Mom Swap: Love Your Mother Right

I was still staring blankly into the void.

"Mark? Do you understand?"

"Y-yes. Yes," I mumbled sluggishly. He turned me around the door, poured me some water, and sent me to bed.

I walked into that very room again wearing my clothes. It required an immense amount of courage to turn the doorknob and enter.

It was dark. I hesitated, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness until I could make out a silhouette beneath the covers. A mask lay resting beside a lamp on the nightstand.

I circled to the other side of the bed, slipping beneath the sheets, avoiding any direct eye contact with the figure lying beside me.

"Mm-mm, who's that?" I heard the familiar voice. The same voice that made me run away.

"It's me, Mom. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd come to you," I shifted my gaze towards her. Drowsy and disheveled, my Mom scanned me with her eyes and gently placed her hand on my head.

"It's okay, sweetie. Let's go to sleep."

It was really her. I turned my face to the wall and tried to sleep, to forget everything like a nightmare.

=

I woke up to the sound of noise downstairs, the sun shining in my eyes. I felt so good, so relaxed and sleepy. Yesterday seemed like a stupid, silly dream.

It was empty next to me, I was lying in bed alone. Maybe it really was a dream. Then I still had hope.

I changed my clothes and went downstairs. Faint voices and laughter echoed from the depths of the kitchen, but I had no desire to go in there at all.

Someone pinched my butt and turning around in front of me was Miss Yellow. "You were really good yesterday, kiddo." She smirked and walked past in a light shawl.

No, yesterday's events had undoubtedly been nothing more than a bad dream. With that realization, I went to the kitchen.

My Mom was standing by the window, a cigarette tendrils of smoke curling into the air. Her hair, neatly arranged into a ponytail, framed her face.

"Good morning," I barely mumbled.

She turned around. "How did you sleep, sweetie?"

I stared at her face, still trying to figure out if yesterday was a dream or reality.

"Good," I replied.

"Good? That's all you have to say? Clara managed to paint quite the picture of last night. I had no idea you weer such a perfect lover." Mom's lips curled into a mischievous smile as she leaned in, lightly nibbling on my ear.

"Yeah, me too."

We took our seats at the table, and Connor joined us soon after. The seating arrangement was the same as the previous day - my Mom and I sat on one side, with Ms. Yellow across from me, next to Connor.

Connor's gaze remained fixed on his mother, and my Mom couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him.

The atmosphere was heavy with silence, and I didn't feel like engaging in conversation. At one point, I glanced at my Mom and noticed the slight discoloration and blemishes on her chest, barely concealed by her dress.

"What are you looking at?" she said hiding her neckline with her hand.

"When did you get that?" I whispered and pointed to the redness on her chest.

"Oh, that. It's nothing," She blushed slightly and threw a glance at Connor.

Those marks, the ones I left yesterday. So it wasn't a dream.

Pretty soon we were getting ready to leave. I wanted to leave as soon as possible. I was still in the denial stage, my brain not fully accepting the fact of what had happened.

Just before we made our exit, Connor extended something towards me - a blue book.

"Here, take it," he offered.

"I don't want to read that abomination," I retorted, my emotions still raw.

"It's a gift. You should never turn down a gift. I promise you'll love it," he insisted.

As our Moms said their goodbyes, I took the book and stashed it in my backpack.

Ms. Yellow walked over to me, kissing me on the cheek. "That was the best sex of my life," she whispered, slightly biting my earlobe.

"Yeah, great," I nodded and immediately walked out.

"Come visit us more often" was the last thing I heard.

On the bus, I was afraid to even slightly look at my Mom. Maybe Connor really had tricked me. But then again, how did she get those scars on her chest? I did it.

To distract myself, I pulled out the book and picked up where I left off.

«...Initially, the notion of marrying one's own mother might strike as peculiar. During adolescence, we embark on a quest for a romantic partner. Yet, our mothers are our earliest guides into the realm of relationships, learning about the female body and its charming features.

At a young age, men often peek at their mothers' bodies. For example in the shower or when they are changing clothes. They think about that body and learn about it. They of course wanted more, but as men mature, these explorations and taboos recede, giving way to a pursuit of genuine, adult relationships with women who are not kin.

Nonetheless, these early, somewhat clandestine, encounters and emotions do not simply vanish into oblivion. They may lie dormant within the subconscious, casting a subtle yet profound influence on adult experiences. Neglected and unexplored, these feelings can manifest as various forms of psychological distress.

Today, these abandoned feelings become the cause of many men's mental illness, depression, and failure in their sex and family life...

The men of Kyriake disregarded the rules and immediately from puberty spoke of their desires to their mothers.

The women of Kyriake faced a choice. Few were willing to cast aside all convention and surrender to the passionate desires of their young sons. For some, it was a matter of loyalty to their husbands, while for others, the prospect of entangling in such complex relationships was fraught with trepidation.

But the prevailing sentiment that flowed beneath this unconventional love was one of fear; fear of estranging their sons, fear of shattering the sacred familial bond. And so, many mothers, bound by a love both maternal and fraught with desire, agreed to this passion. To be loved and impregnated by her sons."

I closed the book. I'd had enough mother-son love stories for one day.

I looked at my Mom. She was rubbing her breasts painfully through her tank top and touching her belly every few seconds.

"Did you like it at Connor's?"

She looked at me carefully, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, I actually did. But I don't think you want to know the details, honey," she smiled and rubbed her chest again. "I think your friend is in love with me. Though when we sat at the table he seemed kind of cold. Barely looked at me."

I pulled myself together. "It wasn't Connor, Mom."

"What?" she tensed her eyebrows, catching my words.

"It was me."

She was quiet for a few seconds, trying to determine which moment I was referring to, her breasts shaking a little from the motion of the bus. "What do you mean, it was you?"

"We switched rooms. I was with you, Connor was with his Mom."

She was silent. Her face slowly flooded with color, blushing and blushing.

"You mean..."

I nodded. Mom turned away, looking somewhere else and I fell silent.

I opened the book again and read one of the last paragraphs of the first chapter before shoving it into my backpack.

"All doubts of mothers immediately disappeared as soon as they tasted the sweet, young love of their sons. This love was nothing compared to what their old, incapable husbands could give them."

=

Life went on. We never discussed what happened. Neither of us wanted to. Connor stopped going to school for some reason and I didn't see him for a long time. I wanted to curse him, but maybe there was a silver lining to it all.

I sank into the book, studying the contents for myself. With each page I became a little more educated, and a little more insane.

One day I came home and my Mom was sitting in the kitchen with her legs tucked in. She was wearing a lightweight dress, her scars from my nails already healed, her breasts almost jutting out of the fabric, her beautiful legs joined together, and her hair down to her shoulders.

"Sit down," she said sternly.

I obeyed. Was it the time?

"So it was you, then?" she said.

I nodded.

"Did you... enjoy it?" she barely squeezed out of her mouth.

I thought I hadn't heard the question well. So I remained silent.

"Mark, please be honest. Did you enjoy it?" she repeated with a newfound confidence.

"Yes. Very much. I loved it. Sorry."

A heavy silence hung in the air as she sighed deeply, pausing to gather her thoughts before continuing, "I'm pregnant, Mark. And you're the father."

"I'm sorry."

"Of course you are." She sighed.

At that moment, I felt no regret. Those words, "I'm pregnant" made me for some reason not dizzy, but exited and horny. What I learned from the book cheered me up.

"Did you like it?"

"What?"

"I was honest with you, Mom. Now I want you to be honest with me."

I got up and moved closer, my groin was on the level of her head.

"I... Of course, I liked it, Mark, but you're my son. Gosh, how can I even say something like that."

"It's already happened, Mom. There's nothing more wrong that we can't do again." I unzipped my fly.

"No, Mark"

Like the Kyriake women, my Mom had no chance to resist her son's young cock.

"Just remember how good it felt." I took her hand and dragged her into the bedroom. She didn't resist and I ripped off that stupid dress, revealing her tits. Her nipples were swelling, I touched them and sat Mom down on the bed, pulling up her dress.

"I can't, Mark." she lay down, pieces of her dress were still hanging off her.

"You can't say no to me, Mom."

"At least..." It's like she was about to cry. "Use a condom."

I wasted no time, pulled a condom that still left from the last time, and found myself between her legs, finding my way to heaven. Without wasting time I entered Mom's pussy.

"Ohhhhhh." I groaned.

"Ohhhh, Mark. Yeah, yeah, I starting to remember."

I entered all the way in and deeper, remembering the familiar sensations, though the condom of course prevented me from enjoying everything like the first time.

This time I had a chance to enjoy her face. It twisted as soon as I entered, my tip touching her guts. Mom's mouth opened in semi-agony and her eyes stared deep into mine.

Finally, I started fucking her, moving, savoring the moment. "Ohhhh, so fucking good". My hips moved on their own by muscle memory, my skin stretched to the limit inside a condom and incredible pleasure permeated every fiber of my body. It was a blissful and euphoric sensation. Every nerve ending tingled with the uncontainable delight.

"Do what you do best, make Mommy feel good," like that night, she rubbed my hair in a motherly way, giving herself to the moment.

I fucked her even more vigorously, using all my rage. My other hand was spreading Mom's legs, my hips hitting hers, my cock penetrating her, the sounds of bodies slamming filled the room.

I was shaking with pleasure, exhausted out of breath I paused briefly, not wanting to stop. At those moments she smiled slyly, biting her lip, making me want to fuck her even harder.

"You were much more active when I was wearing the mask."

I penetrated her again in a sudden rush, again and again trying to hurt her. My cock shook, the bed trembled beneath us, and I leaped up and down, trying to enter as deep and hard as possible

"Ughhhh, yes."

"Not so fast." she almost squealed, flinching after each thrust of my hips.

Here it is, the right speed. I pushed harder, the air rushing out of my chest. "Uh-huh-huh-huh," the joy I felt was unrivaled, filling me with a sense of contentment and delight beyond compare.

She sank her claws into my back, hugging me. But I kept pulling out of her embrace with a sharp jerk out of her vagina and back in, penetrating her. The perfect pussy.

I found a moment a sank my lips into her mouth, wanting to savor my mother's forbidden taste.

"M-m-m...Mark," she tried to stop the kiss, but I wanted to taste her so much. Our tongues intertwined in a tender touch, like lovers.

To her surprise, I froze and slowly withdrew my cock, pulling off the condom.

"No, Mark" she whispered beggingly. "We shouldn't"

"Sh-h-h-h, Mom. Just enjoy."

At this point I entered full again, all the way in, but without a condom. "Ughhhhhh, Mom." I moved backward withdrawing halfway and re-entered my motherly pussy fully again. My cock was gently enveloped by her insides that had brought me into this world. The heat from Mom's body and breasts was driving me crazy. I dug my claws into her boobs and nipples again, ripping old wounds.

"Ughh, Mark," She collapsed and closed her eyes, cumming on her son's cock. I saw her cumming face and the nausea came again. Like this wasn't the woman I was supposed to be having sex with. I didn't care.

I kissed her frantically, from her mouth, to her cheeks, to her breasts, my hands interlocked on her neck. She didn't mind. She's mine now. The vagina I'll fuck as much as I want. I was incredibly close, almost on the edge. The air was still escaping my lungs with every thrust.

"I'm going to do it... inside, Mom. I'm sorry."

She didn't answer, coming to her senses after another orgasm.

With a final, powerful thrust, I buried myself as deep inside Mom as I could. With each passing second, the waves of pleasure grew stronger and more intense. I gasped for breath, my body trembling with the sheer intensity of it all. I almost fainted with pleasure, everything went black before my very eyes.

At that moment it was over. "Ughhhh, take it," My balls exploded and a torrent of cum erupted from my cock, flooding her pussy. It splurts inside, filling her insides and leaking out. Eruption after eruption, shot after shot right into Mom's vagina, filling its womb and sucking life out of me. "Ughhhh. Mom. I'm cumming in my own mother again." She ran her hands through my hair as I clung wildly to her breasts.

I trembled feeling cum leaving my balls and entering Mom's womb, emptying my balls. My testicles were rising and falling, releasing more and more cum.

Finally, I was empty.

I collapsed next to her, coming to my senses. "What could be better than this?"

Fixing her disheveled hair, my mom ran her hand over her wet vagina, semen flowed from there in a thin streak like a brook, it trickled out of her vagina. "You are crazy, Mark. You did it again."

I was passing out, and before I fell asleep I remembered the way she talked about my father, and how she had been looking for someone worthy to have more children for a long time, someone to give me a brother or sister. Maybe I was that worthy one. It's just like the book says. Our mothers are the perfect wives.