It’s certainly not good for a supposedly happily married woman, to fall in love. That’s what happened to me, as I fell in love with a man, much younger to me. And, to make matter worse, the man with whom I fell in love, was none other than my own son. After remaining faithful to my husband for nearly twenty years, one fine day I found that I was interested in my own teenage son.
My feeling towards my son, Rahul had nothing to do with a motherly love; a mother has for her son. In contrast, I desperately wanted him between my thighs, thrusting his rigid love tool into my willing receptacle, driving me wild with joy and ecstasy. I badly wanted to feel his naked body lying next to me, his hands caressing my plump body, his fingers pinching my tits and exploring my sex.
When these thoughts started haunting me; in the beginning, I was deeply ashamed. I was terribly shocked how could I think about having sex with my own son, probably, the worst kind of sin. I spent numerous nights crying with shame, cursing myself. I prayed to God to help me to overcome my immoral thoughts. Time and again, I resolved to abolish my lewd thoughts.
However, the incestuous thoughts remained very potent and after every brief stint of remorse, the fantasies came back more strongly, Overwhelming even my toughest resolve.
I was well aware of the risks; my thoughts could bring on my family and myself in particular. Living in a traditionally orthodox South Asian country, I knew very well what could happen if my feeling towards my son become public. My married life would be ruined permanently, and I would be a pariah for rest of my life.
Nonetheless, I could not do away with my incestuous thoughts about my son. The sense of shame and guilt diminished over a period of time and finally, I succumbed to the temptation. I gave up my resistance and started enjoying my lewd thoughts about my son.
I convinced myself that I was only fantasizing, not actually doing anything with my son; thus my incestuous thoughts were no way going to harm anyone. Little did I know that it was a stepping-stone toward my full-fledged sexual relationship with my son? I started with fantasizing about my son while masturbating. To my surprise; I found that I was drawing immense pleasure out of it; I relished the terrific orgasms, every time it induced into my body.
I must admit that, my transformation from a simple stay at home mom to a horny slut didn’t happen in just one day. Only six months back, I was a dedicated housewife to my husband Deepak and a loving mother to my only son Rahul. Our marriage had already entered into its twentieth year, and most of the time our relationship was easy going. I never had any problem with my husband. Deepak was a good husband, a good father and he did everything to make us happy and I feel perhaps he overdid it.
I was only seventeen, when I got married to Deepak. Like most of the marriages in my country, our’s was also an arranged marriage. I had never met Deepak before our marriage. Deepak’s parents were old friend of my father. Once he completed his graduation, our families decided that we would be life partners.
I was initially apprehensive about our marriage, but I found that my fears were uncalled for. Deepak was a very handsome and good-natured young man, and above all he was a terrific lover.
We had our first intercourse, on the first night of our honeymoon. I didn’t have any sexual encounter before that night. Although, Deepak was older to me by seven years, he was also a virgin, quite natural in our country that time. I still remember when Deepak saw me naked for the first time; he was so excited that he shot his load, even before his cock could enter my pussy.
That was the first time, when I saw a rigid male organ, naked and throbbing, spewing drop after drop of hot seed onto my bush and belly. I enjoyed the feeling and I still relish the feel of hot cum drenching my body.
He was successful in his second attempt and I lost my maidenhood as he impaled his massive organ into my delicious cunt. I cried with pain as his cock popped my cherry, but soon the pain was replaced by a deep sense of exhilaration, and I went on enjoying my first intercourse tremendously. I still reveled in the feeling with the same fervor, the rhythmic plundering of Deepak’s bulbous cock into my slick pussy.
By the time, he fucked me for the second time; I knew in my heart that I was addicted to the newfound pleasure. We were staying at a hill station; we remained in our room through out our stay and did nothing other than making love again and again. We seldom moved out of our hotel and didn’t visit any place at all. As a result, when we returned home after our stay for two weeks, I was already pregnant with Rahul.
Deepak was an engineer with a good job and excellent salary. We moved to his place of posting; Mumbai, then known as Bombay. We had an excellent marital life, with lots of love and plenty of sex. Deepak and I always enjoyed sex and we never missed any single opportunity to jump into each other pants. My husband was an excellent lover and he always kept my horny pussy in satiated condition.
Our sexual life had a lot of petting, caressing, copulations but unfortunately, no oral simulation. We were not into it. Although a number of times, I watched porn movies with Deepak and I must admit that I was tempted to explore some of the new techniques shown in those movies. However, Deepak had a different opinion about it, It was not for the decent people to do those sort of things. I could never dare to ask him. I never sucked him and Deepak also never went down on me; he never tongued my pussy.
We both were from religious and orthodox families, and naturally such things were unheard in our families. We never discussed sex with our parents; I never knew whether my parent actually had sex. However, I was always tempted to little nasty things, and I was only the fear of my father, which forced me to keep my hymen intact till my marriage.
Our initial ten years were excellent. Deepak changed a number of jobs and finally, rose to the level of general manager in a company.
One day Deepak announced that he was quitting his job and setting up his own industry. He got loan from the bank and soon started his own little workshop. He had the knowledge of the field, good contacts at right places because of his earlier jobs, so his venture flourished and soon, he became a successful businessman. We purchased a new apartment in a posh area and shifted to our new accommodation.
Success always comes with a price and ours too had its price. The first casualty was our sex life. Deepak became more and more busy, sometimes working fourteen to sixteen hours a day. He became obsessed with success and that made him completely oblivious of his wife and his growing son, who was now in his puberty.
The frequency of our sexual encounter reduced drastically. Almost everyday Deepak would return very late at nights from his factory, exhausted and dead tired. After dinner he would immediately go to sleep, sometimes even without talking with me.
Initially, I was sympathetic to him. I could appreciate his busy schedule and felt that after all he was doing it for us. I tried to busy myself with my son, who was fast growing into handsome teenager. I looked after his studies and his other requirements that a teenager needed from his family.
However, the sex was like life nectar for me. From the very first day, when I lost my maidenhood, I had adored sex and soon I started feeling the pinch of it. My sex-starved body started showing the signs of it. I became more and more frustrated, and that resulted in numerous heated arguments with Deepak. Most of the time, he was empathic and we reconciled, but his priorities had changed and after some day of restraint, he would again go back to his old ways.
Finally, I realized the futility of our altercations and resigned to my fate. I was entering into my thirty-seventh year and Rahul had turned into a fine looking young man. He regularly participating in sports and he had a passion for bodybuilding.
He had developed a small gym in his room and many a times, I watched him working in his gym, with only his shorts over his body. I could recall the strange feelings of arousal; I used to have, while watching his seminude body working with weights. I could not understand the reason for those feelings, but I loved to feast on his well-toned muscular body.
After celebrating my thirty-fifth birthday, I realized that I was putting on weight. It was the worst nightmare for a woman like me; who was known for her beauty and delicate figure. I was no more delicate and curvaceous beauty. My older clothes were no more fitting to me.
In the mirror, I could now see a puffier face, swelled thighs and tummy. I was aghast. I was always admired for my beauty, and the sudden realization that I was no more a beautiful woman, was devastating. I tried to lose weight by exercising and dieting, but failed miserably.
Soon, I discerned that exercising was not my forte, and after some time, I gave it up. I could draw solace from the fact that I was still plagued by numerous second stares; whenever I was out shopping. I was aware of people stopping and trying to steal a second glance at me. That was more than better for a chubby woman in her late thirties; still, deep within I remained miserable.
Rahul had completed his schooling. Following his father’s footsteps, he also chose engineering for his graduation. He got admission to a good college in Mumbai itself. His college was about thirty miles from our house. In order to save his time during traveling, he decided to get an accommodation in a hostel within the premises of his college.
I didn’t like the idea. I never wanted him to stay in the hostel. I strongly opposed the idea. Deepak was also in favor of our son’s staying at hostel. But, I refused to budge.
Finally, My son showed some concern for me, and it was decided that he would stay at the hostel, only during the examinations and during the similar exigencies. During normal days he would stay at home. I was happy and I thanked my son for his concern.
My happiness was short-lived. Rahul would leave the house early in the morning and would return only by evening, leaving me alone at house for the day. It was only during the weekends, that we would be together in true sense. I was again getting frustrated.
Finally, my son suggested me a way to keep myself busy. He introduced me to computers and especially to the Internet. He took great pains in explaining basic things to me. He taught me how to use a mouse, how to work with windows, how to connect to the Internet and how to open a mail id and use it. He created a mail id for me.
With his help, I started using Internet. Initially, I fumbled with the new technology; Computers were not there when I was a student. But, I was a quick learner and in a short span, I developed a knack for computers. I started using it with ease and slowly became more and more confident. I found it a good release and started spending hours before my son’s personal computer. Deepak was especially happy, as I had stopped complaining.
I found Internet very fascinating and started spending hours online, mostly writing mails and chatting. Almost regularly, I chatted with my son or my husband, when they were away. Rahul was careful enough to drop me a line or two, every now and then, just to keep my mailbox full of mails. I also made some online friends, and that kept me pretty busy during my free time. I vented my frustration to my new hobby; I became addicted to the web world.
Like it happens to all Internet users, the Internet introduced me to the world of Internet sex. Although, I was vaguely aware of it, initially I didn’t try to fiddle with any such ideas. My son had warned me about spams and had advised me not to open it, and to directly delete it from my mailbox.
In the beginning, I religiously followed his instructions, but once out of curiosity I clicked on one such mail. Immediately, a new page opened on the screen, showing gorgeous naked girls displaying their genitals in the most lewd manner. I was stunned to see it, and closed the page right away.
I shut down my computer, but the nude figures of those models continued dancing before my eyes. Suddenly, my frustration was back with an overwhelming ferocity. I didn’t have had any sex with my husband for last two months. I longed to feel a male cock ravishing my horny pussy.
I tried to resist the temptation, but my horniness failed me, and I finally succumbed to the temptation. I restarted the computer, reconnected to the net and opened my mailbox. Again, I clicked on the link to open the same page, I had been watching last time.
This time it didn’t shock me, I was prepared for it. Leisurely, I scanned through the page, enjoying the nude girls and their displays. Then, I clicked to another link given at the bottom of the page, opening a new page with more visuals, showing naked men and women having sex in all possible manners.
I was extremely exited. Unknowingly, my free hand traveled to my pussy. I gently rubbed it, through the material of my gown. I had a strange feeling. I had never masturbated before; I had always thought it, as a bad thing and a god fearing simple housewife should not indulge in such activities.
My every notion changed that day, as my fingers didn’t stop at my hem. My fingers entered inside my gown, even inside my panties. I felt my soft curly bush and tender pussy lips. I was dripping wet. My fingers rubbed my pussy lips, and for the first time, I was playing with my pussy. The feeling was of pure delight. There was no guilt, just an overwhelming sense of ecstasy.
My eyes were glued to the screen, which was continuously displaying men and women indulging in every sort of activities. I watched pictures of women having cocks in their every holes, men shooting their cum into their faces and mouths, and I excitedly watched them slurping the white gluey fluid sticking to their partners’ cocks and to their own faces. I was fascinated and deep in my heart; I ached to feel a cock into my mouth.
I continued browsing page after page. I don’t remember how many or which sites, I visited that day. I wasn’t concerned about that. All I was interested in watching the pictures of men and women having sex.
My fingers continued playing with my pussy and clitoris. The trembling in my legs was aggravating with every brush of my fingers over my swollen pussy and soon the floodgate opened. I had brought myself to a thundering orgasm. My first masturbation was an unforgettable experience.
My journey to Internet sex had begun. I reveled in watching newer sites day by day and masturbate while watching those lascivious pictures. My transformation into a horny slut was in progress.
My euphoria didn’t last long. Soon, I found that I was not able to draw enough excitement from those pictures. The effect was no longer as lasting as it was in the initial days. I started getting bored with the images. I wanted the stimulation that could linger on and on, even after shutting down the computer. My search finally ended with the sites displaying erotic stories.
I found erotica very fascinating and straight away, I was hooked to it. I started reading those nicely written stories, the descriptions so vivid and live, that most of them felt like actually happening. It had enough ingredients to kindle my imagination, and even when I was not using my computer, those narration would became alive in my mind and my fingers would automatically reach for my pussy and started playing with my clit. With every passing day, I became more and more daring. Firstly, I stopped wearing panties; whenever I was alone at home, and later; I stopped putting on my clothes altogether. I would sit in front of my computer completely naked, my one hand busy with keyboard and mouse, and the other busy with my dripping pussy.
I loved the feel of my nakedness. As soon as, I was alone at home, I would simply shed all my clothes and roam around in the house completely nude.
Whenever, I was alone; I would open a new story and got myself busy with the lively narratives on the screen, while my fingers would play music with my cunt, taking me slowly to the most wonderful orgasm. My frequency of self-indulgence increased manifold; on any particular day, I would finger myself to orgasm for three or four or even more number of times.
It was the time, when I first started thinking about incest. For some unexplained reasons, I found incestuous stories more captivating than the stories in the other categories. One by one, I read most of them, brothers screwing their sisters, father fucking their daughters, mothers enjoying lustful relationships with their sons; uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews, all of them enjoying sex with each other, doing all sorts of nasty things and what not.
To my amazement, I realized that it was the mother son section, which I found the most titillating. The themes of horny moms getting screwed by their teenage sons were so enchanting, that it always gave me the most powerful orgasm. I feel, perhaps It was most convenient for me, to fantasize myself as the horny mothers depicted in those stories, getting fucked by their teenage sons.
My first reaction to my lecherous thoughts involving my son was a disgustful repulsion. I was conscience-stricken for days. I was mortified, how could I even envisage myself having sex with my own son, the most forbidden relation between a mother and her son. It was a sin of worst kind and I prayed on numerous wakeful nights to get rid of my incestuous feelings.
In spite of my nagging conscience, my incestuous thoughts toward my son continued, and rather it intensified with time. Finally, my resistance ceased and I succumbed to the most enthralling temptation of my life. I continued masturbating while thinking of having sex with Rahul. With the time, my fantasies involving Rahul became more vivid and more kaleidoscopic.
Gradually, the feelings of guilt and shame were completely gone. My lewd thoughts were no longer a sin; it simply became my most sensuous fantasies, my most precious treasure. I derived extreme pleasure in fantasizing about doing every kind of vulgar things with my son, every time driving myself to the most shattering orgasm. All the perceptions were changed and I realized that I desperately wanted to screw my own son.
I wanted to fuck my son, but I didn’t have any idea, how was I going to fulfill my fantasy. I didn’t have any clue about my son’s feelings towards me, whether he ever thought his mom as an object of sex. Did he ever fantasize about fucking his mom? There were so many questions that needed answers, before I could even start thinking of seducing my son.
The help came from divine. Rahul had given me a small notebook that contained tit bits of information, about handling a personal computer. Rahul had written brief instructions about operating the computer, and had given it to me, when I was a novice, learning computers. It had rendered useless, once I learned my job and was lying idle in my cupboard.
One day, while tending my cupboard, I found that notebook. I was just flipping through its pages, when something caught my eyes. Carefully, I flipped the pages again and on the third last page, I found a mail id and a password. I was aware of my husbands and Rahul’s mail ids, and the mail id I found on the notebook was a new one. I had never seen that before.
Presumably, my son had another mail id with a pseudonym. Out of curiosity, I logged his computer to the net and opened the particular site; typed the mail address and the password in the login box. The screen flickered for a moment, and slowly the mailbox of Hothamburger opened.