The Reluctant Mombyimhapless©
I just turned twenty one and it was the summer of 2011, after my junior year in college. To properly set the stage I need to give a brief physical description of myself and my parents. I'm 6'7", 245 lbs. My mom is forty, 5'8", 135 lbs., physically fit, with big tits, a killer ass and thighs, a beautiful face, and is the sweetest woman alive. My dad, Owen, is the same height as my mom, thin, and balding, and twelve years older.
Growing up I always had a wonderful relationship with my mother, Jill. Since I was eighteen all my friends (male or female) that met her referred to her as "The Torch," that is the hottest mom in town.
My dad made a good living, and was basically a good dad, though emotionally detached.
No one who met both my parents ever thought they were a good match. They were not affectionate toward one another, and it seemed that my mother was often wistful. However, my mom was extremely affectionate with me.
From the time I was eighteen I started to have a "thing" for my mother. However when I was young I had heard the expression "motherfucker," and discerned from those I hung out with that a "motherfucker" was the lowest form of life. Therefore, when I recognized my feelings I would dig my left thumbnail into my left forefinger, sometimes to the point of bleeding, or at least "seeing stars," because I didn't want to think of myself as pond scum.
My pain-inflicting coping mechanism did not stop me from lusting after Mom, however. In addition to being affectionate she never had a problem with modesty around me either, often walking around the house in just a bikini bottom, fueling my lust. I sometimes took to wearing sunglasses in the house to disguise my ogling, and would surreptitiously peek at her when she was in the shower. While her whole body was to die for, her tits could only be done justice by every superlative adjective in the world. They looked different than on any women in any pornography I had ready access to, or any girl I had had sex with.
My hair and eye colors are almost the same as my mom's and everyone said I inherited her good looks, though our facial features are not really similar. Since I was always the biggest kid in the class, and by the time I graduated high school almost a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier than Owen, my mom and acquaintances often joked that I must be the mailman's kid. Owen was an orphan, and Mom had only one sibling (a sister) and her parents died when I was little, so I really didn't have any family to compare myself to.
I got more than my share of tail after I turned eighteen, but I never found a girl that really turned me on. I would compare them to my mother and they came up way short.
Mom was injured in a car crash, and in the summer of 2011. She had to get a cast on her left lower leg, and one on her right arm from the shoulder through the hand. Fortunately the accident resulted only in skeletal injuries, no internal injuries, and did nothing to significantly mar her beautiful face or breasts.
When Mom had her accident, the semester was just ending at the state university I was attending on a football scholarship. I was thinking about giving up football because I was really interested in academics and other endeavors.
The accident presented a significant problem because Mom could not care for herself and Owen had to work, including going on an extended business trip, that summer. Owen was talking about hiring a day nurse and a night nurse when I volunteered to give up my summer job and summer football practice to help her full time if my parents would pay for my last year in college. That also gave me an excuse to give up my football scholarship without the coaches being too mad at me. Mom was excited by the prospect and they agreed.
Helping Mom was a true joy for me, especially when it was time for her daily shower. I put plastic around her casts and got in the shower with her with just loose fitting swim trunks on, to support and soap her - except that she handled her crotch and breasts with her left hand. I would hold her gently upright in the shower (fortunately it was a large one) while scanning her beautiful body and taking in its wonders, and rubbing as many parts as I thought I could get away with. It really got my blood flowing and fired my passion for her. I got an enormous hard on each time, hopefully disguised by my loose fitting trunks. If she noticed my "condition," she never said so.
I was religious about making Mom do physical therapy every day so she never had muscle atrophy. I also made her the best meals I was capable of making. If she ever wanted to go anywhere I would gladly dress her, and carry or wheel her around. She loved my constant attention and body contact, and lovingly stroked me with her good hand many times daily.
One day she asked me to get some insurance information that was in a desk in Owen's study. She told me to look in the lower left drawer, and that it probably was at the bottom of the drawer.
When I opened the drawer I was initially startled when the first thing I saw was two pairs of fur-lined handcuffs in an unopened plastic package. The package had a card on it with a note from Mom to Owen suggesting that they give the cuffs a try -- obviously they never had. I removed the package from the drawer.
The next thing in the drawer was a folder. When I opened up the folder I wasn't just startled -- I was shocked. It had information about my adoption shortly after Mom and Owen were married, and how I had been born out of wedlock to someone who didn't have the ability to care for me. Other papers indicated that Mom had miscarried before she and Owen were married and couldn't have any children of her own.
One would think my reaction would be one of anger or betrayal. While there might have been a small hint of those, they were totally overwhelmed by my suppressed emotions from the past three years flowing out - like pulling a cork out of an upside down bottle. The thought that hijacked my brain was "now I can have sex with Jill and I won't be a motherfucker," that is at least not a biological "motherfucker." I was determined that I would "come out of the closet" to her and not use any more coping mechanisms.
I thought about it for a day, including batting about in my mind whether Mom had directed me to the drawer because she wanted me to find what was there. This latter idea was very plausible since when I brought her the insurance folder from the bottom of the drawer her review of it was only perfunctory, and then she had me put it back.
After cogitating I decided I needed to confront Mom with the information that I had found and pretend that I was perturbed, but because of its entirely liberating nature I wasn't going to just blurt it out. I was going to see if she was willing to admit it and/or try to figure out if she had set me up to find it. If she wouldn't admit it or if I determined that she set me up, I would fulfill my fantasy with her. If she was straightforward and it was clear that she didn't set me up, I would play it by ear. I also thought the handcuffs would come in handy.
The next day, as was common, she was wearing a pullover nighty and underpants. As I helped her get out of bed when it was time for her shower I departed from normal procedure and immediately pulled her nighty off over her head. As she was questioning why, before she knew what was happening using the fur-lined handcuffs from the drawer I had handcuffed her good, left, arm to the post at the foot of the bed, and handcuffed her good, right, leg to the bottom frame of the bed, with her facing the bed.
As she was protesting what I was doing I sternly said "Mom, I have twenty questions to ask you about something important. If you lie to me, I'm going to start doing things to you that I have wanted to do since I was eighteen but completely suppressed. If you tell the truth, we will talk about things and see where we go from there."
Mixed in with her protestations were words to the effect that she didn't know what I could possibly be talking about.
"First question, Mom; why do I look so much different than and am so much bigger than Dad?"
"I don't know, Kevin, I think it just happened that way."
"Wrong answer Mom, worth one handful." With that I took my right hand and gently placed it on one of her scrumptious nipples, and slowly, delicately, but insistently stroked her breast, swirling the tips of my fingers around one of those phenomenal teats that had me seeing stars many times in my life. She momentarily quivered and questioned what I was doing, but there was nothing she could do to stop me, and I continued for two or three minutes. It was GREAT!
"Second question, Mom; was I born out of wedlock? Careful how you answer, this is worth one handful and one finger poke."
"Why of course not, Kevin, why would you ask such a question?"
"Wrong answer, Mom." With that I removed her panties, used my left hand to massage her other nipple, and gently worked the middle finger of my right hand into her exposed cunt. This time she literally shuddered for minutes, and softly begged me to stop; but no tears or hysteria. I continued for a good five-six minutes, being very gentle with both her parts, and enjoying both the softness of her nipple and the soothing moisture of her pussy while talking to her with comforting words.
I had never gotten a really good look at her pussy in the shower. Her pussy had protruding but thin lips, her slit was short for a woman her size, and her clit projected prominently out and down. I rubbed her pussy lips and clit as my finger got wet and slippery. It was better than I had dreamed. My cock was rock hard and at complete attention; hands free I could move it up and down at will.
I continued to ask her questions, and she continued to give the wrong answer. After a while I was certain that she had set me up to find the cuffs and adoption folder, including because she was giving the wrong answers even when the questions were completely harmless. They weren't only wrong, they were so off base that she had to know that there was no chance that I would believe them. It was kind of like the old joke "Don't. Stop. Don't, stop. Don't stop don't stop don't stop."
While continuing to fondle a tit, in succession I inserted two fingers in her beautiful snatch, then three, then a thumb in her asshole with fingers in her snatch, then grabbed her magnificent ass with one hand while fingering her cunt and asshole with the other hand. Finally, while holding her ass with both hands, I pushed my dick head against her pussy lips, and for five minutes or so moved it up and down along her slit, into and out of contact with her clit. Her only sounds now were pleasure moans.
She was almost too distracted to even try to answer the last question, but of course got it wrong. I told her that now she was allowing me the chance to fulfill my wildest dream, at which point I gently inserted my dick into her pussy. It was gloriously tight, but gradually opened to take all of me. I very slowly and tenderly fucked her for about five minutes and then grabbing her two beautiful chest orbs for both pleasure and traction, I started to pound the shit out of her. While she continuously yelled "Oh my God" I felt her climax twice. Soon after her second orgasm I ejaculated a copious amount of cum into her pulsating pussy, probably my biggest load in history. At that point she emitted a rapturous scream, and simply fell forward onto the bed. My knees were now too weak to hold her up properly, and I essentially landed on her back, still pumping away -- but now very slowly.
To call that fuck the best experience of my life is to so understate it as to trivialize it. It was all the Fourths of July, Christmases, Thanksgivings, and New Year's Eves ever, rolled into one session of unadulterated ecstasy!
After about ten minutes of slow pumping, I finally went limp and withdrew. She started making sounds like she was among the conscious again. I undid the handcuffs, gently placed her on the bed. Naked I climbed into bed with her, and I softly kissed her lips, neck, eyes, forehead, and breasts.
She opened her beautiful brown eyes and looked directly into mine -- she had a big smile on her face.
"Kevin, I wanted to tell you that you were adopted, but the sexual feelings I had for you and your obvious suppressed lust for me made me worry that if I ever did our relationship would become carnal and that might have an adverse effect on you."
"Mom, I'm a big boy now. You are my dream woman. Having sex with you can only help both of us. I know that you're sexually frustrated, and I never found a girl that turned me on even 1/10th the way you do."
We fucked once a day until her casts were removed, and at least twice a day thereafter for the rest of the summer. Even after Owen came home from his trip, we found opportunities. We never told him that I knew I was adopted.
I'm now at the end of the summer between my senior year and graduate school, and my life has been fantastic ever since we played "twenty questions." She visited me many weekends at my off campus apartment during the school year, and this summer we were like a pair of horny toads (I intentionally worked vastly different hours than Owen). I have another off campus apartment this year. Considering both the psychological and physical aspects, though hard to believe, the sex seems to keep getting even better (although the first fuck is still the best physical experience of my life).
Jill and I love each other in every way possible, and she is no longer wistful -- she is always smiling. I am now trying to find out if I can be un-adopted so that she can get a divorce and I can marry her. Owen had his chance and didn't do right by her. I'm no longer going to push my thumbnail into my finger and not get what I need most in life.