and big tits or a redhead with green eyes and big tits or a brunette with brown eyes and big tits.
Even then, not for a minute, did I consciously imagine my Mom filling out this nightgown with her big tits. Only, sub-consciously, my penis had other ideas. My penis, I dare say, knew the woman I wanted and, obviously, I wanted my Mom.
Carefully, I lined the gift box I bought with red tissue paper and removed the price tag from the nightgown with scissors, instead of my usual way of just pulling off the tag. I didn't want to take the chance of ripping the material. As if putting her to bed for the night, as if she was Sleeping Beauty, as if she was my girlfriend and my lover, lovingly, I carefully and neatly folded the nightgown, and gently laid it in the box. Even there in the box, it was so exquisitely beautiful. Then, I wrapped it in the Valentine's Day paper I bought and slid the box under my bed.
Then, something unexpectedly weird happened. As if turning off the light in my room coincided with the excitement that I felt buying this nightgown, much like blowing out the candles of my birthday cake after making a wish and everyone having sung me happy birthday, it was over. Even after I walked out of my room and continued with my day, I couldn't help but think of that red nightgown in that gift wrapped box beneath my bed. It took all the self-control that I had not to go in my room, grab it from under the bed, rip open the box, and take out the nightgown to look at it, touch it, hold it, and imagine the woman wearing it.
What is wrong with me? God, I'm so lonely. I'm so horny. I'm so pathetic. Do I miss my girlfriend that much? She was such a bitch. She cheated on me. She doesn't deserve such devotion.
Only, the romantic fool that I am and always will be, this is Valentine's Day and to be alone without someone to tell her that I love her, and to hear her say in return that she loves me, is what I miss. I've always had a girlfriend, someone to buy a Valentine's Day card and a gift and to receive a kiss, a hug, and sex in return, but not this year. This year, I'm alone, lonely, horny, and buying a nightgown and having no one to give it to as a Valentine's Day gift. I'm pathetic. I'm such a loser.
Much like in the way of hiding a deflated blowup doll in my closet, the happiness that I felt buying that nightgown suddenly ended when I slid it under my bed and now I was sad, depressed, actually. I had no one to tell that I loved her. I had no one to hold and to kiss and to touch. I had no one to give the nightgown. There was only my Mother.
"I love you, Mommy."
She's the only woman in my life right now that I can say that to with as much certainty and as much sincerity in knowing that she loves me, too. Only, it's not the same. She's my mother, my Mom, and I'm her son, her baby. She's certainly not my sweetheart. She'd never be my lover. I may think about it, when alone, lonely, and horny with my hand around my penis, but I could never have sex with my Mom. It would just be so wrong to do that.
It was then that I thought of my Mom wearing the nightgown that I bought and when I thought of her sliding that sexy, red nightgown over her naked, shapely body, I touched myself. I couldn't help but touch myself and the more I touched myself, the more I thought about my Mom wearing that nightgown. Horny to begin with after thinking of Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida or Claudia Cardinale wearing that sexy, Italian, red nightgown, thinking of my Mom wearing it made me want to masturbate, while imagining her modeling the nightgown for me, something she'd never do. I thought of a Frederick Fellini movie where everything is in black and white, but for the red nightgown. Wow.
Missing my girlfriend on this day of love for lovers, I was horny. Between walking around Victoria's Secrets, buying that nightgown, and not having had sex in a while, playing with myself sounded pretty good right about now. I already had an erection from wrapping the nightgown, while touching it, feeling it, and imagining someone wearing it. I never thought I could be aroused by an inanimate object, such as a nightgown, but I was. Gees, maybe I was beginning to develop a fetish for red or for silk, satin, and lace.
Rather than torture myself by masturbating in my bedroom and laying on my bed with the nightgown beneath me, I distanced myself from the nightgown, the subject of my lust, and made myself comfortable on the sofa in the living room. I unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped them, pulled them down to my ankles, along with my underwear, and grabbed hold of my cock. Knowing I was going to cum and not wanting to make a mess, I grabbed a bunch of tissue from the table by the end of the couch.
I'd be so embarrassed if my Mom ever found cum stains on the couch. How would I ever explain that? I had jerked off over my Mom before, but never like this and never out in the open in the living room. This was a first. Besides, she wouldn't be home for hours. I couldn't help myself, I was so very horny and it all started over that damn nightgown.
What is wrong with me? Yet, I didn't care. I needed a sexual release. I just needed to cum. The mere thought of that nightgown culminated in me jerking off over the thought of my Mom slipping the nightgown over her naked body and wearing it. It made me hot to imagine her walking around the house while wearing it, as I stared at what she couldn't hide beneath the sheer material of that nightgown.
"Oh, my God, I'm such a pervert," I said out loud for no one to hear. "I can't believe I'm jerking off over the thoughts of my mother wearing that red nightgown."
I could see her, envision her wearing that little red nightgown and the image of her with that on heightened my sexual arousal. She doesn't wear panties to bed under her nightgowns. I know because I'd see her panties strewn on the floor or in the hamper. Only, she always sits like a lady whenever in her nightgown and even though I admit that I looked hoping to see, I never saw my Mom's pussy.
I've seen her panties and bra plenty of times. I've even seen her in her panties and bra, but I've never seen her naked tits, her bare ass, or her bushy pussy. Yet, if she was to wear this short nightgown with the slits on the sides, unless she wore a bathrobe over it, there'd be no way that she wouldn't be flashing me her pussy. In the way that it was cut so low, I'd see more of her tits, too. I stroked myself, as I imagined my Mom accidentally flashing me her pussy, while exposing her tits to me.
I knew she had a bush. During the summer, on those hot nights, she'd wear those sheer nightgowns and I'd see her dark patch of pubic hair, as well as the impressions her nipples made in the thin material, especially when she stood by the refrigerator with the door open. When I looked more closely and focused, I could even discern the appearance of her areolas.
After seeing so much of my Mom's body, I couldn't help but wonder if she knew I was looking or if she was purposely giving me a show hoping I'd see. What did it matter? I saw what I needed to see to masturbate over it later, as I was doing now.
Hey, she has needs, too. Maybe she knows I'm looking and maybe she shows me her body purposely and makes it look accidental. Maybe, after she gives me a show, she masturbates later over what she showed me and over what I saw of her. Why not? She's human. Yeah, I know, I'm her son and she's my Mom, but basically down deep we're both the same, sexual animals.
It made me more excited to think that my mom was an exhibitionist, perhaps. It made me horny to think that my mom may be flashing me her body on purpose. It made me want to flash her my cock, only, I'd never do something like that, purposely flash her my cock, just so that I could jerk off over her having seen it later. That would be sick. I'd be so embarrassed if she ever saw my cock.
In the meantime, I just needed to cum. So, there I was lying on the couch and slowly stroking my cock, while thinking of my Mom wearing her sheer nightgown on a hot day. She was naked underneath and I concentrated trying to imagined what she looked like naked. She does have a hot body and I'd give anything to see more of it, especially right now, while I was jerking off.
I stroked my cock a little faster, as I imagined seeing the dark outline of her pubic hair. I stroked my cock a little faster, while I imagined the impressions her big nipples made in the thin material of her nightgown. I imagined seeing her ass and her pussy, as I imagined her bending over in front of me to pick up something from the floor. From where I was laying on the couch, if she was to bend over in front of me like that, I had the perfect vantage point to see up her short nightgown.
I continued thinking about seeing my mom naked and I imagined that I could actually see her. The imagined image of her naked body continued to heat my libido. Then, I imagined her wearing the new nightgown I bought. Oh, my God, she'd look so good in that skimpy, sexy thing.
"Oh, Mommy, you look so beautiful in that nightgown," I said out loud for no one to hear. "I'm so glad you like it."
"I'm sorry that I didn't buy you anything for Valentine's Day, son," I imagined her saying as I stroked my cock faster, "but is there anything that I can do for you?"
I imagined catching her staring down at the impression my erection made in my jeans, while I peeked down her top at her tits.
"Is there anything you can do for me? Why, yes, Mommy, there is. You can touch me, Mom. Touch my cock. As my special Valentine's Day gift, can you give me a hand job?"
"Sure, it would be my pleasure to masturbate you," I imagined her saying, "but only because you've been a good and loving son and because it's Valentine's Day."
I imagined my mom touching my cock. I imagined her stroking me. My mom was masturbating me. I couldn't believe it. Entertaining the thought of my mother's fingers curled around my cock, while she slowly stroked my stiff penis was a thought I always loved to imagine while masturbating.
I imagined my Mom wearing the sexy, red nightgown I bought today. Oh, my God. She'd look so good in that thing. So low cut and so revealing, I imagined her showing more of her breasts to me than she ever has. I imagined her sitting across from me and, even though her knees were together, she was unaware that she was flashing me her bush. My Mom's pussy was there for me to see and I imagined touching it and licking it before fucking it.
"Mom, I'm so embarrassed to tell you this, but I can see your pussy."
"You can?" I imagined her looking down at herself to see what she was showing and what I was seeing, before looking up at me. "Oh, I'm so embarrassed," I imagine her saying but without moving a finger to cover her nakedness. "Avert your eyes, son. Don't look at Mommy's pussy. That's so wrong to lust over your Mommy's pussy in that way, Stephen," I imagined her saying.
Only, I couldn't avert my eyes. I stared instead. While stroking my cock faster and faster, until I was stroking it at a feverish rate, I imagined continuing to stare at my mother's pussy.
I imagined her wanting me to touch her as much as I wanted to touch her. I imagined giving my Mom an innocent kiss to wish her Happy Valentine's Day.
"Happy Valentine's Day. I love you, Mommy."
"I love you, too, son."
I imagined her being so happy that I bought her the card, the flowers, and the chocolates, and being so surprised when I gave her the nightgown that, when I kissed her, she parted my lips with her tongue and French kissed me. I imagined my Mom was French kissing me. I couldn't believe my mother was French kissing me.
I imagined my hand touching and feeling her nightgown all over. I imagined feeling her breast. Then, when her nipples made an appearance, I imagined rubbing my palm across them, before fingering them with my thumb and index finger, before taking them in my mouth, and before sucking them. I was sucking my mother's tits. Then, I did it, I parted her knees with my hand and touched my Mom where no son should touch his mother and where no mother should allow her son to touch her, while she fondled my cock through my pants.
It was then that I imagined hearing her voice.
With cock in hand, ready to cum, my Mom opened the front door and there I was lying on the couch in full view and totally exposed with my pants and underwear down around my ankles.