tagHow ToHow to Get You to Read My Story, #3

How to Get You to Read My Story, #3

bySusanJillParker©

There are no underage characters in this story. All characters are over the age of 18-years-old.

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Writer shows how to entice readers to read her stories by using mother and son incest.

With all the stories posted to Literotica and with all of the stories that I've posted to Literotica, it's still a mystery to me how to get you to read my story? Being that incest is the most popular category on the site, I could use incest to entice you to read my How To story. Normally, few readers on the site read How To stories but if I pepper my stories with incestuous displays of sex between a mother and her son, perhaps you'll not only read my How To story but also will enjoy reading my How To story more.


* * * * *

"Touch my nipples Johnny," she leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear. "Mommy likes having her nipples fingered. You touching my nipples makes Mommy hot."

Exciting him that she referred to herself as Mommy, Johnny obediently obeyed his mother by slowly running his fingers across her nipples, first one and then the other. Shocked by it and reminding himself to ask her about it later, he didn't know that his mother had a tiny purple and pink tattoo on her left boob of Tinker Bell. It would have been cool if she had a green tattoo of Peter Pan on her right boob too and maybe a tattoo of Captain Hook down by her pussy on one of her ass cheeks with Tick-Tock the crocodile on her other ass cheek.

Strangely enough, of all people to have a tattoo, never thinking of her as wild enough and/or drunk enough to get a tattoo, he never suspected his mother had a tattoo. It was just one small tattoo but that one small tattoo evoked images of her being a party girl, or a wild college coed riding on motorcycles, and having sex in public. Moreover with the placement of her tattoo, being that she was ordinarily so modest, someone who would never stand naked in her kitchen, he never suspected that she'd have a tattoo on her breast of all places.

Just thinking about her getting the tattoo on her breast made him sexually excited to imagine the man staring at and touching his mother's tits long enough for him to tattoo his mother's tit. Unless he was a blind man who could tattoo her from a distance and without touching her, surely, he must have seen, touched, and felt her naked breasts long enough for him to tattoo her big breast. He could just imagine his fingertips touching her tit while his hand held her breast steady in the way that he's always wanted to touch and feel his mother's tits.

He wondered if this tattoo artist, whoever he was, touched her nipple, if only by accident. He imagined the tattoo artist holding his mother's breast in the palm of his hand as if her breast was something so delicately valuable and, indeed, it was to him. He wondered if his mother's nipple erected and hardened in the way that his cock was erecting and hardening now when thinking about the tattoo artist seeing, touching, feeling, and holding his mother's breast. Oddly enough, he never figured that any other man but his father manhandled her breasts in the way that she gave him permission to touch, feel, and caress them now.

Maybe it was a woman who tattooed his mother and not a man. Maybe she was a lesbian woman who his mother had a brief affair with and her reward for his mother giving her sex was to give her this tattoo. Not really thinking that his mother could be bi-sexual, yet, off course, nonetheless, it must have been female tattoo artist who drew this tattoo. Forget about even seeing and touching her breasts, his mother would never allow a man to tattoo her breast. Maybe his father was there watching her being tattooed. Maybe his mother was drunk and coerced by her ex-husband, his father, at the time she had the tattoo. Maybe she got the tattoo before she was married and before she met his father.

He wondered if she regretted getting the tattoo. He wished he could have been there to watch his mother getting a tattoo while some stranger manhandled her big boob. How hot that would be to watch another man staring, touching, feeling, and tattooing his mother's breast? He wished he could have helped hold his mother's breasts while she was getting her tattoo.

If he was there holding her breasts while she was getting tattooed, making it appear accidental, every once in a while, he'd rub his finger across her nipple. He'd look to see her nipple erected and to see if his touch excited her in the way that merely touching her breasts and nipples would surely have excited him back then. Being that she was standing in front of him naked, not having to wonder if she had another tattoo somewhere else, no Peter Pan, no Captain Hook, and no Tick-Tock the crocodile, he knew that this was the only tattoo she had.

He couldn't imagine his mother having a life before him to even get a tattoo. Forget about having a sex life, enough of which for her to be so resplendently tattooed on her tit, he wondered how his mother was at his age. Odd that she'd be standing naked in the kitchen on the pretense of giving him sex so that he wouldn't evolve into a pervert, thinking now that was just her excuse to have sex with him, he suspected that she wanted to have sex with him as much as he wanted to have sex with her. With his mother standing there naked, seemingly, she was more perverted that he was. Maybe, genetically encoded, he gets his perversion to sniff her panties from her.

Years from now when he's married with kids, he'll remember his children's grandmother standing in the kitchen naked with her tattooed breast proudly on display to his incestuously horny eyes. If only his children, the children that he hasn't yet had, knew that their grandmother was a hot, sexy, tattooed woman, they'd think differently of her standing naked before her son and of him wanting to have sex with his mother. How could he violate his mother, his perceived children's grandmother, by having sex with her? Obviously she's drunk but she's naked. It would be so easy to forget about all the pretenses of what he should do and shouldn't do and just bend his mother over the kitchen table and slip his cock inside of her and fuck her like a dog.

Too focused on her tits, her pussy, and her ass, as if the fog of his sexual excitement had cleared enough for him to see anything of her other than her nudity, it was then that he noticed her freckles. She had so many freckles all over her body, even more than she had on her face. With her being so shyly modest and with them living in a cold climate anyway, having never seen her in a bathing suit or bikini, he never realized that she was so freckled. He figured that only her beautiful face was freckled.

Being that she was a redhead with long, beautiful, red hair and freckles, even though he had freckles all over his body too, he never figured that her freckles would speckle her breasts, her shoulders, and her back too. Even though he had freckles too, she had beautiful freckles. Her freckles made her look sexy. He loved her freckles. He wanted to kiss every one of her freckles.

* * * * *

By weaving more character description in the story about the mother's tattoo and her freckles, we're allowing the reader to see more of the mother. Did you see her tattoo on her naked breast? Could you imagine her freckled, naked body? Even though we are showing the story from the son's eyes and inside of the son's head, in a mother and son incest story, it's the mother that we more want to see than the son.

* * * * *

"I love your big tits Mom," he said staring at her big, blue eyes. "You have better tits than any movie star I've seen on TV," he said staring at his mother boobs. "You're my Christina Hendricks of Mad Men," he said.

"Thank you Johnny, but Christina Hendricks has much larger breasts than I do," she said looking down at her breasts with admiration.

"I still love your big tits Mom," he said.

In the way that she looked at them, touched them, and felt them it was obvious to him that she loved her big breasts. Even more sexually exciting than his mother being proud of her breasts, obviously she enjoyed showing her naked breasts to her son.

"Being that I'm here in the kitchen with you naked and being that you're feeling my breasts while fingering my nipples, please don't call me Mom. Call me Maureen."

"Okay Maureen," he said.

With his man-sized hands barely big enough to contain them, he felt the weight of her breasts in his hands while staring at them. He so wanted to suck her big nipples. He couldn't wait to suck her tits while feeling her tits. Yet, even though he wanted to suck his mother's tits and even though he was standing there naked with his naked mother and she gave him her permission to touch her and feel her, he was afraid to suck her tits.

Unable to remove his eyes from her big breasts, her pink areolas, and erect nipples, his cock was as stiffly hard as her breasts were firmly soft. Having imagined feeling them while masturbating over the thoughts of touching them, he never would have guessed that his mother's breasts would feel so heavy, so soft, and yet so firm. These were real, natural woman's breasts and not some artificial confection of what a plastic surgeon developed in his lab with silicone implants. These were real women's breasts and not some 18-year-old girls' breasts that he felt in a darkened movie theatre or a 23-year-old woman's breasts that he furtively felt in his car while she gave him a hand job or a blowjob. Maybe because he's lusted so very long over his mother's breasts was the reason why he was enjoying feeling her breasts rather than feeling the breasts of a woman his age.

"Suck my breasts Johnny. I can't wait to feel your mouth on my nipples," she said breathlessly. "Go ahead baby. Suck Mommy's tits. Suck my tits."

Having seen the impressions of his mother's nipples through her nightgown many time before, they appeared even bigger from the side instead of seeing them from the front. He never figured his mother's nipples would be so big when aroused and feel so hard. Immediately, as if an involuntary reaction in preparation to suck his mother's tits, his lips pursed as if he was a goldfish hungry for food. He couldn't wait to suck his mother's tits.

Sucking one breast, he felt her other breast. Sucking her other breast, he move his hand back to feel her other breast before going back from sucking one to sucking the other. Back and forth and back and forth from sucking to feeling to sucking to feeling. He never tired of sucking and feeling his mother's big tits.

"You have such big nipples mother, I mean, Maureen."

* * * * *

Could the reader imagine Johnny's mother? Did you, as the reader see Johnny's mother's big tits? Could you, as the reader feel Maureen's big tits too? If I did my job as a writer, the reader is there with Johnny seeing and feeling his mother's tits while fingering and sucking her nipples. If I did my job as a writer, the reader would be aroused perhaps in thinking about seeing and feeling his own mother's breasts. If I did my job as a writer, the reader wants to continue reading my story. If I did my job as a writer the reader may even feel compelled to not only vote for my story but also to give me the highest vote, a five star vote. Maybe the reader even favored my story and made me one of their favorite authors. A rarity, maybe the reader even took the time to leave a comment on my story.

Alas and unfortunately, only ½ of one percent who reads the stories that I post to Literotica votes for the story. So, if a writer receives 1,000 hits on his story, he or she will only receive 5 votes. Nine hundred ninety-nine readers who opened the story chose not to vote for the story. Why? Maybe they didn't read the story but for the first paragraph. I have no way of knowing that. Obviously they were curious about the story enough to open the story and hopefully to read it. I suspect that more people read the story than who closed the story without reading the story. So, if you went through all the trouble, time, and energy to read the story, why not vote for the story?

Think of your votes as applause. You wouldn't attend a live performance and not clap for the performer, so why would you come here, read my story, and not applaud me for writing what, hopefully, you so enjoyed reading? I don't understand how someone could be so rude not to vote for stories that they read for free. We writers work hard to write you the best story for free.

Forget about commenting on my story and receiving some kind of feedback from the reader. For every ten thousand readers who open my story to read, only one reader will leave a comment. How about that for a disturbing statistic, especially if you're the one who wrote the story? Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine readers won't comment on a story that they read and/or enjoyed. How about that? Why? I don't understand.

I have more chance of receiving a bashing comment than I do receiving a compliment that someone enjoyed my story. Constructive criticism is even rarer. God forbid I make one lousy typo, the reader will accuse me of not only editing my story but not reading my story to catch the mistake. I don't get.

* * * * *

Too often, too many stories have too much narrative and no dialogue. There needs a balance of narrative and dialogue and it's very easy for a writer to tilt too far one way or the other. Too much narrative and the story becomes slow, wordy, and tiring to read. Too much dialogue and the story runs too fast with not enough backstory and information about the characters explained for the reader to not only bond to them but also to bond to the story. Where narrative sets the stage, dialogue shows the action.

Dialogue is important to have in a story. Dialogue allows the writer to advance the story without having to write paragraphs and pages of narrative. Dialogue, along with much needed narrative, allows the writer to develop the characters by showing the reader what they are thinking for them to say what they said. Dialogue advances the story without dragging the story. Too much dialogue, however can make the story go too fast. Used for pacing, some stories need as much narrative as it needs dialogue. Just as some writers prefer writing narrative over dialogue, other writers prefer writing dialogue over narrative. How much narrative and how much dialogue is always an elusive formula.

Most readers won't read a story that has no white space and that is blackened by thousands of words. Write tight is what one of my creative writing professors always espoused. Omit needless words. Use one word to describe something instead of using ten. Use one sentence of description or imagery to avoid writing an entire paragraph. Make your reader feel what you feel by inserting dialogue when you need to share the character's thoughts with the reader. Make your readers see what you see by using description and imagery. Especially when writing a short story, always move the story forward by editing out what's not important to advance the story.

* * * * *

"Don't be afraid to touch me and to feel me Johnny. I want you to explore my body. I want you to touch and feel me everywhere you imagined touching and feeling me as you masturbated alone in you room while sniffing my panties," she said.

Stunned that not only his mother was naked, he was stunned that she willingly allowing him to touch and feel her before giving him sex.

"Okay," he said and was all that he could say. As if he was dreaming or fantasizing this exchange, he was waiting to awaken.

"Maybe I should have opened your door to watch you masturbate," she said stepping closer to him and standing on her toes to whisper in his ear. "Nipping you sniffing my panties in the bud, maybe I should have helped you masturbate yourself. Would you have like me to do that Johnny? Would you have enjoyed Mommy playing with your cock?"

"Yes mother. There were many times that I wished you'd open my door just as there were many times that I wished it was your hand giving me pleasure instead of my hand," he said.

"Maybe I should have taken your stiff prick in my mouth and sucked you," she said standing on her toes again to whisper in his ear. She stepped back to look in his eyes. "Would you have liked that, Mommy sucking you?"

"Yes," he said while wishing she had blown him.

Now he'll never know what it felt like to have received a blowjob from his mother. Yet, not allowing this opportunity to slip by her, his mother surprised him with what she said next.

"Would you like Mommy to blow you? Would you like Mommy to suck her son?" She looked at him while waiting for him to answer. "I can do that. I can suck your cock if you want me to suck you cock," she said whispering the last part as if cock was a dirty word and indeed it was with a mother suggesting to suck her son.

"Oh yes mother, yes. I would love for you to blow me. I very much want you to suck me," he said with sexual excitement.

"I bet you'd love to cum in Mommy's mouth," she lifted his hand and took his index finger to slowly rub across her lips before sucking his finger as if she was sucking his cock. "I bet you'd love for Mommy to swallow your cum while you put a heavy hand to the back of my head," she said with a diabolical laugh. "I bet you can't wait to hump my mouth and fuck my face," she said with her face twisted with incestuous lust for her son.

He moved his finger away from her mouth to put his hand behind her to feel the round, firmness of her ass. Feeling it, sneezing it, and groping it, he continued to touch and feel his mother where no son should ever touch and feel his mother. Finally, making the big move, as if reaching down her body to unlock the combination to a safe that had a valuable hidden treasure inside, he reached his hand between her legs to cup her moist pussy in the palm of his hand. She was so wet for him. She was so hot for him. She was so ready to suck him and for him to fuck her. If ever there was one, she was such a MILF.

* * * * *

Unless the writer is God and can see all and feel all, it's important that the writer pick one character to tell the story from their eyes. Normally, it is much too difficult to write a story from an omniscient viewpoint. It's easier to make the story believable for the writer to pick one character to show the story unfolding. By picking one character to tell the story, there's more of a chance that the reader will not only bond with the character but also will remember the story.

Rather than writing a story from the first or second person, most stories are written from the third person. When writing a story from the third person, "he or she," the writer has more flexibility to scan the scenery to write about other things that he wants the reader to see, feel, and/or to know. Instead of just remaining in the main character's head as he'd have to do when writing a story from first person, "I or me," writing from the third person gives the writer more flexibility to show the story. Second person writing, "you," has historically been used for detective fiction, dime novels of old. Not many writers write from the second person anymore. Most short stories and novels are told from the third person.

* * * * *

Maureen dropped to her knees to take her son's cock in her hand while staring up at him with her big, blue eyes.

"Tell me what you want Johnny," she said fondling the head of his stiff prick with her fingertips. "Do you want Mommy to suck you?" She slowly stroked him while staring up at him and only looking away to stare at his penis.

"Yes," he said.

"Tell me. Say the words," she said teasing his cock with her fingertips.

"I want you to suck my cock Mom. Suck my prick Mom," he said with more sexual excitement than he's ever experienced before.

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bySusanJillParker© 9 comments/ 13099 views/ 19 favorites

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