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What an ironic twist to see the teacher being summoned to the office. With trembling hands and a sweaty brow, she nervously fiddled at the edges of the legal notice she had been forced to sign for, and warily withdrew the blue papers from the sealed and dated envelope. “What is it, Mom? What’s in that letter?” I gaped in startled dismay at the shaken, obviously panicked woman in front of me.
My mother is normally a rock. She teaches Civics and Media Relations at our local junior-high. And on Saturdays, she instructs younger students in religious training. She has always thrown her heart and soul into her work as if running from or toward something. Though her demeanor is ramrod straight and always appropriately dressed, I have noticed over the recent few years that some chips and fissures have cracked the surface of the teacher, many of her pupils have labeled the “Iceberg.”
I was once actually one of those students. My name is John Rollins, but everyone calls me JR, after my dad. He died months before I was born, and days before my folks were set to marry. That’s why my mom and I have different last names and most people at the school were unaware that we were related. My friends would have thought that if she was my mom, I would have been smarter. So it was mostly my humorous secret, but occasionally hurtful to hear my peers whisper and scribble their snide remarks about my mother. “I bet those big tits are cold as ice…I’d fuck that frozen cunt but I’d need to wrap my cock in a fur coat…I could thaw-out that sexy block of ice by shoving my hot cock up her tight ass…”
Aside from wincing at the sexist and demeaning insults aimed towards my mother, I often needed to smile and laugh along, so that my buddies didn’t learn our “secret.” Or else I would have no friends and get into ten fights per day. So I had to partake in their crude japes and even add a few of my own regarding her big boobs and fuckable pussy.
Another thing that these comments forced on me, was to critique my mom in non-maternal ways. At each cutting quip about her tits, I had to admit that those puppies were nice looking. Even buttoned-up and demurely attired, it was obvious to all that she was full-figured and well-rounded. Dresses that were not exactly form fitting, still could do nothing to conceal her form. And blouses, though never low-cut or unbuttoned short of her throat, revealed a ponderous bust and healthy bounce that her plain white underwires could not hope to contain. The dark shadow and deep cleft of her cleavage hid two shapely melons that captured everyone’s attention whenever her arms moved. Even the female students were envious or jealous of the rapt stares she could elicit. And I know from years of laundry and vacations at the beach, that those firm mammaries measured 38DD. They piqued my interest the moment that my pubic hair grew in. She was a walking sexual desire for most students despite herself. At about that same stretch, I started having wet dreams that I didn’t realize at the time were triggered by an Oedipal infatuation, and my continual closeness to those double-Ds.
She also had a nicely-rounded pear-shaped ass that flared delicately at the hips but then tapered to long, slim legs that were mostly hidden from view, by her calf-length skirts. I have seen plenty of those legs. Whether in jogging shorts or stretchy tights, she often accompanies me on daily runs. And I’ve even seen her twist those shapely gams around her neck for her Yoga exercises, forcing me to steal sly glances at the “Y” and ponder what other unique positions I cold fold her into.
My adult fantasies also sometimes fit a dangerous, incestuous pattern where I slowly part my Mom’s velvety thighs, licking and kissing my path up one long leg and then the other. I arrive at the confluence of her womanhood, and slobber wet, sloppy kisses on her already steaming clitoris. I ease my body onto her heaving torso and guide my sturdy rod into her waiting cunt. While I nibble on her bountiful breasts, I pound her tight pussy. Letting flow the soupy syrup that she begs from my hard cock.
Her fine ass remains a mysterious treasure to everyone, but as I said, I’ve seen her in casual moments at home and in vacation-mode, where bikinis and strategically placed towels frame a young man’s dreams. The school still requires that female instructors wear heels, I’m not sure if they know how much this decision contributes to a guy’s nocturnal emissions. I know she doesn’t mean to, but the swishy movement of her full chest plus the delightful lilt of those butt cheeks as she sashays in heels, really gets guys imagining.
Mom’s look is topped by bushels of luxurious strawberry blonde locks. Laying in rich tiers of spun gold and soft copper that she is rightfully proud of- brushing hundreds of strokes each night- that she can’t possibly hide every day in a bun or ponytail. Whispers passed ear-to-ear in the halls whenever Mom allowed her lovely tresses to flow. She has a bahis firmaları radiant smile and bubbly personality when in unguarded moments, and takes intense concern over the feelings and welfare of others, especially her students. She has sparkling azure eyes that flash eagerly and the dimples in her sharply-defined cheeks deepen when anyone tempts her to smile. And she will even blush like a schoolgirl when she hears an off-color story or joke. I’m a junior in college now, and she is my mom but, she could easily be a MILF that they make videos about. And incest videos, too (if you know what I mean.)
It was about the time after my eighteenth year that my incestuous fantasies took-on a more physical nature. I spent torturous nights and long, steamy showers with my right hand strapped firmly around my rigid cock and the taboo image of my mom’s silky-smooth thighs spread wide for me. I could easily picture my swollen cock entering her hot snatch, spreading the lonely walls of her cunt until they gripped me tightly. Her warm pussy juices would lube my approach and we would develop an easy rhythm as I drove my erect tool deep into her hungry snatch. Her round backside would rise up to meet my every stroke and her hungry growls of lust would spark my passion. My tongue would be painting wet swirls around her pink areola and my teeth nibbling at her perky nipples, just hard enough to keep her hopping on the bed and begging to suck my cock. I always got a devious, incestuous thrill when I imagined Mom purring to me, “Fuck me son, and let me swallow your seed. I need your big cock in my desperate cunt and I long for the taste of your honey. If you can keep our little secret JR, I’ll always let you have your way with me.”
I knew my lewd sex-dreams were taboo and that I would probably burn in hell, but it was harmless on Earth and produced great loads of cum on my belly and sheets. And how are you supposed to feel when your Mom is like a fox in a cage? You don’t want her trapped or forced to live alone, but you also can’t stand the thought of anyone else possessing her. But if you were to actually touch her, she would bite you! I know she is beautiful and can’t dress or act in a showy way. And she has her chaste image to consider. And I also know from being with her constantly that her own image of herself is adapting to a younger libertine world. She is a young, vibrant woman bubbling beneath the surface of a cool, matronly façade.
I’ve seen her blush at new clothing styles on younger, shapely women, and I see her subtly turn and pose as if imagining her fabulous body filling-out those flattering outfits. I see the catalogs that her envious eyes dwell over; glossy pictures of seductive lingerie or sexy vibrators and sweet-smelling lotions. For research and grading purposes, and to keep-up with the attitudes of her charges, she has taken to watching risque movies and listening to obscene material, with only a slight rosy color to her full, sexy cheeks. Also, I have seen the lewd sites and filthy videos that she has signed-on to for whatever reason. I am always searching for an ice-breaking topic to get her to open-up to me, she can’t safely stay so “hermetically sealed.”
But now it’s the troubling certified letter that has drawn my attention back to her present situation. The Tax Office “wishes to discuss a few discrepancies” it reads, and she needs to gather her files and report in the morning. I can’t think that it’s related to anything more than a typo, or a missing comma or lost receipt. My mother wouldn’t even cheat at solitaire. She appeared nervous when I saw her in the morning, dressed in her dreary dark business suit, her paper-work tucked neatly in her shoulder bag. I wished her “good luck” but then thought no more about it. Nobody likes dealing with the Tax Agency, but it’s probably all just a big mistake.
When I strode through the door later that evening, I knew something was awry. No dinner smells coming from the kitchen, rooms in deep shadow and her jacket and heels had been carelessly tossed about. I heard her in her bedroom softly weeping, and nervously shuffled in to find her laying on the bed; an empty wine goblet by her bedside, with make-up smeared and hair disheveled. She was wearing only a thin white slip, with bra and panties clearly visible underneath. Her large breasts were straining at the satiny material and the imprint from her nipples was obvious. I felt ashamed but my erection immediately became constricted in my jeans. Then I saw the dejected appearance and heard her halting, desperate pleas.
“Oh JR, I’m in terrible trouble. I made a stupid mistake years ago and now they’re saying payback the total with interest and penalties or go to jail. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t have that kind of money and when I stopped at the bank, they said I don’t have the collateral for this size loan.” Her sobbing confession hurt me to hear.
“Whoa Mom,” I started. “Slow down a little and stop crying, please. kaçak iddaa Let me get you another glass of wine while you rinse your face. Then you can start from the beginning and tell me all about it.” After a while she seemed to calm down and laid her head on my shoulder, I ran my fingers through her lush mane of reddish-blonde hair that I found as attractive as she did. She finally quit trembling and sobbing as I rubbed her scalp. She let me massage her tense, tired upper torso and then with a few hiccups and hesitations, she began her twisted tale.
She was laying prone on the sheets, gently blubbering into the pillows and I was lightly rubbing her back. She started by saying that years ago, she took some “iffy” deduction for child-care that as a single, struggling mother, she thought she was entitled to. It required her to accept other benefits for it to make sense, and that soon led down a rabbit-hole of deception and false statements. And after many years she continued the allowances, “even after it all got so involved.” I should have been listening more closely I admit, but at one point she let me slide her dressing gown from her shoulders and I realized that I was kneading her bare back and she was quietly moaning in between trying to recite her ordeal.
She had apparently changed her clothes when I left the room. Now she was clad only in a gossamer robe, braless and tiny pink panties that looked lewdly inviting to my prying eyes. I was as close to her completely naked body than I had ever been. My fingers shook as I tried to control my tempo on her warm flesh, and while I sat between her spread legs, my cock tented the denim of my jeans.
“Oh Gawd, JR that feels so nice,” she cooed to me. “Please keep rubbing my shoulders and neck, and maybe I can get through this. I am so worried that my head is aching.” (I wanted to echo that thought, but I kept it to myself.) “You are such a good listener, honey. Thank you for being such a good son,” she continued. I knew it was more difficult to admit to the deception than to pay a fine. And needing to explain to me was only an awful warm-up to the embarrassment and humiliation she would face when the news spread to the scholastic and church community.
I heard her suffering tones and I doubled my effort to soothe her strained nerves, but I was also irresistibly drawn to the tantalizing curves of her large shapely boobs, half-hidden in the mattress but only inches from my exploring fingers. I marveled that they were so big, that even squishing them into the bed did not flatten them or cause them to disappear from view. I worked at pressing my thumbs into her tight shoulders to relieve some of the tension and I would roll my balled hand across her stiff neck, she oohed and aahed at the gentle pressure in between telling parts of her sorry story. I slowly worked my wandering hands along her spine, allowing my knuckles to dig-in to her back muscles and ease some of the tension. When I spotted some baby oil on her nightstand, I added that to the procedure. She jumped at first, startled by the slinky fluid I warmed in my hands, but then contentedly relaxed and breathed a deep audible gasp. I was happy that I could help relieve her anxiety, but the new slapping sound of the oily mixture and the slippery sensation of my hands gliding over her bare skin was causing the temperature in my pants to soar.
Her back and neck glistened in the pale light and my hands swam smoothly from the base of her skull to the small of her back. I love that soft dip of her lower back just above her butt, and I took my time spreading the warm oil along her hips and the inch or two I could spy of her crack. My fingers lingered over that sweet indentation of soft flesh and I dug in a little more firmly, loving the feel of her moist flesh under my touch and encouraged by her whispers of pleasure and the gentle trilling purrs she hummed.
For a minute my hands wandered too far down her firm mounds and I saw her tense-up before she spoke, “JR, please don’t get oil on my new undies.” Then I couldn’t believe it but she reached behind her and shimmied her panties down below her curvy butt cheeks, I was enthralled by the motion of her hips and ass while she wriggled the pink material to the top of her thighs and settled back onto the sheets. I could not believe my good fortune, I could actually see and fondle my Mom’s bare ass, almost as if she was inviting me to. And when she was maneuvering herself, I even caught a glimpse of her big tits, hanging loosely and wobbling as she shrugged her undies down. My cock sprung to attention and chafed at the restricting cloth of my jeans. With me sitting between her spread legs, I’m surprised that she didn’t shriek about being stabbed.
With renewed vigor, I worked the warming oil into the luxurious, shimmering folds and mounds of her upper ass cheeks and strong thighs. And watched wide-eyed in wonder as she deliberately shifted the pliant mounds and unconsciously parted the kaçak bahis tiny cleft between the cheeks as if I weren’t there, and my heart was not in my throat. She seemed to be lost in the sensation. My nervous fingers slid precariously close to spreading her firm bottom and touching her most sensitive spots. I wondered for a brief instant if I could somehow reach between her dewy thighs and cup that wiry red bush, (then I remembered how crazy that would be.) My hands gripped and molded the delicate cheeks, all the while slathering oil on those taught globes. Occasionally her hand lazily reached back to steer my anxious paws farther up her back and away from her forbidden region. Sometimes I would notice her long blonde locks shift and her head slightly lift from the pillow, but not dissuade me from working the soothing oil into her bare backside and up the length of her back bone.
Each time my hands were drawn again towards the small of her back and the gentle rise and separation of her round bottom, I could detect a growing hum and soft, throaty coo. But she kept her face mostly hidden by the sheets, I think to not allow me to witness the tears that streaked her reddened cheeks or the quiver of her plump lips as she haltingly explained her frightful situation. Her quiet moans and the sultry movements of her shimmering torso as she squirmed with unaccustomed passion under the pressure of my languidly floating hands, thankfully hid the short, rapid sound of my breathing and my own lusty moans. As my little massage progressed, she became more at ease with my grubby hands exploring her luscious body. She actually seemed to be enjoying the feel of my hungry hands on her delicate skin.
It may have only been my lurid imagination, but she appeared to be grinding her pelvis into the mattress and experiencing more than plain muscular relief. My pants were developing a dark, wet area where my greasy hands were compelled to rearrange the stiffness and cramped confines of my aching cock. In my dreams, this is where I would unleash the huge serpent stirring in it’s lair and take possession of the fair maid at my mercy. My strong hands would part her struggling thighs and I would push forward, filling the triangular gap. My cock would snake into her hot, wet cavern and I would feel her surrender. Then as I grind away at her ravenous cunt, her hips would rise from the bed to accept as much of my sturdy tool as she could harbor. Her big tits would shake and bob until I grasped them firmly in my hands and I would thrust my solid rod deep into her sweet pussy. With her tender voice begging for my seed, I would linger just a second in the warmth of her snatch, loving the sound of her hoarse requests, “Fuck me JR. I need you. Take me and make me yours. My pussy isn’t whole without you.” I let go, flooding her insides and thrilled to see the sticky, white fluid spilling out of her gaping gash and trickling down her legs. She scrambles to turn around and envelop my shiny prick into her eager mouth, and I revel in the erotic scene of my mother slurping and savoring the last of the creamy liquid as it pours into her throat.
“Oh, that feels so delightful,” she moans to me, and I am shaken from my nasty imaginings. My treasonous hands then start their slow, slippery climb up her back. I lightly grip her hips and delicately trace a path along her sides feeling each of her ribs under my fingers as if I was plucking the keys of a fleshy, twisting piano. I see the slight indentations caused by her bra in an effort to corral and contain those sweet, juicy melons. I rub the sensitive area with my palms and she writhes and purrs in ecstasy. I lingered around the bottom of her ribcage and the tips of my fingers could feel the tender sides and the full curves of her bouncy breasts. Like poking at water balloons, I eased my cupped hand slowly under the edges of her heavy boobs. I felt her startled response and her recitation halted as she simply shifted her weight and brushed my hands aside with a gentle rebuke, “JR be careful with where your hands are, I am your Mother.” (Believe me, I already knew that. And my cock was in overdrive.)
I was appropriately chastened but really, for the incestuous liberties I had taken and the lewd, taboo thoughts throbbing in my mind, I expected much worse. And I realized that if she had not felt so embarrassed and ashamed at her ordeal, and was not in such need for comfort and security, she would surely see in my guilty eyes and hungry sweaty demeanor, that I had developed an evil, lecherous intent. But I was certainly puzzled at the muted reactions and sensual utterings coming from my near-naked Mom. I had to keep fighting the urge to ask her to roll onto her back, “so that I could apply oil to her chest and thighs.” I was fairly certain that would never happen, and I did not wish to ruin this moment.
So I let the mood relax for both of us, and returned to simply massaging her strained muscles and calming her agitated nerves. It was then that I was drawn back to the gravity of her situation. She sobbed, and said apparently not for the first time, “Where am I supposed to get $17, 000?” Once again I was rudely shaken from my little erotic fantasy.
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