Blasphemous Bet With My Mother
Copyright© 2026 by afs
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Nick makes a blasphemous bet with his deeply christian mother
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Blackmail Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Incest Mother Son Anal Sex Cream Pie Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy Slow
My mom, Grace, is deeply Christian, probably the most Christian person I know. She grew up in a Christian family, so it’s easy to see where she gets it from. She’s 44 years old, a tall, red-haired woman with well-shaped breasts and a great butt.
I love my mom, but I’ve had a crush on her since puberty. And many times I’ve thought about her the wrong way. In a way no son should think about their own mother.
It started when I decided to watch my parents having sex. I was 11. My dad was a humping machine. They made love all the time, non-stop. From what I understand, the years before their marriage were hard on my father because, as a Christian, she believed in waiting until after marriage. So, in the years that followed, he made sure to catch up.
Ever since then, I’ve been drawn to her, and I knew how wrong, how terrible it was. But over time, I came to terms with it. However, one time, I was given a unique opportunity.
One day, she appeared at the door to my room. Her red curls fell over the shoulders of her robe, and a cross hung on her full breasts.
“Nick, you’re already 18. You haven’t shared a bed with some foolish girl yet, have you? Remember, no making love before marriage or you’ll end up in Hell!”
“I don’t think my love life is any of your business, Mom,” I replied, staring at my computer and ignoring her.
“It is my business! Directly mine! I need to make sure my son leads a proper life and stays out of hell! The choices you make directly affect me!”
“I’m quite sure that, by this religious logic, you can end up in hell because of someone else’s actions.”
“No,” she said, stepping closer with each word. “Only your actions and your decisions determine whether you go to hell or heaven.”
I turned toward her in my chair, taking in the sight of her beautiful, shapely thick legs peeking out from under her robe. Her breasts also teased my curiosity; I could see it through the low neckline. I looked her over from head to toe.
“I’m pretty sure I could do something to send you straight to hell, Mom,” I said, and immediately regretted it. How could I say something like that to my own mother? But her response surprised me. Instead of anger or offense, she smirked boldly and said,
“Nope. You can’t.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto one leg, looking like she had just won the argument.
“No, I’m sure I could send you to hell, Ma. Don’t argue,” I continued with a grin. Her triumphant tone and demeanor amused and provoked me. I hated losing, so I doubled down.
“No. You can’t.”
She stepped closer and leaned down, placing her hands on the armrests of my gaming chair to look me in the eyes. Her neckline and dangling breasts were right in front of me before her gorgeous sexy face with green eyes and a sly smirk took center stage.
“I’ve lived much longer than you, sweetheart, and I understand these things far better than you do. If you’re hinting that you might poke fun at my body, which, of course, you would never do because you’re a good son, I want you to remember that people mocked Jesus too. He was hurt, and He ended up in Heaven. So there’s absolutely nothing, I repeat, nothing, you can do.”
I watched only how elegantly, meticulously, and sensually her tongue moved as she pronounced each word with special care, enunciating every syllable.
“There won’t be any verbal or physical torment. Do you really not understand what I’m talking about?”
“Well, surprise me.” She finally stopped bending before him, straightened up, and spread her arms. “I love surprises. I’m 44; it’s hard to surprise me these days.”
“Then I propose a wager on your faith,” I said slyly, extending my hand.
“On my faith?”
I knew she would take this argument seriously. Her faith was something she didn’t joke about, and she hated losing. It’s something we both share; it’s in our DNA.
She confidently reached out, her fingers wrapping around my hand.
“What are the terms?”
“I’ll do something that will eventually shake your faith and make you believe that after it, you’ll be heading straight to Hell, no repenting allowed of course. Once that happens, I can live my life as I wish, sleep with whoever I want, and stop going to church with you. Understand?”
“Fine. And if you lose and give up?” She smirked even more, clearly entertained, and squeezed my hand.
“If I run out of ideas to send you to Hell and try every option, then I’ll do as you say and endure.”
She tugged on my arm and I pulled me closer, nearly flying my face first into her big boobs. “You will also quit masturbating, go to church with me every time, confess all your sins, clean your room every day, cook instead of me, and generally be the most diligent boy and son a mother could have.”
Quit masturbating? I thought at the time. That sounded serious. She was always trying to get me to quit masturbating. It was her greatest enemy, the connection between my hand and my cock. She expected an answer.
“All right, Mom.” I smiled and shook her hand.
The argument was cemented.
“Get ready to stop masturbating. I’m finally going to wean you off...” She brought her right hand up to her nose. “You weren’t jerking off with that hand, were you?”