Mom & Son's Valentine's Day Sex Ch. 03

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An immature little girl, in the way that his father's whore was an 18-year-old child when meeting her and first having sex with her, he was no child then and is no child now. He was a 24-year-old man now who knew what he wanted and what he wanted was to have sex with his mother. Yet, as much as he was an incestuous pervert for lusting over his mother, his father was a pedophile pervert for lusting over his 18-year-old, ex-girlfriend. How dare he do that to his mother and to him? Their forbidden, sexual relationship started with his father when he was out shopping with his mother and his father was home alone with his girlfriend.

His girlfriend came looking for him and his father took sexual advantage of her by getting her drunk. As if having sex with his babysitter, a 42-year-old, married man having sex with an 18-year-old woman, that was so scandalous. That was so nasty. That was so wrong. Who knows with her having Daddy issues, maybe she was the one who took sexual advantage of his father? Then, with one thing leading to another, not long after, his Dad took off with his girlfriend. As soon as his divorce from his mother was final, he married Michael's ex-girlfriend, Jessica, four-years ago.

When he could have taken up with anyone else, his mother never got over his Dad marrying her son's ex-girlfriend. Now, at a time when she was the most vulnerable sexually, Valentine's Day, the day of love, romance, passion, and sex, he'd love to get his mother tipsy. Like father like son, he hoped that his mother would consume enough wine for him to take sexual advantage of her in the way that his father took sexual advantage of his drunken, ex-girlfriend. Not wanting her to drink enough to get sick, but he'd love for her to drink enough wine that he'd have to lovingly put her to bed.

'How hot would that be to slowly undress his mother and strip her naked,' he thought? 'How hot would that be for his mother to drink enough wine to loosen her morals, lessen her modesty, and lose her sexual inhibitions. How hot would that be for his mother to willingly and consensually, albeit drunkenly, have sex with him, her immodestly immoral and perverted son?'

If nothing more than a sexual fantasy that he enjoyed masturbating over, with her having not soundly slept since his father left, he imagined his mother intoxicated just enough to fall asleep on the couch. Checking to see if she was sleeping, he imagined feeling her breasts through her blouse and feeling her pussy through her panties before picking her up from the couch and carrying her to her bedroom and to bed. He imagined her short skirt climbing to her crotch and giving him an up-skirt view of her panties when putting her down on the bed.

Once he gently put her down on her bed, he imagined staring at her exposed, white bikini, panty clad crotch as she soundly slept. He imagined staring at her pussy slit, her camel toe, and the darker shadow of her pubic hair through her sheer panties. He imagined leaning down to sniff his mother's pussy through her panties. With sniffing her panties something he had always done when she wasn't wearing them but something he had never done when she was wearing her panties, he'd definitely sniff her panties.

Then, touching and feeling her inebriated body through her clothes and in all the places he always imagined touching and feeling her, he imagined she was his lover instead of his mother. Careful not to awaken her from her drunken slumber, as if unwrapping an expensive, Valentine's Day gift, he imagined undressing his mother. Just the imagined thought of undressing her sent shivers down his spine and erected his prick. Just the imagined thought of seeing her in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked, made him want to encourage his mother to drink more.

"Allow me to fill your glass," he said refilling her wineglass. "Let's toast to Valentine's Day, the day of love, shall we?"

While she peacefully slept, he imagined unbuttoning her blouse one slow button at a time. Taking his time undressing her, he imagined stopping to see what each unbuttoned button revealed before unbuttoning the next button and before flaying open her blouse to expose her bra clad, C cup breasts. Instead of just seeing her cleavage and the top of her low-cut, sexy bra whenever she leaned forward at the waist in front of him, he imagined seeing the entirety of her white lace, satin bra cups. Careful not to awaken her, he imagined staring down at his sleeping mother to make sure that she was still sleeping.

Then, as if she was his girlfriend and they were making out while parked, he imagined feeling his mother's breasts and fingering her nipples through her sexy, low-cut brassiere as she slept. Taking a chance that she may awaken, but hoping that she didn't, he imagined leaning down to suck her nipples through her sheer brassiere, first one and then the other. Then, as soon as her nipples erected from him sucking them through her bra, he imagined fingering them through the wet spots on her bra. As if they were old style, radio knobs and he was adjusting the volume and/or changing the station, he imagined pulling, turning, twisting, pinching, and squeezing her nipples for them to erect even more.

Then, as if there was a drumroll of suspense going off in his head, now deeply immersed in the Devil's, incestuous playground, he imagined unbuttoning and unzipping his mother's short skirt with trembling fingers. As soon as he unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt, he exposed the side of her white, bikini panties. Careful not to awaken her by disturbing her, as if he was a pickpocket picking her pockets, he imagined stealthily removing her skirt in the way of slowly unwrapping another expensive, Valentine's Day gift.

Then taking a step back, he imagined staring at his mother in her sheer white, bikini panties and matching sheer, white, low-cut bra before taking out his digital camera to snap some, sexy, candid photos of her in her underwear. Taking picture after picture, he couldn't wait to view these photos of his sexy mother on his computer screen while masturbating himself. If only she knew he had photographed her, she'd be angry. If only she knew he had put her to bed and not only undressed her but touched and felt her everywhere, she'd really be angry. Yet, he didn't care.

Seeing her lying there on her bed soundly sleeping, he imagined her looking as if she was a dead body that he was viewing her at the morgue without the decency of a sheet. Now that she was there before his horny eyes in her sexy underwear, he imagined examining her sexy, shapely body more closely. Staring at ever mole and freckle, he stared at her as if she was his girlfriend or his lover instead of his mother. He stared at her as if she was naked. In the way that he had already seen of her in so many up-skirt peeks, he imagined seeing her pussy mound, her camel toe, and her pussy slit closeup through her sheer panties.

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While she lay on her back so soundly sleeping with her legs slightly parted, he imagined touching and feeling his mother through her exposed underwear where no son should ever touch and feel his mother. As if she was a shoplifter and he was a male, loss prevention employee searching her for stolen goods, he imagined touching, feeling, and fondling his mother's breast while fingering her nipples through her bra. As if he was a customs agent in a foreign country searching her for drugs or for hidden contraband, he imagined feeling her ass before sliding a slow finger along her pussy slit through her panties.

'Wow,' he thought. 'How hot would that be to see my mother in her low-cut bra and white, bikini panties? How hot would that be to touch and feel my mother's sexy and shapely body through her underwear?'

Hoping he didn't awaken her, as if he was alone with a drunken woman on a subway, he imagined masturbating his mother through her panties as she slept. Gently masturbating her in her sleep, he imagined pressing down on her clit while sliding a slow but purposeful finger along her pussy slit through her panties. As if she was his blind date who was afflicted with Narcolepsy, he'd be deemed such a cad to take sexual advantage of his drunken, sleeping mother. Nonetheless, with him being such a sexual scoundrel, he imagined continuing to masturbate her while fingering her erect nipples through her bra.

Not nearly done undressing and incestuously and sexually assaulting his mother in her inebriated deep, sleep state, eager to strip her naked, he saved the best for last. As if unlocking a safe that contained his mother's secret and most valued, family jewels, he imagined ever so slowly and gently unsnapping her front snapping bra. Again, as if there was a drumroll of suspense going off in his head before parting open his mother's bra, he imagined how Moses must have felt just before parting the Red Sea.

Instead of rushing to open her bra to see her naked breasts, he took his time. The first time seeing her naked tits, he wanted to remember this moment forever. Leaving her bra unsnapped but in place, he imagined sliding a slow finger along her breast bone and in between her soon to be naked breasts. He felt the side and the shape of one of her bulbous breasts before feeling the size and the shape her other bulbous breast. Then, just before removing her bra cups, as if he had died and gone to Heaven, he heard angelic music playing.

'Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah,' he imagined angels singing before seeing his mother's naked breasts. 'Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.' Interrupting his angelic musical serenade, he heard the Devil. 'Strip her. Strip her naked. Then, mount her. Fuck your mother. Fuck her.'

With incestuous, sexual anticipation erecting his prick, while imagining that he was opening the pearly Gates of Heaven or the deep, dark hole of Hell by parting his mother's brassiere, he was ready to reveal her naked breasts. Something he had yearned to see for six, long, sexually frustrating years and something he had imagined seeing while masturbating himself, this was the moment of his mother's unveiling. Hoping that she'd continue sleeping while he uncovered her breasts, he couldn't wait to see her big, naked tits.

'This was it. This was really it. I'm about to see my mother's naked tits,' he imagined thinking while undressing her. 'If it wasn't enough seeing her in her bra and panties and touching and feeling her everywhere through her underwear, I can't believe I'm finally going to see my mother's naked tits.'

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He was stunned and in shock that he was about to unveil his mother's naked breasts. He couldn't wait to masturbate over all that he was imagining seeing of his mother now, later. As if he was opening the Tabernacle cabinet that housed the gold, Communion chalice behind the altar in a Catholic Church, Michael imagined holding his mother's unsnapped bra in each hand, before slowly parting her brassiere. He imagined feeling the way that Vincent Vega, played by John Travolta in Pulp Fiction, felt when opening the briefcase of Marsellus Wallace, played by Ving Rhames.

"Vincent," said Samuel L. Jackson as Jules Winnfield. "Are we good?"

'Oh, yeah,' thought Michael about to behold his mother's beautiful orbs. 'We're good. We're very good.'

As he parted his mother's brassiere, he imagined a shimmering light of gold emanating from her opened bra in the way that it did from the opened briefcase in Pulp Fiction. As if his mother's naked breasts were the golden idol in the Raiders of the Lost Ark, he imagined he was Indiana Jones played by Harrison Ford. When he finally separated his mother's brassiere, he imagined staring at her naked tits as if he had never seen naked tits before. He imagined staring at his mother's naked breasts as if they were an unearthed buried treasure or a priceless work of art.

Kneeling before them while worshiping his false idols, he imagined staring at her naked breasts as if they were religious symbols that were worthy of his undying worship. He imagined staring at his mother's naked breasts before touching, feeling, and fondling her naked tits. He imagined fingering her erect nipples in the way that he fingered blessed, holy, rosary beads. In the way his mother was exquisitely beautiful, he imagined her big, shapely, naked breasts being exquisitely beautiful too.

'Behold my mother's beautiful, big tits,' he imagined exclaiming.

Imagining that seeing her naked breasts were a religious experience, as if taking the Eucharist in his mouth, he imagined lowering his lips to his mother's breasts and taking her nipples between his lips, first one and then the other. While still masturbating her by rubbing her clit her through her panties with one hand, he continued feeling and fondling her big tits while fingering her nipples with his other hand. As if she was having a sexy dream, he watched her naked nipples erecting bigger in the way that his cock grew harder.

Still not done undressing her yet, while praying to Saint Valentine that his mother didn't awaken, as if she was a drugged and/or a drunken coed at a frat party, he imagined ever so slowly removing his mother's panties. The pièce de résistance, gradually easing them down lower, he imagined exposing the top of her blonde, trimmed pubic hair to his horny, incestuous eyes. While watching her closed eyes in hopes that she didn't awaken, he continued easing down her panties until her entire pussy was revealed. Then, ever so gently, he removed her panties from her legs, ankles, and feet.

'Oh, my God, my mother is naked,' he imagined thinking. 'If it wasn't enough that I saw touched, and felt my mother's big, naked breasts while fingering her erect nipples, I can't believe I'm finally seeing my mother's naked pussy. I can't believe I'm finally seeing my mother naked,' he imagined saying.

While hoping that she'd remain soundly sleeping, he couldn't wait to have some sexy, naked fun with his mother. Even though he thought undressing her would be enough and even though he thought he'd never sexually take advantage of his sleeping mother by having sex with her, he couldn't wait to have sex with her. Besides, nothing more than a sexual fantasy, an opportunity of a lifetime, he'd be nuts not to have sex with his mother.

As if he was ready to have her own religious experience by giving his mother communion with his tongue, he imagined gently and stealthily spreading his mother's long, shapely legs and taking the most holy of holies, her pussy, in his mouth. Gently and stealthily licking her pussy while fingering her pussy, as if he was her Holy Father instead of her horny son, once she was wet enough, he imagined anointing his mother with his hard, erect cock. Now that she was naked and prepped for sex, he couldn't wait to make love to her. Now that she was soundly sleeping, as if she was having a drunken dream, he couldn't wait to fuck her.

Carefully climbing on her bed when slowly and gently mounting her, supporting his weight with his hands, he was careful not to awaken her. With her already so wet, he reached between his legs and parted his mother's pussy with his erect prick. Ever so slowly humping her, he made love to his mother as if he was making love to the Virgin Mary. Then, as if she was preprogrammed to do so, she opened her eyes. When he imagined his mother opening her eyes, instead of rejecting him in horror, he imagined her wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and consensually agreeing to having sex with him.

Now that she was conscious and having consensual sex, albeit incestuous sex with him, she returned his humps with her humps. Fucking her as if she was a whore in the image Jesus' lover, Mary Magdalene, he imagined pounding his mother's pussy until she had a sexual orgasm. With her tubes tied and her no longer able to conceive, he imagined pounding his mother's cunt until he ejaculated a huge load of cum in her pussy.

'Happy Valentine's Day, Mom,' he imagined saying after giving her sexual satisfaction by giving her incestuous, orgasmic pleasure with his erect prick.

After imagining fucking her, he imagined her giving him a deep, wet kiss. After imagining fucking her, he imagined her giving him a blowjob. He imagined her allowing him to cum in her mouth before shooting a second load all over her face, in her hair, and across her naked breasts. After imagining fucking her, he imagined making her his woman. After fucking her, he imagined making her his incestuous whore, sexual slave, and cum slut. After imagining having sex with his mother that first time, he imagined having sex with her all the time, every morning and every night.

'Happy Valentine's Day, Michael. You've made your mother so very happy,' he imagined his mother saying.

To be continued...

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