I'm a Whore, an Incestuous Whore

Forty-five-year-old MILF of a mother, Grace, sexually seduced her handsome, 21-year-old son, Timothy. Deliberately sexually teasing him, I pretended that I was drunk and sleeping while laying my head on his lap.

# # #

Author's Note:

Grace asked me to write her this true story about her having sex with her son, Timothy.

Sexually aroused before, she's racked with guilt, shame, and remorse now. Grace felt embarrassed for being a horny and sexually frustrated woman enough to have had incestuous sex with her son. Unable to control her passionate, sex drive, and sexual desire for Timothy, she was sexually lonely enough to have had sex with him. With Timothy happy to have had sex with his mother, she's devastated by her perversely perverted actions to have had incestuous sex with him.

# # #

'I'm so embarrassed,' she thought. 'I'm so ashamed. Why would I do such a thing? How could I do such a thing? How dare I allow my son to take sexually advantage of me while I pretended to be drunk and sleeping. I'll never forgive myself,' she thought.

She relived everything that she did with her son and that she allowed him to do to her.

'I can't believe that I not only blew my son but also, I allowed him to cum in my mouth,' she thought. 'I even swallowed his cum. If that wasn't enough, I allowed him to eat my pussy and fuck me. I can't believe that I not only allowed Timothy to stick his tongue in my pussy, I allowed him to stick his big, erect prick in my warm, wet cunt, his mother's cunt.'

Going over it all in her mind again, she was devastated by her perversely perverted, sexually incestuous actions.

'Again, if that still wasn't enough with him cumming in my mouth, he also allowed him to ejaculate cum in my pussy, too,' she thought. 'Showing him the whore that I am, I allowed him to give me multiple, sexual orgasms, one with his fingers, a second one with his tongue, and a third one with his cock. What's wrong with me to have taken sexual advantage of my son? How dare I have sex with Timothy?' 'I'm a whore. I'm such an Incestuous whore,' thought his mother.

# # #

Honestly, I've never been sexually attracted to my son. Even after I caught him masturbating in his bedroom and saw his erect, naked cock numerous times, I didn't feel anything except for embarrassment for him and shame for myself that I not only looked but also, I stared. Something that a mother should never do, I stared at my son's erect, naked prick. I couldn't believe that I was sexually frustrated and horny enough to have stared at my son's erect, naked prick while he stroked himself.

Seemingly, nearly every time I delivered his laundry, with me opening his bedroom door without knocking, he'd be lying on his bed and on his back. Something that I was sexually shocked to see, he'd be naked with his eyes closed. He'd have his headphones on and his hand stroking his big, erect prick. Stunned, proving to myself what a big whore that I had become, all I could do was to stare. Having been years since I've seen a man naked, I couldn't remove my eyes from my son's naked prick.

'With me always catching him when he was naked and masturbating himself, did he want me to catch him masturbating,' I wondered? 'Did he want me to see his big, erect prick? Did he want me to watch him cum? Something that I thought that I'd never want to do, to be honest, I'd love to see my son cum. Yet, having second thoughts, I feared that he'd suddenly open his eyes and catch me in his room watching him masturbate himself. How embarrassing would that be,' I thought?'

I caught him masturbating so many times that I wondered if he had deliberately flashed me. Perhaps, as soon as he heard me climbing the stairs and walking towards his room, he stripped himself naked, donned his headphones, closed his eyes, and wrapped his hand around his prick while stroking it. Perhaps, he wanted me to see his naked penis. Perhaps, he hoped that I'd stay and watch him masturbating long enough to see him cum.

Perhaps, he hoped that I'd take his big dick in my hand and stroke him. Perhaps, he thought that I'd take his erect penis in my mouth and suck him. Perhaps, he thought that I'd strip myself naked, mount him, and fuck him. Perhaps, he thought that his mother would have incestuous sex with her son?

Unembarrassed and unashamed, I freely admit that after seeing Timothy's naked, erect prick one too many times, I masturbated myself but not over my son. I masturbated myself because I was horny and sexually frustrated. I couldn't remember the last time that I had a stiff prick in my hand, in my mouth, and in my pussy. Before I had stroked, sucked, and fucked my son, I can't remember the last time that I stroked a man, sucked a man, and/or fucked a man.

# # #

Then, one day, horny as all Hell, when I delivered his laundry, there he was again, masturbating. He was always masturbating. He was always stroking his prick. I wondered what he masturbated over? I wondered who he masturbated over? I wondered if he masturbated over me.

Then, with him adding dialogue to his masturbation sessions, I heard him talking through his bedroom door. If it wasn't enough that he sexually shocked me by showing me his naked prick, it was even more sexually shocking for me to know that he was masturbating over me. It was sexually arousing to hear all of the sexually incestuous things that he wanted to do to my naked body, his mother's naked body.

"Oh, mom, I'd love to see you naked. I'd love to see your big, naked breasts. I'd love to see your erect nipples. I'd love to see your shapely, naked ass. I'd love to see your blonde, trimmed, bushy, or bald pussy," said Timothy loud enough for me to hear him through his bedroom door.

Standing with my ear pressed against his bedroom door, I continued listening while he continued talking.

"I wish you wouldn't wear a robe of your sexy nightgowns. I'd love to see the shape and the big size of your naked breasts through your sheer nightgown. I'd love to see your erect nipples through your sheer nightgown, too. It would so hot to see the shape and the size of your naked ass, too," he said.

Now every time that I walked down the hall to deliver his laundry, not only was the house shaking from him masturbating but also, I could clearly hear all that he was saying. I no longer had to press my ear against his bedroom door. I could hear him when walking down the hall.

The first time that I heard him, embarrassing me, I was tempted to turn around and walk back downstairs. Yet, I figured that he was naked and masturbating with his eyes closed while wearing his headphones. Instead, daring myself to do so, I opened his bedroom door and put his laundry on the floor by his closet. When I saw that he was masturbating himself again, instead of immediately leaving, I stayed to watch him stroke his cock. I wanted to see him cum.

Watching my son masturbate himself over imagining me naked and having sex with me made me horny. With him making me so unbearably sexually frustrated, while watching him stroke his cock, I pushed open my robe and felt my breasts while fingering my erect nipples through my nightgown. Then, becoming even more sexually aroused, unable to control myself from touching myself, I lifted the front of my nightgown to expose my naked, blonde, trimmed pussy.

While leaning against his closest door, I rubbed my clit and finger fucked my pussy. I masturbated myself while my son masturbated himself. I watched him stroking himself harder and faster. Then, when I realized that he was about to cum, as if I was a burglar in the night, I silently and stealthily left his bedroom.

Yet, I wondered if my son had been watching me finger my nipples and play with my pussy. I wondered if he had barely opened his eyes enough to see me masturbating myself. Something so humiliating yet something so sexually arousing, I wondered if Timothy had watched me, his mother, masturbate herself. It made me even hornier to think that Timothy had seen my naked pussy. In the way that I saw his naked cock while he stroked himself, how hot would that be for my son to see my naked pussy while I fingered myself?

# # #

My long, sad story short, as if trying to kill himself, with my husband, Bill, a diabetic and unable to stop from drinking beer, with him not even wearing a mask, he caught COVID. Too sick to recover, he succumbed to the fatal virus. A stubborn man, he refused to have his vaccination shots.

He may have survived the pandemic had he worn a mask when in public and had all of his COVID shots. Yet, he assured himself that, in the way that he convinced himself that the government had lied about the AIDS epidemic, they were lying about COVID, too. Instead, he drank at the bar and attended football games without wearing a mask and without having his COVID shots to protect himself from getting the fatal virus.

Because my husband was no longer able to get and maintain an erection, I went years without having sex. He'd rather watch every college football game than to feel and fondle my big breasts while masturbating me. He'd rather watch NFL football than to pay any sexual attention to me. Even though I frequently sucked his cock when he was able to have erections, he never ate my pussy. As if he was afraid of fingering my naked pussy, I can't even remember the last time he masturbated me.

Then, as my son grew older, he looked more like his father before Bill gained an enormous amount of weight. My husband loved his barbeque as much as he loved his beer. When he wasn't eating big slabs of rare beef, he ate fast foods. I never saw a man who could eat and drink as much he could consume in a day. As if he was James Gandolfini as Tony Soprano from the Sopranos, our food and alcohol bills were outrageously high because of him.

He refused to diet. He refused to exercise. Whenever we went to the mall, instead of parking further away from the front doors and walk, he endlessly circled the parking lot until he found a closer space. Instead of walking through the mall with me, sometimes he'd wait in the car for me to finish shopping while reading his Gun and Ammo magazine. If he wasn't going to help me shop, I don't know why he even came to the mall with me. I could have driven myself to the mall.

# # #

Then, one night, a night that I'll never forget, daring myself to do so, and shocking even me when I did, after I drank nearly a bottle of wine from nervous sexual anticipation, I did something sexually provocative. Sometimes regretting it, I did something that I thought I'd never do. Even though I'm glad that I did it, I did something that I still sometimes can't believe that I did, even to this day. I had sex with my son.

Something that I never did and had never done, deliberately flashing him while sexually teasing him, I wore my sexiest nightgown in front of him without having the modesty to wear a robe over it. I was as nervous as I was sexually aroused. I couldn't believe that I was showing my son all that he only imagined when masturbating himself but had never seen. Immorally, overnight, by the encouragement of his X-rated masturbation dialogue, I had turned into a drunken whore. I was nearly, naked exposed to my son when he was masturbating.

'God help me,' I thought. 'Why did I do that? Why did I show my son all that he should never see of his mother? I'm practically naked when wearing this sheer nightgown without wearing a robe over it.'

Normally, with me morally modest, a church going Catholic, and God-fearing woman, I wear a robe over my nightgown but tonight I didn't. Instead, as if he was my boyfriend, my husband, or my lover, I acted as if I was his whore, his stripper, or his prostitute. Immodestly immoral, I wickedly paraded myself in front of my testosterone filled son while wearing my shortest, sheerest, lowest-cut, and sexiest nightgown. With my nightgown practically see-through, he could see everything.

# # #

Pretending that I didn't notice him staring at all that I was showing, I watched his eyes bulging out of his head while he continually stared at me. Then, when I walked in the light, especially when I deliberately stood in front of the bright light of the television, I knew that he could see me as if I stood before him naked. In the way that I made him sexually excited, he made me sexually aroused. Having been a long time since I felt like a desirable woman, judging by his quickly growing erection that showed through his pajama bottoms, I felt like one now.

Not very difficult for me to determine how he felt about his mother, I could tell by his throbbing and pulsating erection that tented his pajama bottoms how he sexually felt about me. In the way that I was indecently depraved, I knew that I had sexually excited him. I knew that I had made him plenty horny enough to masturbate himself later tonight and tomorrow morning. It made me terribly, sexually aroused to imagine my son masturbating over me. Making me feel like a sexually wanted woman, he continued staring at all that he could see of my nearly, naked body.

Unembarrassed and unashamed, I knew full well that he could clearly see my shapely, nearly, naked ass. I knew that he could see my blonde, trimmed, patch of pubic hair. Making myself horny just by thinking about it, I knew that he could see the shape and the size of my big, D cup breasts, and my erect nipples. In the way that I'd be masturbating over my son seeing my nearly naked body, I knew that he'd be masturbating later over all that he was seeing of his MILF of a mother now.

Yet, even though I knew it was wrong to sexually tease my son, I didn't care. I wanted him to see and to want to touch, feel, and fondle all that I was deliberately showing him. The closest thing to being naked in front of him, I wanted Timothy to see all that he could clearly see of my nearly, naked body. I wanted him to sexually lust over me in the way that I sexually wanted him. In the way that I suddenly wanted to have sex with him, I wanted him to want to have sex with me, too.

# # #

I imagined him masturbating later over all that he was seeing of me now. I imagined my son cumming over the imagined thoughts of seeing me nearly naked. I imagined Timothy cumming over the imagined thoughts of having sex with me. I imagined him not only cumming in my mouth but also in my pussy, too.

Not stopping there, I imagined him feeling my naked breasts, fingering my erect nipples, and sucking my erect nipples. I imagined blowing him while stroking him. I imagined sucking his cock. I imagined him cumming in my mouth and me swallowing his cum.

Again, not stopping there, I imagined him fingering my pussy. I imagined him masturbating me. I imagined him licking my pussy. I imagined him giving me oral sex. I imagined him making me cum. I imagined him giving me multiple, sexual orgasms with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock.

I wanted him to sexually want me in those moments that I sexually wanted him. I imagined him touching me, feeling me, and fondling me where a son should never touch, feel, and fondle his mother. Even though I felt like such a whore, an incestuous whore, I didn't care. Sexually teasing him while wearing my sexually revealing nightgown gave me something to masturbate over later tonight and, again, tomorrow morning.

I was tired of being horny. I was tired of being sexually frustrated. I needed a sexual orgasm. I needed to cum. I needed a reason for me to masturbate myself.

With my son the only man within my reach, why not have sex with him? Why not allow him to masturbate me? Why not allow him to eat me? Why not allow him to fuck me? After all, I'm his mother and he's, my son. Then, again, that was the biggest reason why I shouldn't have sex with him. I'm his mother and he's, my son.

If he made me cum, I'd make him cum, too. I'd stroke his cock. I'd suck his cock. I'd blow him. I'd blow my son. I'd allow him to not only cum in my mouth, I'd allow him to cum all over my face and across my naked breasts. I'd allow Timothy to give me, his mother, a cum bath.

# # #

When Timothy didn't make a sexual move to bed me, from that day forward, I continued flashing him while sexually teasing him. I continued wearing my sexiest and sheerest nightgowns without having the modesty to wear a robe over them. When I wasn't flashing him my panties, my cleavage, and my low-cut bra, I flashed him my naked pussy and my naked breasts.

With me sitting across from him on the couch, he sat in his father's big chair. While reading my book or watching TV, pretending as if I wasn't noticing him staring at what he could see of me between my shapely thighs, I continually crossing and uncrossing my long, shapely legs. As if I had his chin on a leash, every time I crossed and uncrossed my legs, he looked over at me. No doubt, he hoped when wearing my short skirt that I'd flash him my panties or when wearing my short nightgown that I'd flash him my naked pussy.

Indeed, with me being the whore that I had become, I flashed him. I flashed my son all that he had hoped and stared to see. When I wore my short skirt, with my knees parted just enough for him to continually see my panty clad pussy, I flashed him my white panties. When I wore my nightgown, again, with my knees parted just enough for him to see his mother's naked cunt, I continually flashed him views of my naked pussy.

I exposed myself to my son in the way that a morally, modest mother should never expose herself to her son. I exposed myself to my son in the way that I had never exposed myself to any man. I exposed my panty clad and naked pussy to Timothy in the way that he had deliberately exposed his erect, naked penis to me when masturbating himself. I showed him that I wanted to play his game and to be his whore.

Then, that night, surprising me, something that he never does and that I never expected him to do, as if I was his girlfriend, his wife, or his lover instead of his mother, he sat next to me on the couch. I couldn't believe that he was sitting next to me. After years of sitting across from one another in the same room, he showed me that he cared. In the way that he looked adoringly at me; he showed me that he loved me.

In the way that he sexily looked at me, he showed me that he wanted to have incestuous sex with me. Moreover, and oddly enough, in those fleeting moments, if I was reading him correctly, he showed me that he sexually wanted me as much as I sexually wanted him. Only, with me afraid to make the next sexual move, I hoped that he'd take that decision out of my hands and make the next sexual move.

"I can see the television much better when sitting in front of it instead of sitting to the side of it," he said as his excuse for sitting next to his mother.

# # #

Once again, with me not wearing a robe over my flimsy and sheerly, revealing nightgown, needing the warmth of his body, I cuddled against him. Hugging him, I snuggled right up to him. Instead of moving away from me, surprising me again, he put his arm around my shoulders. He lovingly held me in the way that he had never held me before.

"Keep me warm," I said. "I'm cold."

With my hand on his pajama clad thigh, we stayed like that all night. To show him that I was tired, I started yawning and I continued yawning for the next half an hour. Then, hoping that he'd touch my big breasts, feel my big breasts, and fondle my big breasts, I closed my eyes, slumped down my head. Wanting him to take sexual advantage of me, I pretended that I was sleeping.

The more that I pretended that I was sleeping, the more that I leaned against his t-shirt clad body, and the more that I lowered my torso to his pajama clad cock. Pretending that I was in deep sleep, I slowly slid myself down lower. I continued lowering myself until the side of my head was on his lap and mere inches away from his pajama clad, semi-erect prick. With him thinking that I was fast asleep, and with me pretending to be asleep on him, the top of my nightgown was wide open.