My Mother is a MILF 3
The next day I woke up with a feeling of surprise that he could not shudder, as if something inside me was out of place. I felt a profound dissatisfaction, discomfort that could not be ignored. The idea that a child could feel sexual desire towards his mother, it was inconceivable, but somehow, that thought had begun to acecharme. Searching for answers, I dove into the Internet, hoping to find a case that will help me to understand what was happening inside of me. What I found were stories of children who maintained relations incestuous with their mothers, texts that were clearly inventions.
That Sunday I got lost in a cycle of desire and self-deprecation, myself up by then masturbating again and again while I was reading those fictitious and exaggerated stories. Most were written with abundant spelling mistakes, being each story that I read the more far-fetched and absurd than the previous one. But once I masturbated I was the same bitter reality: what I read had nothing to do with the truth of my life, or my relationship with mom. They were fantasies without foundation, construction of a mind that, like mine, was looking to give way to a desire twisted.
In the weeks that followed, I struggled with all my might to banish those thoughts. I tried desperately to keep my mother out of my fantasies and to erase the presence of my desires. In my father's house, the effort was a little more bearable; the distance it gave me a respite, a reprieve that allowed me to believe that I could overcome this obsession. But every time he returned home with mom, everything is crumbling. His closeness, his mere presence, was that the battle could resume with an intensity that is brutal. For more he tried, he could not prevent those thoughts I consume. I knew that the stories I had read were pure inventions, fantasies built by someone who also struggled with a desire unmentionable. But that has not assuaged the guilt that she felt, or the feeling of losing control. Every time I relieved thinking of her, I felt like I was sinking further into a pit of shame and confusion, aware that he was crossing a line that should never be touched.
This mixture of desire, guilt, and despair became a prison, a cycle that I didn't know how to escape. It was as if those stories fake would have left an indelible mark in my mind, feeding a monster that was growing in silence, among the darkness of my fear and the intensity of my desire. I knew that I needed to find a way out; to break with that obsession before it consumed all that was. But every day that passed, the fight became more difficult, and the relief, more fleeting, leaving behind a vacuum even more deeply, a wound that would not stop bleeding.
The weekends were a constant laughs and fun. I spent the afternoon with my friends, immersed in long sessions of gaming. My room became a refuge of cables, remote controls and shouts of excitement. Ivan, my best friend, he drifted to sleep almost every Saturday, making that the entertainment would be extended until the wee hours. Mom, always cheerful and outgoing, never put objections to my friends to stay to lunch, supper, or, as in the case of Ivan, to sleep. On the contrary, seemed to enjoy seeing me happy.
At the beginning, I must admit that bothered me a little when mom entered without notice to you in my room, whether it was to give us something to snack on or just to tell me anything trivial. I felt that disrupt our space, our world. But, with time, these unexpected visitors became a kind of spark for my overflowing fantasies. I began to notice how my friends looked up at her, almost without concealment, each time it appeared. And I couldn't blame them. Mom has always had a style of dress more daring of the ordinary, at least compared with the mothers of my friends. At home, prioritized comfort, and almost always walked barefoot, wearing a long cotton t-shirt that came to mid-thigh. This garment is simple, that revealed more than it covered, enhances your figure in a way that could not fail to attract attention. Little by little, these inputs casual became something that secretly hoped, knowing that, although not shown, everyone in the room noticed his presence as much as I do.
I began to wonder what conversations may have Aitor and Ivan about my mother when I was not present. The uneasiness bothered me; the fact that his attention towards her was so obvious and her gaze so insidious I had to question if they speak of it in a way that I didn't know. What they said in my absence? How to describe my mother, whose unannounced visits had become a spectacle of furtive glances and comments implied?
As time passed, I began to notice that they seemed to grasp, that didn't bother me the way they observed my mother. It was as if, noticing my reaction ambiguous —neither completely repulsive or completely indifferent, they had adjusted their behavior accordingly. Little by little, they began to make comments about her, always with a caution calculated. At first, these comments were soft, almost tentative, wrapped in a tone of caution that was trying to gauge my reaction.
Aitor, with his usual sarcasm, it was light banter about how mom always found the way to make a dramatic entrance in our game sessions, while Ivan used to dropping observations more subtle about the “unique” way that she dressed. They both seemed to play a delicate balancing game, testing the water to see how far he could get without crossing a line.
With time, those comments became more frequent and, in their intensity, they began to reflect not only your curiosity, but also its own fascination. Became something more than jokes; it was innuendo-laden meaning. The way in which they speak of it, for the interest showed in his presence, and the subtle admiration shining in his words, he was beginning to uncover an additional layer of dynamics that had been established among us.
Every comment, every hint, it was a piece in the puzzle of my growing concern. The understanding of that my friends were so interested in the body of my mother as I was in their looks, led to a mixture of conflicting feelings.
So, in the midst of jokes and comments, the situation was transformed into a dance with a subtle desires and limits, in which the presence of my mother became the center of a fascination collective, although never openly discussed, was clearly present in every interaction and in every word.
By that time, Julen had already moved abroad with his girlfriend because of his work. I noticed that mom had gone through a difficult period, appearing for a little season, more off than usual, as if the absence of his godson had affected more than I had expected. However, a few weeks later, he began a new stage in your life with the arrival of Domenico, an Italian men that had entered their world with an intensity renewed.
During the two weeks that my brother and I were with her, we continued to live together as the three of us in the house, trying to adapt to this new normal. But each time it came back with dad, mom went to live at the house of Domenico, keeping both lives separate but intertwined. It was as if, in those periods of absence, she was submerged completely in the new relationship, finding in his company a refuge and a source of support.
This pattern of living alternately in the home and that of her new boyfriend gave us to understand that he was building a new reality, a transition was made gradually, and measure. The way mom handled the situation reflected his desire to maintain a balance between their two worlds, between the family home and her new life with Domenico.
My mother treated the subject with a mixture of caution and delicacy, as if he were preparing the ground for a transition inevitable. He talked with us by gradual manner, as if trying to soften the impact of his arrival in our lives. Sometimes mentioned something about it in conversation, always with a reserved tone and well-balanced, suggesting that their presence was an increasingly integral to his life.
It was obvious that she wanted to accept to Domenico, but he did it with care, conscious of an introduction to an abrupt might not be the best way to handle the situation. The way she talked about him was carefully calculated: talking about your Italian origin with a touch of exotic appeal, highlighting its qualities without revealing too much. This strategy seemed to be designed so that, when the time came to submit it to us officially, we were familiar with the idea, and not we reacted with surprise or resistance.
As time passed and the home visits became more frequent, the presence of Domenico in our conversations became more and more tangible. Although mom never went into details about him, his insistence on mentioning it regularly indicated that he was building a bridge between our lives and theirs.
It was during the month of July when mom decided to introduce ourselves to Domenico for the first time. The timing could not be more significant: we were going on holiday together to the Costa del Sol, where Domenico had an apartment. The idea of spending time in a new environment, away from the daily routines, and in a place so vibrant, it seemed to be the perfect setting for the introduction.
At first, mom made a conscious effort to maintain a certain distance physical with Domenico, at least in our presence. His intention was clear: we wanted to make us feel uncomfortable or out of place. On the first day, the contact between them was minimal, and subtle. I saw it on the beach, sitting in a deck chair, talking to him with a respectful distance, almost as if trying to find the perfect balance between emotional closeness and consideration for us.
However, as they went along the day and we asentábamos in the routine holiday, the barrier of initial began to crumble. The tension that had tried to keep on the surface slowly faded. I began to observe how the relationship between mother and Domenico was relaxing and became more evident. It was strange and at the same time eye-opening to see how a mom, who had been so careful in keeping their own space in the relationship, he began to integrate more fully with him.
An image especially memorable was to see them walking together along the Promenade: he hugged her by the shoulder and she encircled her waist. It was a sight that evoked memories of times past, of walks similar to that he had shared with his dad at other holiday. The way in which Domenico took his hand, and how she, smiling, and slightly bent towards him, he was carried along by the rhythm of their steps, it was a scene that was carrying a mixture of nostalgia and adaptation. It was as if the time had stopped at an intermediate point between the past and the present, showing a transition not only in the life of a mom, but also our own.
The familiarity with which they walked together, the way they looked and spoke, it seemed to carry a soft promise of normalcy. It was a reminder that life goes on, that the changes are inevitable, and that, though the past is still present in our memories, this is also building its own way. See mom enjoy those moments with Domenico, while we watched, it was a mixture of acceptance and adaptation. We were in a process of adjustment, trying to find our place in this new family configuration, while the andalusian sun surrounded us with their warm light and constant.
I felt the weight of the gaze of Domenico on mom, a gaze full of a desire that is palpable and unmistakable. It was impossible not to notice it. His fascination was evident, manifested in each gesture and each intense look that he was speaking. Despite efforts to maintain discretion, the intensity of his desire could not be hidden under the suit, just like mine either.
I vividly remember the scene at the beach: mom walked to the edge of the sea, enjoying the sun and the sea breeze. Only wearing a tiny g-string sinking almost entirely between her rounded buttocks, with your torso as always, goes to the beach uncovered. With each step he took, her big breasts were moving at the pace of your walking, bouncing gently in a reciprocating natural highlighted even more her figure. The contrast between her freedom and the way in which Domenico watched was undeniable. His gaze followed every movement with a desire that revealed latent and uncontrollable, despite the presence of the other.
Grabbed her from behind, rubbing the hardness of his cock against the beautiful buttocks of mom. She laughed to notice it as well, allowing himself to kiss the neck.
—Go within, do not take it anymore, " said he, without realizing that I was right behind it.
Mom fell backwards, as if seeking to intensify the contact, and laughed out loud. There was something in his laughter reflected a mixture of fun and complicity, as he encouraged them to enter the water with him.
—What is that you can't wait for you to arrive the night? —he asked, amused, with a touch of picardy.
—You don't know the urge to follarte that I have. I swear to you that you would here on the sand —assured, with its strong Italian accent.
Again, the laughter mom sounded noisy. I look back, where was my brother. Surely he must have assumed that I was at his side.
—We're going, but you have to be in a hurry, " she said, taking the hand of Domenico and running towards the water. Moving her huge tits with even greater intensity.
Dove between laughter and caresses, moving away towards the less crowded the beach. From my perspective, looked like a couple enjoying a romantic moment in the water. However, only I knew what was really going on. Only I was aware that in that moment they were fucking my mother. But far from bothering me, I felt an excitement so brutal, that I had to get in the water to be able to mitigated.
A week later, while I was in my room with Ivan and Aitor, the conversation drifted to my vacation. I took the opportunity to show you some of the photos that I already had prepared. Most were pictures family: walks, picturesque corners of the Costa del Sol, and family moments that reflected the fun and the tranquility of the trip. There was, however, cast some of the photos the more daring among them.
I passed quickly through the images of beaches and landscapes until we reach one in particular. It was a picture of my mother on the beach, wearing a tiny g-string black bikini that was lost almost completely between her generous buttocks. The photo, as hundreds of them, she had taken it secretly with my phone, and even though it seemed casual, it was still undeniably provocative.
—Oh, fuck, male! But what good is your mother! —exclaimed Aitor without being able to hold back, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen with a mixture of surprise and admiration.
In that instant, I felt a grip uncomfortable. My underwear and pants seemed to have reduced in size, fitting my body with a pressure that is unexpected. The combination of surprise and shame made me realize what I had to share.
Then I tried to simulate, passing the photo, leaving a screen of mine and my brother's, drinking a Coca-Cola at a bar close to the beach.
—Yeah, again, I almost did not have time to see it —said Ivan, staring at the screen with curiosity.
I went back to show the photo of my mother on the beach, trying to act normal. However, the reaction of Aitor and the insistence of Ivan made me feel a grip even more. My underwear seemed to shrink more and more, adjusting so uncomfortable as the heat of the situation is intensified.
Aitor, always daring and without filters, and could not help but let out a rude comment while the picture remained on the screen.
—I host, and male! —he exclaimed, with a laugh burlesque—. Did your mother always walk by the beach? If so, I have to go on holiday with you next time. You often have a great ass.
—How can you...! It is my mother, " I said, trying to keep a serious expression. Although he tried to sound annoyed, his words had the opposite effect on me. In reality, the output of the tone of Aitor was increasing my arousal, a feeling confusing that he was trying to suppress. I knew I had to respond with disdain for not to look too affected, but in the background, the combination of her audacity, and the situation only intensified my own reaction internal.
—You're right —interrupted Ivan, in a tone that mingled curiosity and approval—. But you have to understand that your mother is very good, and since you are divorced, I think that has begun to live the life of a much freer way. Note that feels safe and strong. It is not uncommon that you want to show your body if you feel well.
His commentary, far from alleviating the tension, only amplified the nervousness he felt. Although Ivan was trying to be an observer and target, his words did not do more that add an extra layer of awkwardness to the situation. Aitor, upon hearing this, she smiled again, and I found myself caught between the need to maintain the composure and the growing internal confusion that the conversation was leading.
—Ever since I can remember, my mother has always made toples on the beach, " I said, trying to downplay—. It is only natural that many women do. What happens is that you are out. Do your mothers don't do toples when they are at the beach?
The question floated in the air while he waited for the answer. My tone was casual, even though my mind was still dealing with the discomfort of the situation. Aitor and Ivan exchanged looks, surprised by the direct question.
—No way! —Aitor replied with a skeptical laugh—. My father would never allow my mother to show him her tits.
—Not the look of the way to Olivia, " said Ivan, laughing—. My mother also has not ever toples. But is that your mother looks much younger than ours.
Their comments, although full of the joke, they made me feel an inexplicable sense of pride. The manner in which they spoke of my mother, highlighting how maintaining youthful, your body, seemed to validate somehow the attraction that I felt.
—Don't you have any face?
—Are you telling Me that you want me to show you the tits of my mother? —I asked, pretending to be once again angry.
—What does it matter? If it is displayed that way on the beach, it is because you don't mind the look. What else gives you that two pairs of eyes can see it as well? —spoke to Ivan displaying his pragmatism—. How to say, and make toples on the beach is something natural.
I didn't say anything, but I've moved the mouse quickly to the folder that I knew contained more embarrassing pictures of my mother. Teach the tits of mom, for the first time, to my two best friends, was something so powerful and exciting that would be forever etched in my memory.
I vividly remember that first image, that moment in particular. Mom was on the terrace of the apartment, sitting on a deck chair, completely relaxed and just dressed in some tiny panties. In one hand he held a cup that Domenico had prepared for him and his position, light-hearted revealed a confidence unconscious. What she didn't know was that I had captured that moment with my mobile phone, immortalizing his carefree, pose, and brightness of the cup in your hand. Her breasts were displayed in all their magnificence, revealing its complete form and round under the last rays of the setting sun. The image captured the fullness and the sensuality of your figure, contrasting with the simple panties that she wore. The photo, taken in a moment of carefree confidence, highlighting every detail of your body, from the contour of your curves up the delicacy of the cup in your hand.
Aitor, with his typical tone rude and without filters, did not take long to react.
—Oh my god, kid! —he exclaimed, eyes wide as plates, and the voice is full of excitement—. ¡Small tits! If my mother had it, would not come out of the house. What a past!
His words were raw and direct, reflecting a mixture of awe and lust that wasn't trying to hide. The reaction of Aitor was exactly the way I expected, but to hear it aloud, and in a way so explicitly, it made my heart beat with more force. I knew that I had crossed a line to the display that photo, and the harshness of his answer left him even more clear.
A few weeks later, mom told me and my brother that he had finished his relation with Domenico. Did not give us many details, only mentioned that things had not worked out as expected. From that moment, something in her changed. He started to leave more of a party, even at the weekend in which he agreed that Javi and I were at his house. I saw it emerge with a renewed energy, as if you tried to recover the time lost or distracted in any way. And I have to admit that there was something in those moments that I loved.
I loved when he entered my bedroom to say goodbye before leaving. Always wore dresses short and tight, highlighting her curves and showed necklines that did not go unnoticed. Their movements, safe and light, filled with the atmosphere of a mixture of perfume and promises not these.
—Carlos, my love, I left you money in the kitchen to ask him for some pizzas. When Javi get home, send me a message —he said with that voice cheerful that seemed to lighten up any concerns. When you enter my room, with that mixture of haste and enthusiasm for the night waiting, always be sure to leave us a warning: —And you, I do not spend the night playing games or watching movies, he said with a sly smile, knowing that Ivan would be to fall asleep and, as usual, he would keep his council.
After his words, he approached to give us a quick kiss on the forehead, leaving a slight mark of carmine and the scent of her perfume. Then, with a clinking heels, left, leaving behind a trail of anticipation and mystery. I was thinking of what a man would have the chance to meet up with her that night, to have her to himself in those moments in which I could only imagine what would happen.
That image of mom, so safe and desired, remained etched in my mind, and the excitement I was caught almost immediately. I couldn't help but wonder who would be given that night, and what secrets would bring with them on their return. It was a thought that I was burning inside, a mixture of jealousy and fascination. With my head full of these ideas, I felt the need to share them with Iván, as if talking about mom with him could calm the storm that provoked me see it as well, so radiant and so out of my reach.
One of those nights, driven by the growing confidence that he felt towards Ivan and perhaps by the need to share what has been keeping, I decided to tell you something that I had never before confessed. I told him about that time in the Costa del Sol, when I saw mom and Domenico at the beach, when I saw them give each other in this secluded corner. I don't know what led me to say, maybe the mixture of excitement and bewilderment that had always sense when you remember that moment, or perhaps only looking for a reaction, a way to understand what he had witnessed.
Ivan listened with attention, with that look of surprise and curiosity that confirmed that what I was telling him I was interested. But while the words out of my mouth, I realized that there was something more, something that could not, or rather, not I wanted to share with him. There was another scene much stronger that remained in my memory, much more disturbing, and that he preferred to keep silent: the day I saw mom fucking with her godson. Her cries, her words profane, her moans...
For some reason, that was just too much. Ivan knew Julen; what he had seen at home on countless occasions. Although he was older than us, had shared countless afternoons playing games with us, as if the age difference doesn't really matter. He was a nice guy, the kind of person that everyone appreciated for their good humor and his way of joining in any situation. How could you understand someone, much less to Ivan, that my mother had been busy with her own godson?
Think about it, I was a strange feeling, a mixture of disbelief and shame that I could not shake. Julen was only twenty years old, just a couple of years older than I, and was the son of one of the best friends mom. The relationship that was supposed to be like that of a godson with his godmother had crossed a line that I never would have imagined possible. It was a secret I couldn't share, not only by the disturbing than it was, but because I knew that would forever change the way that Ivan would see it.
How could I explain to him that mom, the same woman who prepared us a snack and gave us a good night, had crossed that boundary with Julen? How to justify the unjustifiable, or make sense of something so... distorted? It was a weight that could not be downloaded at no one, a truth that I found it impossible to share. I kept silence, keeping to myself that story, because he knew deep down that there was no way to understand it, to rationalize it, without destroying the image of it, and, perhaps, to me also. I did not dare to tell him that part of the story, to reveal what he had witnessed. I didn't want Ivan, who had already shown such interest by mom, to see her now in a way that I myself could fully accept. I decided to shut up, tragándome the words before they could leave, because I didn't want my friend had the perception that she was so... easy. So accessible. So a slut!
—Did you listen to it when they did?
—No, —alegué smiling at the memory of that moment—. They were pushed aside. But I knew they were fucking.
—What is it that you saw?
—They were partially hidden by the water, but the movements of both betrayed what was really happening. At the beginning, kissed, passionately. Then, mom came closer to him, and began to move up and down, rhythmically and slowly. In the moments that the waves went down, you could clearly see how he was holding firmly by the thighs, keeping them on your site as they continued.
—¡Fuck! —he cried Ivan, taking the dick—. Look how I get when you talk to me of your mother. Me la follaría right now if I could", he said smiling,—. Continue, please.
I looked at his cock, big and hard. You know that I was as well by the way in which I wanted mom made my arousal increased. "Me follaría right now if I could," his words resonated within me.
—I thought that was all over when she turned around, but to my surprise, Domenico couldn't stop. He walked up to her again, and, without losing a second, she was again put, this time from behind. The movements of Domenico became more intense, less concealed, and anyone who had watched from the distance I could have understood perfectly what they were doing.
—Do you have any pictures of that moment? he asked, hopeful.
—No, they were far away, just had distinguished nothing. When they finished, he stayed in the water having a swim, but she walked right up to the edge.
Her breasts, generous, and naked under the sun, moved with every step she took along the shore of the beach, bouncing with a freedom that would capture all the eyes around you. The swing was so marked, that seemed to accompany the rhythm of the waves, attracting attention inevitable as she walked carefree, as if you don't care about the effect it caused.
To this day, I remember your smile, evergreen and open, a reflection of the sheer joy of the moment that had just gone live. It was an expression of satisfaction and joy that lit up his face, as if you were sharing with the world a moment of intense fullness.
—Where is your brother? —I asked.
I pointed out in the direction of where we had our stuff.
—Is lying under the umbrella listening to music.
—Do you want a snack, I brought you some sandwiches? —he asked in the same way that any mother would in a day at the beach. Even though I knew that she was not like any mother.
(To be continued)
#mother, #family, #son, #milf, #united_family, #stories, #friends,
