The Stuff of an Indecent Mother’s Dreams
by Walt Whitman
Copyright© 2025 by Walt Whitman
Incest Sex Story: The story of a mother who truly loves her son but is losing a battle with her hunger for incestuous debauchery and her long-repressed femdom proclivities. Sensing her son’s newly emerging pubescent sexuality, she begins to arouse and corrupt his wholesome affections with her most wanton desires; luring him to wallow with her in the gutter of joyful, unrestrained carnal depravity. It’s a tale of scatological sensuality that, despite my wishes to the contrary, will not seem so for everyone.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Incest Mother Son FemaleDom Analingus Cream Pie First Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Scatology Water Sports Big Breasts Hairy .
[Authors Note: I’ve added a few appropriately inappropriate Namio Harukawa gems to stimulate the imagination and spice things up. Enjoy!]
My name is Angela. I’m a 44-year-old widow and the mother of a wonderful boy, Michael, who has become the object of all of my darkest, most wicked desires. I have a tale to tell – a confession of sorts – of a mother’s awakening to very primal desires; desires that could only be quenched by the debauching and profaning of the tender relationship she shares with her beloved son. Always, it was important to me that I entice Michael not simply to participate in, but to be an accomplice in our descent into incestuous depravity. I would introduce him to the exuberant joys of the gutter where we would wallow together in carnal bliss. I have no regrets and neither does my son.
Despite my age (but perhaps to many, even because of it), I am a very attractive, sensuous woman – a MILF, I suppose. I’m 5’7” 140 lbs., 38D –27-39. My father was Vietnamese and my mom a voluptuous hot-blooded Italian. I have long lustrous black hair that falls to 3” or 4” below my shoulders where it curls into a nice wave. I’m blessed with a very pretty face: full lips, high cheekbones and dark brown, seductive, faintly Asian eyes. I’m certainly no slender model, but I know from happy experience that most men and boys would not trade a woman of my voluptuous charms for a thousand skinny models. I don’t mean to boast, but honestly, I look very much like one of the late Japanese artist, Namio Harukawa’s, buxom femdom beauties.
As long as I have had sexual feelings, I have fantasized and yearned for pleasures that are not simply taboo - many would call them unholy – not because they were/are violent, mean or dangerous in any way, but because, in the minds of “normal”, respectable Christian folks, they are primal, bestial, filthy and depraved. Alas, fears of disapproval and my consequent avoidance of real opportunity has frustrated my more wanton desires. Although my husband had been a good man and a decent lover, he had always been vanilla to the bone. I tried reading some mildly perverse erotica to him on several occasions but his response had always been uncomprehending. He simply wasn’t able to imagine sex beyond missionary with one’s wife or lover. Once when I summoned the courage to share some of my erotic dreams with him, he was clearly repulsed and suggested that maybe I should see a therapist. Sadly, that just made me screw the lid down tighter on my more dissolute wants. But still they remained in my subconscious, occasionally breaking free in my wonderfully erotic dreams.
Thankfully, the shackles of puritanical repression that strangled my most indecent desires began to fall away not long after my husband’s untimely and tragic death 3 years ago in an accident with a drunk driver. A year after his death, I started dating and continued for another short year, but my lovers, though physically attractive and sexually accomplished, were far too tame for my erotic needs. Except for one guy who I pressured (“ ... either you do, or NO pussy for you, Jack”) into consenting to my roleplaying a facesitting schoolteacher and another who reluctantly agreed to some bathtub watersports, none of my lovers would even consider indulging themselves in the sorts of debauchery that haunted my dreams. So, a year ago, I gave up the dating scene and abandoned myself to my dreams and the masturbatory release of my wicked fantasies.
Did you ever wonder why it is that the most common sexual fantasy of girls is sex with their fathers? It’s so common that surely this forbidden lust must be innate (though stridently suppressed). I believe it’s only the powerful energy of emergent primal pubescent arousal that liberates it – at least to the point that many young girls allow themselves to feel it and welcome it in their fantasies. Though most women will admit to it, one rarely hears of boys or men owning up to such illicit oedipal desires. But those taboo urges must be there, don’t you think? How else can you explain the immense popularity with men of mother-son erotica? I believe the stigma attached to being a “mama’s boy” and all the related machismo bullshit leads to so much shame, that boys never admit to feeling it (even to themselves), much less acting on it. But in my house, I have for all the most wholesome of reasons (or so I have always told myself), encouraged Michael to be open and affectionate with his mother.
Still, it was only during this past year of unfettered masturbatory fantasy and resigned celibacy that my son began to move me in surprising and disturbing ways. Perhaps it was the recent noticeable changes to Michael’s body? He is only a week into his 14th year and though his innocent boyish face shows no trace of whiskers, his voice is deepening and he has grown to stand 5’9” and weigh 130 pounds. Skinny to be sure, but the beginnings of muscular definition in his chest and the muscles of his flat belly have become obvious to his discerning mother. Last month, I peeked while he was showering and was instantly aroused to see the first sprouts of curly pubic hair – a sure sign that the cum machine was starting to hum in his newly ripened pubescent balls. I imagine that I see the outlines of a more distinct bulge in his shorts and have continually fought the urge to slide my hand down them and cradle and fondle his young cock and balls.
It has now been nearly a year since I have had sexual thoughts or feelings about anyone but Michael. Having ceased to fight against them, my subconscious has been liberated to arouse and disturb me with increasingly perverted dreams. In the past few weeks, my nights have been haunted by dreams with the same incestuous themes, each an intensely erotic fantasy that violates the innocent bonds of mother and child. In each of my dreams, an intensely painful conflict within Michael and me builds inexorably into the irrepressible sexual tsunami that sweeps us to prurient paradise. Each of us loves the other, but each is tormented by complementary primal desires; one to defile the innocent child and the other to tempt the virtuous mother into defiling him.
Oh such wonderfully free, sensual and utterly perverse dreams! How I have luxuriated in them.
But what of Michael? Surely, he must have sexual thoughts and perhaps dreams of his own? Could he have a girlfriend? The reality is that although Michael is boyishly cute, a decent athlete and is well-liked by his male classmates, he is socially awkward around the girls in his 8th grade class. He’s often tongue-tied when they try to speak with him and embarrassed at his awkwardness. In contrast, he has very warm and natural relationships with three “older” women on his newspaper route who have been especially kind to him since his father’s tragic death. They are all old enough to be his mother and, like me, are quite attractive, each in their own way. So, out of curiosity, I asked Michael a few weeks ago if he thought his three older “girlfriends” were sexy.
“What do you mean mom?”
“I mean Michael, do you ever think of them or dream about any of them in a naughty way”
“You mean do I think about having sex with them?”
“Well not necessarily intercourse – I’m sure at your age and shy as you are, you are totally inexperienced and wouldn’t know what to do. But still, I’m sure boys your age do have sexual fantasies”
“Well yeah, I guess I have had some dreams”
“Of course you have! I wonder though, do you have any such dreams about girls your own age?”
“No, I only have the sex kind of dreams about Mrs. Bernier and Mrs. Germaine and Mrs. Walsh”
“That’s SOOO interesting Michael! Why do you think you only fantasize about women who are nearly my age?”
“I guess because they are really nice to me and they don’t make me feel self-conscious and...”
He gives me a sheepish grin.
He gives me a sheepish grin.
“ ... And they smell really nice and they look like – well they DON’T look like the girls in my class. They are grown-up – they have sexy bodies.”
“Really??? What’s so sexy about their bodies, Michael?”
“Well they have nice butts and boobs - much bigger than the girls at school. I think they know a lot about sex, and they are nice me – they like me, mom. I think they might teach me.”
“Teach you about sex, Michael?”
“Yes - I don’t know how”
“I’m sure. Do you want to know?”
“Yes – Oh Yes! I think about it a lot. Is that bad mom?”
“No of course not, Michael. Its quite normal for a boy your age. And I suppose the girls at school wouldn’t know enough about sex to show you –”
“No and I don’t want them to show me. I want Mrs. Bernier or Mrs. Germaine or Mrs. Walsh. But it’s not just that they are sexy and older Mom – It’s because I feel comfortable with them – safe. They are a lot like you mom.”
“Mmmm, very nice”, I thought. I was sorely tempted to ask him if he had any of “those dreams” about me. But I caught myself.
“You flatter me, Michael. Actually, I think your paper route sweeties are all younger than I am, but they certainly are mature curvaceous women and not girls. I must say, young man, you have precociously good taste in women.”
That left us both grinning.
As you might imagine, the revelation of Michael’s lusting for mother-figures, (perhaps even me?), was gasoline on the smoldering coals of his mother’s illicit lust. Was he having wet dreams and/or masturbating to his fantasies? I began to look for evidence – cum stains on his sheets and underwear. Then a month ago, in going through our dirty laundry, separating my lingerie from Michael’s underwear, I was shocked to find a pair of my panties that were encrusted with dried boy cum; so much of it that it was obvious he had cummed in them several times. Oh my fucking God! I rolled them between my palms savoring their crustiness and held them to my nose and inhaled our comingled scents. Oh this was tooo good to be true!
I wondered, could he be stashing my panties somewhere in his bedroom to be retrieved at night to enliven his masturbatory fantasies? I did a quick inventory of the dirty wash and, sure enough, the pair of lilac-colored bikini panties I had worn earlier in the week was missing. I went to Michael’s bedroom straightaway. A quick survey turned up the purloined panties – hidden in a plastic baggie among his boxers in his underwear drawer. With trembling hands, I opened the baggy and pulled them out. This morning’s cum was not yet dried on them. I couldn’t help myself -I licked and sucked every bit of my sweet boy’s cum out of them (unavoidably tasting my quim and pee). Oh what heavenly aromas!
“Mom!?!” Jesus Christ! Where did the time go? Michael’s home from school already! I quickly stuffed the panties into my jeans pocket, closed the drawer and slipped out of his bedroom before he could catch me. For the rest of the evening, I puzzled over what I should do. Surely, he would go looking for his cum-soaked treasure as soon as he retired for the night. I would have to return the pair that were stuffed into my pocket - all my other panties were sitting clean in the dryer. And then in a moment of devilish inspiration, I had 2 ideas...
“Michael, we seem to be out of coffee and cereal. Can you please run down to the store and pick some up. I can feel a migraine coming on and need to lay down for a bit.”
“Sure mom – Can I buy ice cream while I’m there?””
“Of course, honey”
So off he went. It was just under a mile to the nearest corner grocery and as he was too young to drive, he would have to walk, giving me plenty of time to implement my second idea. I stripped except for my panties and held the stolen panties with our comingled flavors to my nose and mouth and rubbed my clit through the panties I was wearing. I stretched the cotton, pushing it between my cunt lips. In no time, the crotch was drenched with my thick fragrant cunt cream – and I was still not done cumming! When I was finally sated, I grabbed a baggie from the kitchen and slipped out of my sopping panties. Holding them, I was horrified to see they had a thick brown smear in the crotch. Damn! I should have changed after all that sweaty work in the garden! Well, too late now. I sealed them into the baggie and buried it under a mound of boxers in Michael’s dresser.
Now of course Michael would notice these were not the same panties that he had anointed that morning. And, of course, he would realize that I must have replaced those with these new more fragrant ones. I was sure this mystery would excite and worry him. What would he do, I wondered?
Because I’m a nurse, I work 36 hours on and the rest of each week off. As luck would have it, I had the next morning off; so after Michael had left for school, I was able to retrieve the panties. They were dripping with semen and reeked of that bleachy boy-cum scent, an unmistakable odor, even among my own scents ... And Oh My God! – the brown stain was nearly all gone – licked clean, for sure. What a wonderful boy!!! This must continue!
From then on, every 2 or 3 days, I would exchange a freshly “perfumed” pair of my panties for the semen-encrusted pair that Michael had been emptying his still hairless, but cum-swollen balls into. As time passed I got less and less inhibited, at times not wiping completely after relieving myself and always wearing cotton panties – less sexy but so much more absorbent than thongs and other Victoria’s Secret panties. We never spoke to each other about what obviously was a shared joyful anticipation of my soiled panties. The sexual tension in our house was wound tighter than a coiled spring. The pump was primed.
And then one evening seemingly out of the blue...
I went into Michael’s bedroom where I knew he was doing his homework (or so I had been led to believe) and found him lying on his bed, on his stomach, reading “Silas Marner”, a terribly boring book his teacher had assigned the class.
“Hi sweetie I see you are still struggling with that awful book.”
Michael immediately slid something under “Silas Marner” and snapped his head around, obviously startled. I could see his face was flushed and radiated guilt. It was then that I noticed the randy bouquet of aroused cunt and asshole hanging heavily in the air and realized it was the soiled panties I had left for him that afternoon that he was hiding under his book. I pretended not to notice; my juice factory immediately oozed into production.
“Is something wrong Michael. Is that book upsetting you?”
“Um ... no mom. Actually I was daydreaming about something else”
“I see” I said sitting down beside him on the bed, “I hope it was a pleasant fantasy – I’m sure whatever you have been daydreaming about was a lot more interesting than “Silas Marner”.”
Michael grinned sheepishly, “Oh yeah, waaay more interesting.”
“Oh really? Would you like to share with your curious mom?”
“I don’t know mom; you might get mad at me. I was remembering something I did, that you wouldn’t approve of.”
“Well try me sweetie. You know I’m softie where you’re concerned – I tend to let you get away with murder”
“Umm ... well it was about my spying on you a few times when you were with your old boyfriends.”
It would have been easy for him to make up something far less incriminating. Clearly, he was testing the waters.
“Oh my! You are a bad boy! Well I hope whatever it was you saw didn’t upset you too much. Come on now, you can’t leave me hanging. Roll over and look me in the eyes while you make your confession.”
As Michael rolls to his side, to his mother’s delight, an incriminating bulge in his pants is revealed. I smile reassuringly and absentmindedly begin running my fingers through his curls, massaging his scalp.
“OK, dear boy, calm down, you have nothing to fear. You’ve done nothing wrong, but you have thoroughly intrigued your mother. I await your erotic memoir with bated breath”
“Well it was over a year ago – in the summer when it was really hot. I couldn’t sleep. I could see and hear you and your boyfriend moaning in your bedroom. I know it’s been nearly a year since you broke up with him, but I still can’t forget it”
“What do you mean you could “see and hear”? How could you see, if you were in your bedroom?”
“I used to sneak outside and peek in your bedroom window and watch and listen to you and your old boyfriend in your bed. You were kissing each other while he was grabbing your butt. Your tongues were in each other’s mouths, and it looked like you were drooling on each other. Mom, you can’t imagine how badly I ached when I heard you all moaning and I saw you all humping and kissing in your bed. I was so horny – I tried to beat off but nothing would come out – I was too young – it hurt mom.”
Now I was the one who was startled. “What else did you see us doing in my bed?”
“I saw lots of stuff mom - lots of things I knew you would never do with me. But those things didn’t bother me – they just made me really horny. But I was jealous of how you kissed him – you never kissed me that way! I wished you would kiss me like you kissed him. I wished I could make you feel like he did ... I wish it even more now, mom. That’s what I was just daydreaming about.”
The combined effects on me of the scent of my orifices perfuming my son’s bedroom, Michael’s wanting me to kiss him like he was one of my former lovers and the realization that I had been cuckolding my little boy all those nights with my old boyfriend were electric. I could feel my cunt cream oozing from my labia. I know my voice was trembling.
“My what astonishing revelations from my own son! To think, at your tender age, you were aroused by the sight of your beloved mother having sex with other men. In my wildest, wettest dreams I never imagined pleasuring them was making my son try to ejaculate cum he didn’t yet have. Had I known how wickedly what I was doing with my boyfriends excited you Michael, I might never have broken up with any of them.” I admitted, winking at him.
“But this other surprise ... the kiss ... You say you would have your mother kiss you like she kissed a man – more than one man actually - 3 times your age; men who were lusting to fill me with their seed? Is that what you want Michael?”
Now I was testing the waters and it was Michael’s turn to again be caught off guard. “I know it’s wrong, wrong, wrong, but please mom just this once, please kiss me the way I saw you kissing your boyfriends”
Those words! THOSE WORDS! My dear boy wants me to kiss him with wicked intent; to kiss him not like a mother, but like an insatiable woman hungry for his seed – the way I have ached to kiss him myself but have so far been able to stifle. Damn! I’m starting to lose control.
“Silas Marner, my ass!” I smile, “I know what you were doing with my panties when I came into your room just now, Michael. In fact, your beautiful face is still sticky with my cunt nectar and reeks of my asshole! And now you would tempt your loving mother into violating her chaste relationship with you. You wicked little man! Come let me kiss you, my lovely child. Let your mother kiss you like a grown woman with lust in her heart!”
Michael’s hard cock is tenting his shorts. There is a clear wet spot on them where his precum is seeping through. A thousand thoughts and visions are exploding in my head – each and every one of them lascivious, warped and filthy. Oh how I want this boy! Oh what I want to do to him and with him.
“Please mom, Please...” Michael’s face is contorted in want as he moves it mere inches from mine. I can feel his warm moist breath on my lips. But his inexperience is obvious - he has no idea how to kiss a woman deeply. It will be his mother’s great pleasure to tutor him.
It is said that a deep passionate kiss is more intimate than fucking – I intend to prove the saying right. I kiss his lips lightly at first, but then I begin to flick my tongue over and finally between his yearning lips. Michael, compliant, aroused and oh so eager, opens to me. He inhales my moist warm breath and allows me to entwine my tongue with his. The kissing that follows is volcanic. We devour each other; his face is covered with my saliva. I pull at his tongue and lips with my teeth, we share our breath together, his saliva pours into my mouth and runs over my cheeks like an oral ejaculation. I crush my lips against his; I pour my soul into my son through his eager pubescent lips.
My hands find their way to the waistband of his shorts, tunneling under it to massage the swells of his delicious young asscheeks. Oh God, but they have a firmness unlike any I’ve felt from any of my past male lovers.
The raging excitement that our mouths have incited has spread to cunt and cock and, nature taking its course, they now seek to join each other. We hump each other obscenely – I’m sure Michael can feel the throbbing wetness of my cunt as it presses against the bulge of his cock in his shorts. Suddenly Michael breaks our kiss and begins to moan and scream as if in mortal pain. He is cumming and cumming HARD. But still, I hold him to me and grind my cunt into him. I slide my hand from his butt cheek, moving it inside the front of his shorts, and let the last thick dollops of his cum ooze into my cupped hand. I hold Michael there until at last he relaxes and rolls on to his back, beside me. I withdraw my hand from his shorts and lick his savory cum from my palm and fingers.
Teetering as we are, on the verge of the unthinkable, I am suddenly seized with the fear of what we might have unleashed and its consequences. We are sooooo close, so very, very close.
“Michael, Michael, Michael, I am so glad I was finally able to give you the kisses you have yearned for all these past months. But honey, we must never do this again. It’s wrong for mothers to take such pleasures with their boys. It’s dangerous and could lead us to terrible unhappiness. Promise me sweetheart that you will not try kiss me that way again”
“Mom it felt so good – way better than I dreamed. Please don’t make me promise that. I’ll never forget this – I’ll always want it”
“Nor will I forget it darling – of course we will hold on to this memory and cherish it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But darling, you must promise me!”
“Can’t we just promise not to let it lead us into bad stuff, Mom? How can something that feels so good be a bad thing?”
“Michael, you’ll just have to trust your mother’s experience. It tells me that if we continue with this kind of kissing, it will lead to things we will regret.”
“OK, but if I promise, will you still leave me your panties so I can take them to bed with me?”
“Well, I guess that would be OK. I mean – I would just throw them in the dirty laundry otherwise. It can’t hurt anything for you to have them for a couple of days before they are washed. I know lots of boys go through what you are going through. I’m happy that I can make it a little easier for you”
“OK, then I promise. I never what to make you feel bad, Mom. I hope it really does make you happy to give your dirty panties to me.”
“Honestly son, it makes me VERY happy. But we must not let our illicit pleasures go any further than that.”
I spoke these words bravely and with great difficulty. I knew it would be hard for me to keep my word – to try and keep our relationship, if not completely within the bounds of Christian chastity, at least to keep it short of outright incest. As it happened, despite my best intentions, I could not keep my word for even two full weeks.
Last week, my period started and, as usual, my flow was torrential. What Should I do? I could hold off on the panty exchange for 3 or 4 days, until I stopped, but the thought of missing the taste of Michael’s cum on my panties and the exquisite pleasure of further corrupting him were much too great a price to pay. I folded the panties, the crotch literally dripping with the strawberry jam of my uterus, into a clean baggie and placed it in Michael’s underwear drawer. When I retrieved them 2 days later they were encrusted with Michael’s cum AND the gusset had been torn away - Michael had obviously chewed through them, leaving no trace of strawberry jam behind.
Oh Sweet Jesus! I lost all control and pulled down my jeans, feverishly rubbed my clit with my torn and soiled panties and came within 2 minutes. In that instant, I knew I was forever lost. I simply didn’t have the will to delay, any longer, taking the depraved pleasures I had been craving since Michael first entered puberty. It was time. I began to hatch my plot.
A week later, on a sweltering Indian summer Saturday, knowing full well that Michael will be returning soon from practice with his junior high school’s soccer team, I begin to lay my devious trap. I don my sexiest black lacy half-bra uplifting my 38D breasts, allowing my nipples and the tops of my puffy pink areolae to sit up, firm and uncovered. I put on a silken white blouse, open to my cleavage. My nipples and areolae are nicely outlined by the sheer, clinging material. I don’t bother to change my cotton bikini panties that, as usual, are stretched to near tearing by the prodigious swells of my asscheeks. A pair of coffee-colored thigh-highs, a high-waisted dark skirt that falls a couple of inches below my knees and a pair of red pumps complete my anything-but-maternal outfit.
I head into Michael’s bedroom and wait. When I hear the backdoor open, I pull open his underwear drawer and dig through the pile of clean boxers, seeking the soiled, cum -soaked treasure I am confident is hiding within. Ahh here they are, my dirty panties, as usual, licked nearly clean but dripping thick ropes of congealed boy cum!
As my son’s footsteps approach his bedroom door, I raise the anointed panties to my face. As he opens the door, I close my eyes and begin to cat-lick them, filling my nostrils with their musky aroma.
“Mom! What are you...”
I spin around, holding my cum-stained panties, still dripping Michael’s semen, to my nose and mouth and fain shock and embarrassment.
“Oh Michael! I didn’t expect you so soon. I hope I haven’t shocked you – in a bad way, I mean. If I have, please forgive me darling. I was coming to pick up my old dirty panties and leave you a fresh pair, and ... and..., I -I just got carried away. I never meant for you to find me this way”, I lied.
Michael’s eyes are wide, wide, wide and his mouth agape. He’s trying to say something, but can’t find any words
“Oh honey, that’s not quite true. I have a confession to make. After weeks and weeks of fantasizing about what you were doing with my panties, I couldn’t resist anymore. So last night I snuck back after you had gone to bed. I pushed your door open just enough to be able to hear you and to peek in. It was dark of course, but I could still see well enough to know that you were masturbating while sniffing and licking my panties. When you were nearly finished, I could see you wrap my panties round your hard little cock and pump your cum into them, moaning “Mom, oh mom! Pleasseeee!” I had to hold my hand over my face so you couldn’t hear my moans. Instantly, my panties were sopping. Michael, my pussy is still throbbing and oozing, just thinking about what you must have been feeling for me in your wicked fantasy. Just talking with you about all of this - it is SOOO very arousing to me. I hope it is for you too.”
“Oh God, yes it is! But mom, I thought – I mean- You made me promise not to even try to kiss you again. And now you are – I’m so mixed-up mom.”
“Darling forget those foolish promises. I mean it Michael, don’t ever mention them again – Forget I ever asked you to promise such a terrible, unnatural thing. Tell me now Michael, do you like the smell of your mother’s dirty panties?”
“Oh God yes, mom”
“They don’t smell nasty to you?”
“Well um ... yes they do ... but nasty in a very good way, mom. I love smelling them. I love tasting them even more”
“You like licking them clean, Michael?”
“Yes! Yes! -”
“Even the pee and the brown streaks?”
“I’m so ashamed mom – you must think I’m really sick – but I can’t stop myself. The nastier your panties are, the more I want to smell and taste them. Even though I want so badly to cum in them, sometimes I can’t bring myself to stop sniffing and eating them, so I just cum on my belly and then wipe it up with your panties. I wish that you could leave me two dirty pairs so I could cum in one while I licked the other pair.
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