This story took place several years ago when I was a teenager. I have had conflicting feelings of guilt and nostalgia ever since these events took place, and it has helped immensely reading stories on this newsexstory.com website and finding that others have had similar experiences and that I am not so much a freak as I thought. Maybe this tale can help others in a similar position. I would be delighted to see comments, especially from Moms and others who have had similar experiences. The story doesn’t end here.
The episode which would change my life irrevocably (and I believe sincerely, for the better) started one Wednesday afternoon when I was taken ill at school with abdominal pain and vomiting. It proved later to be only transient, but resulted in my being sent home from school half way through the afternoon.
My mom’s job as a pharmacist in a store meant that she usually arrived home considerably later than me, and I let myself into the house using my key. As a rule I also met my younger sister from school and prepared us a snack till Mom got in about 5:30 or so. This had been the norm since my father had died suddenly eighteen months previously. Although we weren’t poor, his insurance hadn’t allowed us to wallow in luxury, either.
Anyway, I knew my mother enjoyed her work in that it allowed her to come into contact with people outside the immediate family. What I had forgotten, however, was that she worked only half a day on Wednesdays…
Feeling the need to pee, I headed straight to the bathroom, but as I reached the landing, I stopped short as I heard some unusual, slightly muffled noises coming from my mom’s room just down the hall. Some instinct told me to be cautious and I silently approached the bedroom door.
Fortunately the carpet was thick and absorbed the sound of my footsteps.
The door was slightly ajar and as I peeped through the gap I could see into the mirrored wardrobes on the far wall. It was immediately clear what was making the noise. There, imaged perfectly in the mirror, and lying almost naked on the bed, her torso supported by two or three pillows, was my mother. The position of the mirror meant that I was looking directly up at her from below and could see her feet, legs and genitals. Her position suggested she was observing her own actions. She was wearing only a pair of very sheer, expensive-looking stockings and a suspender belt, and it was obvious even to me, a rather naive teenager what she was doing. Her right hand was resting on her pubic mound and the middle finger was making rhythmic circular movements at the top of her clearly visible cunt. I was surprised to see how red and luxuriant was her pubic hair. Her left hand, meanwhile, was slowly exploring the rest of her exposed body, stroking her thighs, lower abdomen and buttocks. As I watched, stunned, her left hand travelled up her abdomen and cupped her right breast, gently kneading the soft, milky flesh and pinching, then rolling the nipple between finger and thumb, which from her vocalization she greatly enjoyed.
This left hand seemed to me almost to have a mind of its own, as if another person were caressing her with it. She had her eyes tight closed at this point, preoccupied with her own fantasies, or else it is certain she would have seen me. She was emitting tiny groans of pleasure in time with her slow right hand movements as she wanked herself. I became aware of a musky, familiar yet unfamiliar scent in the room, and a delicious chill went through me as I realized I could smell my own mother’s pussy juices as she stimulated herself. My cock began to harden rapidly as this occurred to me.
I had the sense to shift position slightly into the hall shadow so that although I could still see most of her body, I was less visible from her angle and I could hopefully stay undiscovered. I stared like some small animal hypnotized by a snake. This was my mother I was watching, doing something I had massive guilt trips about indulging in myself… and not only did she seem to be enjoying it, but from the deft way she stroked her clit she was obviously well practiced. I simply couldn’t tear my eyes from her moistened slit, and not only that but I began to feel a terrible urge to take out my by now rock hard penis and wank in synchrony with her. I pushed this shameful thought aside with some difficulty, but my arousal grew second by second.
As I stood open mouthed, my mother’s hand movements gradually accelerated in proportion to her lust. She began to squeeze her breast harder, crushing it against her chest wall and pinching the large pink nipple. She licked her fingers and used the saliva as a lubricant to stimulate the erect teat. Her hips began to lift off the bed slightly, thrusting rhythmically as she moved that middle finger faster, and its motion changed from a circling to a rubbing, flicking. With her left hand she reached under her buttocks and used two fingers to hold her cunt lips apart, exposing her clitoris more, the pink glistening flesh of her hole open wide for me to admire. Her breathing was becoming faster, more ragged, and the soft groans and moans she was making began to take on an urgency. She began to whisper to herself, words I couldn’t hear, but from the squirming of her body they were bringing her to a new level of arousal. By this time my legs were trembling so much I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand, and my cock felt as if I were in serious danger of spontaneously coming in my pants. I was desperately trying to keep my breathing under control for fear of being overheard. Looking back on it, though, there wasn’t much chance of that… Mom was clearly in a world of her own at this point. She was gasping for breath now, and with each exhalation making a little whimpering noise as she rubbed her clit in her desperate need for release.
Her pelvis was rocking back and forth, and still she held her puffy vulval lips open to my view as she continued to spread them with her other hand, the fingers of which I could clearly see were soaked with her juices. Ahh Ahh Ahh AHH AAHHH AAAHHHH!!!… Suddenly she began a rapid gasping crescendo and at the same time she slid the middle finger of her left hand into her soaking cunt hole… still frigging her clit with the other hand.
I could see her pistoning finger glistening with wetness and she thrust her pelvis upwards in a series of shuddering jerks as she climaxed. There was an unbelievably stimulating new sound now… I could hear the wet, regular plunging of her finger in and out of that most forbidden of places as her orgasm reached its peak. The muscles of her legs were taut and straining beneath the sheer material of her stockings for a while, then as her ecstasy ebbed she slowly relaxed and lay back limply on the bed.
How I didn’t ejaculate at the height of her orgasm I really don’t know, but I had never been so sexually excited in my life… not even my most stimulating fantasies came close to this experience. Somehow I managed to creep back out the way I entered, while I could hear Mom’s breathing subsiding to normal behind me.
I made my way to the local shopping mall and immediately went to the public toilet and jerked off in a cubicle. My penis was already moist with pre-cum and it took me only a few strokes to shoot the rest of my wad, my eyes closed, replaying the deliciously wicked secret peep show to which I had been treated.
After my immediate need for sexual release had been satisfied, however, a wave of powerful and conflicting emotions overtook me. Mostly I felt sordid and guilty. I had spied on my own mother in the most private and intimate of acts, then to compound the crime I had wanked off whilst fantasizing about her. I had never consciously looked at my mom in a sexual light but now all of a sudden she was the first live woman I had seen performing any sort of intimate act. Of course I kept some mildly pornographic literature and pictures hidden away and masturbated to these regularly, but at that age I was quite shy with girls, having had only three dates and no experience of serious necking, even. Although I had heard that women masturbate, I don’t think I quite believed it or understood the technique. Another shock was how physically good looking my mother was. The job she had meant that she was always neat and nicely made-up, but today it occurred to me that she was actually a very attractive woman. At the age of thirty-seven she remained slim and could pass for several years younger. She had a neat trim figure with smallish, nicely-shaped breasts, a firm behind and slim, long legs. She wore spectacles as a rule, but she was one of those women who suited them, and always chose flattering frames, so that it has always seemed to me that she was better looking wearing them than without. But her best feature was her hair, which was thick, lustrous and a beautiful dark copper-auburn color, which she wore shoulder length, or at work, in a pony tail or bun.
I felt bound, in my present state of mind, to compare her naked form to the models in the glossy mags tucked in my secret stash, and to my mild surprise she was in no way less tempting. I knew for a fact that she had been asked out on dates after my father’s death, but had always refused.
His illness had been very traumatic, and I don’t think she had yet recovered from the stress of it.
All these thoughts and more raced around in my brain like angry bees, and I wandered the mall for an hour or so almost in a daze. It didn’t help my mood that every passer-by seemed to stare at me as if sensing what I had been doing.
The time came to collect my sister from her school, and I did so as usual.
At every step towards home I became more reluctant to go further. What if my mom had seen me after all? What if she had been in contact with school in my absence? What if she had drifted off to sleep in her naked state and were still there now? However, on the basis that there was really no other place to go, I let us both in. To my overwhelming relief, my mom was in the kitchen with a cup of tea and reading the newspaper. She seemed happy and chirpy, and acted towards me in a perfectly normal mother-son manner.
It struck me immediately what a gorgeous woman she was when viewed objectively. She did ask me that evening if I was feeling O.K. – Possibly something in my manner alerted her… but I told her about my illness at school, and this seemed an acceptable explanation.
That night in bed I lay awake for ages wrestling with my feelings and eventually had to masturbate again before I could sleep.
Over the days and weeks which followed I couldn’t get the memory of that day out of my mind, and I became gradually obsessed with my mother. I began staying awake into the early morning, creeping along the passage and listening outside her room for those same delicious noises which had sparked this. I went through her underwear drawers, imagining stroking the silky material with her lovely flesh underneath, especially those dark sensual stockings. I even… God help me… took soiled panties out of the laundry, held them over my face and inhaled that beautiful, cock-hardening smell of her womanhood. Of course at least once a day I would have to rerun the mental tape I had of her frigging herself off to that shuddering climax and each time I would spurt my seed in an equally intense orgasm as I imagined what that gorgeous glistening wet pussy would feel like grasping my prick as she thrust and spasmed against me.
My mother sensed something was wrong and asked several times what was troubling me, and although it was on the tip of my tongue to confess I never quite had the courage.
Eventually my nocturnal vigils were rewarded. One night about a month after my first revelation, I crept silently along to my mother’s bedroom door. This time the door was almost shut, and although our house was never really dark I couldn’t see inside at all but I literally almost fainted when I heard a rhythmical rustling and rapid heavy breathing. I was naked and immediately began to stroke my erect tool as I imagined my mother’s fingers stroking that gorgeous glistening slit, cupping those milky boobs.
Slowly, the pace of the movements inside the room increased, and there was an occasional soft moan, but muffled, and it seemed as if mom was restraining herself, trying to keep quiet… probably in order not to wake her two children. Somehow… possibly because I was cold… possibly because of guilt… I could not stimulate myself to ejaculation, and I found that I was getting a bit sore. However, as I heard the breathing beyond the door quicken I was mentally bursting with desire. Mom was obviously getting close now, and when there came that same wet squelching sound whose source I had fantasized about so much lately I knew I could stand outside no longer. As silently as I could, I pushed open the door and slipped into the room. Mom froze instantly when I entered. She straightened her legs (which had been bent at the knees and wide open beneath the sheets) and tried to speak in a normal voice as she looked at me. But she was breathing fast as though she had been running hard. “Jim, is that you? What’s wrong?”
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