Danny's Mom Makes Him a Motherfucker

by MuffDiver

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, True Story, Incest, Mother, Son, First, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: A teenage boy is seduced by his mother, marking the beginning of a lifelong intense and vigorous sexual relationship between them.

I was born on my mother's 18th birthday. We shared the exact same birthday and I can remember as I was growing up how she would always tell me how much she loved her birthday gift and how lucky she was to have such a beautiful smart son for her birthday. It always made me feel good and warm all over to hear my mother talk about me that way. I knew that she and I together were very special and I loved her with all my heart.

I would have done anything to please her.

She in turn constantly doted on me and used to spend a lot of time with me after school and on weekends and during summer vacations taking me with her every where she went— shopping, to the park, and sometimes to see some romance type movies, and I loved being with her. I could see how men would stare at her and I knew it was because she was so beautiful and that made me proud. (At the time I was still too young to imagine the kind of sexual lust she stirred in those staring men. All I knew is that she was a beautiful, desirable woman to other men, but that she was my mom and belonged to me, and not to them).

My earliest meaningful memories of my mom go back to when I was about six or seven years old. She would have been about

24 or 25 at that time and I think that was when I first became consciously aware of the fact that my mother was a beautiful woman— kind of tall for a woman at the time at 5'

10" with long shapely legs attached to curvaceous hips with a small waist topped by large soft tits with big nipples. She had long, soft, and silky light brown hair that fell just below her shoulders which she used to comb and let hang over one of her eyes in that sultry Hollywood style of the 40's and 50's with large almond shaped brown eyes and full pouty lips which she always painted with bright red lipstick. She loved to wear tight blouses and sweaters like the Hollywood movie stars of that era and I remember how her tits used to jiggle under her blouses and sweaters when she moved and you could see where her nipples were by the way they were poking out against the thin fabric of her clothes. (When I got older those jiggling tits used to turn me on so much that I would fantasize about sucking them while I jacked off). In short, my mom was a knockout— a real sexpot.

Mom and Dad got married when she was a little over 17 I think, but I really don't know. It's just a pure guess on my part by working backwards from my birthday and adding at least nine months for when she was pregnant with me. The truth is that I really know almost nothing about how they met or how they came to be married since Mom never wanted to talk about it, and Dad never talked about anything much at all.

All I know is that Dad was a soldier during the war (WW II) and met my mother around 1945 just before he was to go overseas. The war ended before he had to go and he stayed in the Army for about another 18 months before he was discharged and during that time continued dating mom until they were eventually married.

I don't have any special memories about my Dad. It seems like during my formative growing years he was either working or sleeping. Dad was a big 6'4" tall handsome man who had to drop out of high school at 16 to help his mom and dad make a living for their family and of course he never went to college. I think he was basically a good man that never got a break. He was a plain factory laborer with no particular skills who was always working, and often worked the night and mid-night shifts back to back (night shifts paid more than day shift) to make enough money to support my mom and I. So dad and I never really had a "father-son" relationship. He never treated me badly but he just never had time for me to treat me any way at all. Mom was my love and total support.

We didn't have a TV at home when I was growing up, and when we were at home and not out together on one of our outings to the park or the movies and the like, mom used to read a lot of magazines full of mushy romantic love stories and articles about rich and glamorous Hollywood stars and their escapades.

Sometimes she would play cards or board games (like Gin and

Parchesi) with me to pass the time away. But her favorite pastime was to play records of romantic songs and ballads of that day and dance slowly by herself with her eyes semi-closed and this dreamy, languid expression on her face pretending she was dancing with a man. I used to love to watch her dance that way and wished that I were the man in her arms.

By the time I was nine years old I had grown just tall enough that mom started to ask me to dance with her when she would play her records. She said that she would teach me how to be an expert dancer so that I would be a big hit with all the girls when I started dating.

I wasn't thinking about girls yet and so I really didn't care whether I learned how to dance or not, but I was ecstatic about the idea of holding my mother close and being in her arms with my head resting on her stomach. By the time I was somewhere between 10 and 11 years old I was just tall enough that when we danced my head came to about the level of the middle part of her tits and I could feel their warmth and softness when I laid my head on them as we danced.

How I loved that feeling. I could feel how soft they were on my cheek and could feel her nipples through her clothes pressing on my face. I know mom loved it too because she would put her hand on the back of my head caressing it and pushing it against her tits to make firmer contact.

That's when I began to get these strange warm feelings in the pit of my stomach that extended all over my body and made my stomach tingle. At the time I didn't know exactly what all that meant. All I knew was that I loved being in my mother's arm with my head resting on her tits.

It was also about that same time when I was about 10 or 11 that I became aware that Mom and Dad were not entirely happy together. They frequently had disagreements and arguments in low voices so I couldn't hear what they were fighting about, but I heard enough at various times to understand that it had something to do with sex. Exactly what, I had no clue at the time because what I knew about sex at age 10 or 11 you could put into a thimble.

I knew that girls and women didn't have pricks, but instead had a hole between their legs called a pussy and that babies were made when a man stuck his prick into a woman's pussy, and that was about the extent of my knowledge. Remember, this was the middle 1950's and there was no such thing as sex education in the schools, and polite people didn't talk about sex at all. Whatever it was, it was something that happened behind closed doors by married people.

My sex education took place on the playground where I learned from older kids who tried to act older than they were and talk dirty and brag about how much they knew about sex using words and terms such as fuck, screw, cunt, clit, hitting the moon, shooting a wad, cock-sucking, beating-off, etc. Most of us, including me, didn't know what all those words and terms really meant (and neither did the kids that were using them 95% of the time), but we sure weren't going to open our mouths to ask and then get laughed off the playground.

Anyway, we lived in a simple small two-story, three bedroom wood frame house. The three bedrooms were all upstairs on one side of the house in a row with a long corridor that ran from the head of the stairs at the front of the house to the back of the house where there was a bathroom at the end of the corridor. My Mom and Dad slept in the front bedroom at the head of the stairs and I had the back bedroom next to the bathroom. Mom used the middle bedroom as her sewing room.

I could almost always tell when my parents were having sex at night because sounds traveled easily through the thin wooden walls of those bedrooms and I could often hear the squeaking bed springs and my Dad's grunting from time to time. Of course, I didn't know exactly what he was doing to her at that time, but it's clear now that he was fucking Mom.

Every once in a while, when I was laying in my bed at night not yet asleep listening to Dad fuck Mom, he would suddenly stop and I would hear his feet hit the floor followed by their bedroom door flying open and his heavy footsteps coming down the hall heading to the bathroom. When he would pass my open bedroom door I could see him holding his hard cock in his hand and sometimes he was stroking it.

(During hot summer months it was common for folks like us to sleep with our bedroom doors open and windows up to get a cooling night breeze to flow through the room. We didn't have air conditioning. Even my parents would sleep that way unless they were fucking. It didn't take me long to figure out that whenever their door was closed, that was a good indicator that Dad was going to fuck Mom.)

When he would get to the bathroom he would stay in there for about 5 to 10 minutes and I could sometimes hear him grunting followed by the toilet flushing then after another a minute or two I could hear him take a piss and then the toilet would flush again and he would go back to bed. I later came to understand that whenever that happened he was beating off after fucking mom and shooting his cum into the toilet.

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Story tagged with:
mt/Fa / Consensual / Heterosexual / True Story / Incest / Mother / Son / First / Oral Sex /