URL: http://web.archive.org/web/20130723065940/http://www.literotica.com/s/the-mom-memories-ch-18
Author: alwayswantedto
Title: The Mom Memories Ch. 18
Tags: The Mom Memories Ch. 18, alwayswantedto, mom, son, mother son incest, mother/son, reluctant sex, milf seduction, milf, mother seduction, pussy fingering, incest novella

Summary: Secret group exchanges maternal memories.

All characters are 18 years or older.

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I'm sorry it's been so long since I've distributed any new letters. Things have changed
significantly in my life. As I said in my last letter, I was and still am put off
by my mother's sluttish behavior with Paul. Her original involvement, purportedly
to instigate a relationship between Paul and his own mother, shifted into a seduction
for her own pleasure and then sunk to a mutual exploration of depravity.

I began to avoid my mother and, since I wasn't home much, neglected to pass out the
stories I know you appreciate and I love reading. After several weeks, I succumbed
to a morbid curiosity to see what Mother and Paul had now lowered themselves to. Returning
to the study, I reviewed the recordings which had filled my hard drives and finally
quit a week earlier.

There was still enough to see but I won't describe it. I expected a progression along
the path I had witnessed earlier but I was still unprepared for the debauchery displayed
before me. Usually, I extracted the juicy bits and burned them onto DVDs for later
viewing pleasure, but this time I deleted it all. To make it worse, I knew I had missed
an entire week of recording that was probably even more sickening.

In the depths of my depression, watching my mother perform gross acts with Mary's
demanding, user son, it slowly dawned on me that the recordings in the basement suite
were devoid of sexual activity. True, there were a few occasions when Paul tried to
have it off with his mother but she rebuffed him every time. And these incidents were
few and far between. Not only was Mary avoiding her son, she wasn't allowing him to
sleep in her bed either.

As I scanned through the almost two weeks of recordings I became more and more excited,
realizing that Mary was giving her son the cold shoulder just as I was shunning my
mother. I won't say my spirits soared but they were certainly lifted.

Did she suspect an affair between Paul and my mother? I remembered her looking at
Mom's closed door as she passed, at her surprise when she once encountered Paul in
the hallway while on her way to look after my Dad. She was aware of Paul's appetite
and she knew about me and Mom. She had to know, if only in her heart.

This was the chance to renew my pursuit of this woman for whom I had grown so fond.
She had put me off because, in her own words, she couldn't deny her son. Well, now,
of her own accord, she was.

I deleted all the recordings currently stored on the computer and shut down the monitoring
programs. I no longer wanted to witness my mother's lewd behavior and the thought
of invading Mary's privacy now appalled me. Memories of my previous violations filled
me with intense guilt.

Late that afternoon, just before Paul was due to arrive home, I asked Mary if she
would like to accompany me to the store while I picked up a few things. She seemed
to jump at the chance and I realized how much she now wanted to avoid her son as much
as possible.

Our excursions to the local mall became a habit, as did mid-afternoon snacks alone
with Mary. I sacrificed a course for that, skipping an afternoon class for over a
month. But soon, I was able to restore our previous relationship to the point where
she didn't pull away when I held her arm to guide her to the car, or took her hand
when we stopped to walk in the park, even letting me circle her waist with my arm.


We talked about anything and nothing, but eventually, one day, broached the topic
of my mother and her son. She was surprised when I voiced my suspicions, not by the
suspicion itself, but that I held it. She clearly hadn't thought that I might be aware.


She confessed that she now found it difficult to be around her son and she was somewhat
disgusted with his manipulative behavior. If she knew what I did, disgust would be
a mild word. She was impatient for Paul to finish school and was thinking about finding
another job and moving away. I was alarmed. I couldn't lose her now. I'd follow her
and leave Paul here with my mother. Jokingly, I suggested the idea, that she and I
run away. Surprisingly, she didn't laugh it off quickly, didn't even seem to take
it as a joke as first. Could it happen? Would she actually go away with me?

Before I could pursue the thought, Paul arrived and shortly after that, my mother.
It was distasteful watching them pretend their distant relationship through dinner
for our benefit, knowing how frenzied and soily their coupling could be. I couldn't
stop the images of my mother's upturned face awaiting the first splash of Paul's cum,
of her panting and wailing while multiple vibrators worked away, anticipating his
approach. Or Paul, having himself learned the joy of feigned captivity, strapped to
the bed, craving my mother's own delayed attack, relishing her inevitable pounce onto
his face, clutching his head between her thighs while she ground her naked pelvis
back and forth across his shameless grin.

Turning to look at me, a slight smile briefly shaped Mary's beautiful mouth. When
father's alarm sounded, mother and Paul almost tripped on each other to respond to
the call, insisting that Mary and I stay put, that it was their turn. As they left
the kitchen I wondered if she would raise her dress to tease him on the way up the
stairs, if he would manage to get inside her before she could reach the landing. Or
could she hold him off until he shoved her forward onto all fours on the carpet in
the hallway, inserting his cock and flattening her to her tummy, pulling her head
back and roughly pushing his fingers into her mouth, whispering lewd fuck words and
thrilling in their illicit escapade with us just downstairs, the very thought bringing
them both close to orgasm.

Or would my mother lead him into my father's bedroom, pulling him as she fell across
the bed, over my Dad's knees, as Paul took her roughly from behind, the way I'd taken
her, once thinking it was my idea. Oh yes, she'd love that. Making him watch, hoping
that he could still see and still understand. I'm sure she kept the monitor on for
father to see when she allowed Paul to demean her in her own bed, to deface her with
his spunk, again and again.

I asked Mary if she would accompany me to a movie. We left before they came downstairs.
In the theater, Mary allowed me to put my arm around her and snuggled close. We kissed
like teenagers. Strangely, I didn't want any more than her sweet lips. It was Mary
that pulled my hand over her breast, that pressed my palm tight until I could feel
her stiff nipple underneath.

It seemed natural when I slid my hand under her cardigan sweater to rest on her hip
as we walked toward the car. Before I could open the door, she turned to put her arms
around my neck, pulling me down for a long kiss.

"I wish they wouldn't be there," she said, "that we could be alone."

She kissed be on the lips then, a brief kiss, before stepping back for me to open
her door. I fumbled a bit but not too much. On the drive home, Mary stayed on her
side of the car but her arm stretched out along the back of the seat so her fingers
could play with the hair at the base of my neck.

She urged me to pull over just before we reached our driveway. Sliding over as soon
as I put the car in park, we enjoyed a long, passionate kiss. When our lips parted,
Mary pulled my hand down between her legs. Not right up, but I could still feel the
heat emanating from her.

"I only want to be with you," she said earnestly, pulling my hand right up, turning
it to cup her V tightly. "I'll never be with him again. With anyone. Only you."

She kissed me again. A shorter kiss this time, then slid over to the door.

"Let's go home," she said.

I spent as much time as I could with Mary after that. We spoke of how she and I would
leave at the end of the school year. It was my last year and we decided we couldn't
wait until Paul finished. She would send money for him and I would find a job.

All that changed when my father died.

My father's death had unexpected effects. For one thing, my mother unraveled. This
was truly a great surprise. She simply lost her spark, as if her reason for being,
the focus of her anger, had ceased to exist. It happened quickly. She seemed so shocked
that I had to make all the funeral arrangements. Still, I thought this was a temporary
problem or even, now a little wiser about what my mother was capable of, a sham.

But it wasn't. After the funeral, mother disappeared upstairs and rarely came down.
I had expected her to give Mary her walking papers and had been readying myself to
leave as soon as she dismissed my new love. After all, we didn't need a live-in nurse
now that Dad was gone. But nothing happened.

I thought then that there must be some of contract whose term was due soon enough
that mother was just letting it run out but that proved not to be the case. Querying
mother one morning while bringing her breakfast, she became angry insisting that Mary
stay, that she needed her and she wouldn't allow me to get rid of her. Her shouting
embarrassed me into explaining what had happened to Mary lest she think I really was
trying to terminate her employment.

As mother deteriorated, Mary provided more and more care, eventually looking after
her much as she did my father. Soon, I had run out of cash and Mary confided to me
that she hadn't been paid since father had passed away but had nevertheless been buying
all the groceries from her savings.

One afternoon, I came home to find mother and Mary both waiting for me with another
woman in a business suit, a lawyer. Papers were presented and signed and I found myself
in sole possession of power of attorney over my mother's affairs.

I knew we had never lacked for anything but I was surprised by how much my parents
were really worth. I couldn't help losing interest in school despite how close I was
to finishing but Mary insisted I put my nose to the grindstone and finish well. I
did as I was told.

And so life went on this way. Mary looked after mother, mother seemed to get better
for a while, but then began a slide to the worse. Mary went to her own bed each night,
alone. We were like a middle aged platonic couple.

Paul was hardly around. Clearly there was no sex to be had in this house. He came
in late, often drunk, and once or twice tried to sneak an equally inebriated girl
in with him but his mother put a firm stop to that. Not surprisingly, as soon as the
school year ended Paul announced he was taking a construction job up north and was
gone the next day.

For all intents and purposes, Mary and I were alone.

Nothing happened right away. There was no fervent sex the first night. Tension seemed
to seep out of the house slowly. We came together through a thousand small intimacies.
A smile or mutual laugh at some enjoyed moment while watching TV, quietly sipping
wine and reading our own books while sitting on separate couches, longer and gentler
kisses goodnight.

It wasn't until my mother was so far gone that we had to put her into extended care
that Mary let me closer. That very first night I kissed her goodnight, longing for
her to stay, trying my best to make her linger, to no avail. She turned toward the
stairs that led to the downstairs suite, her hand trailing out behind, still grasped
my mine trying desperately to keep her for a moment longer, dreading the inevitable
break and widening gulf when she finally pulled away.

But her hand held me tight and I was pulled, stumbling forward as Mary refused to
let me go. One step, two, even a third before my fuzzy mind realized that this gorgeous
woman was taking me downstairs, with her, to heaven.

I thought about telling you about what happened ... for about two seconds. I would
have rushed upstairs before, tripping in my haste to reach the computer to spill the
beans, but now I know better. We didn't have sex, we made love. What happened, and
will happen, is for us only.

So, I'll send a few more letters, but then I'm done.

Goodbye.

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Hi. My name is Marilyn. I know this is supposed to be a group for men sharing memories
of their mothers but I found out about you -- I won't say how -- and I want to tell
you about my son. You can do what you want with the letter. I just need to tell someone
to get it off my chest, and I can't talk to anyone else about this.

Nathan is almost finished high school, something he's longed for, but the closer it
comes, the more unhappy he seems. His father wants him to work for him, to learn the
business and work his way up so one day he can take it over. I think this is the source
of the problem. Nathan isn't a salesman type. He's bookish.

Three years ago, I found out about an affair between Mark and a woman that works for
one of his big customers. We had a big fight and Mark promised to end it, but I'm
pretty sure he has had flings before and now that some time has passed he's at it
again. I can't be sure but I think Nathan knows about the affair because he drew away
from his dad right after that and hasn't been close ever since.

Anyway, I think Nathan is afraid of confronting his father about his future and he's
becoming more and more depressed the closer the time comes. And that time will arrive
as soon as school ends.

So, what does that have to do with a group like yours?

Well, my heart goes out to my son and I've found myself trying to console him. If
Mark is out at night, which he often is, Nathan will sit alone watching a movie. He
hardly ever goes out with his friends anymore. If Mark is home, Nathan will disappear
into his room but he always comes out if Mark leaves. It's clear he's just avoiding
his father. In an effort to get him to talk, I've been joining Nathan whenever he's
downstairs watching a movie and once even followed him to his room to chat while he
surfed the net.

That was all well and fine, but the other night I had was surprised to find that although
Mark was leaving for a meeting right after supper, Nathan went to his room anyway.
Before he left, Mark said, "Marilyn, see if you can find out what is going on with
that kid." Nathan's behavior was indeed obvious if his father noticed so I knew I
had to do something before things came to a head.

I cleaned up the dishes and went upstairs. For some reason, I balked at Nathan's door
and went on to my own room. I decided that I needed to relax before talking to my
son, so I had a long shower. Putting on my soft, pale blue motherly robe, I walked
slowly to Nathan's room, cocking my head to swing the hair out of my face and onto
my back and straightening my shoulders before knocking. I didn't wait, I went right
in.

He wasn't there.

Momentarily confused, I left and approached the main bathroom. The light shone through
the slightly open door. Pressing my face near the opening, I quietly called Nathan's
name. No answer. Cautiously, I opened the door just enough to peek into the bathroom,
ready to pull back quickly in case he wasn't presentable.

He wasn't there.

Walking slowly downstairs, I was thinking Nathan had gone out and I'd missed my chance
for a private talk but as I descended the stairs, I could see him slouched down in
the middle of the couch, facing away from me toward the TV. All the downstairs lights
were off and the living room flickered with each scene change on the television.

Quietly, I approached my son. He wasn't aware of my presence until I leaned over the
back of the couch and folding my arms around him in a big hug, my damp hair falling
past my ears to drape over his shoulder and onto his chest.

He was startled just enough to spill some of the popcorn from the bowl he held in
his lap.

"It's so dark in here, it's like going to the movies," I remarked on the sanctuary
quality the almost darkness shed on our living room, like the semi-privacy people
sought in theaters.

"Yeah," he replied, providing no further explanation.

"Do you want some more popcorn?" I asked, noting that the bowl in his lap was almost
empty.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

I left to make more popcorn, but not before I noticed that Nathan was also dressed
in a robe and he was naked except for the pair of shorts underneath the bowl in his
lap. While I made the popcorn, I puzzled about why I had noticed that, and why the
term 'naked' had popped into my head. Anyway, before I joined Nathan, I was careful
to turn out the kitchen light.

"Can I watch your movie, too?" I asked as I rounded the end of the couch and plopped
down beside him. Nathan was still sitting in the middle and didn't move over so our
thighs touched. I had room to move away but I didn't.

"Oh, sure mom."

I held out the new bowl of popcorn but before Nathan could pass me the empty one I
grabbed it and slid it across his lap, setting the full one into its place. I hadn't
meant to drag the bowl across my son's shorts but I was aware of what I was doing
when I actually did it and that I could have lifted it before pulling it away. I was
even more aware that the bowl hadn't moved across an even surface. I blushed and turned
to watch the movie as Nathan grabbed the new bowl.

"Is it good?" I asked, looking at the TV.

"Yeah," he replied in his usual, offhand way.

We watched in silence, Nathan concentrating on the movie and I trying to think of
some way to engage him in a conversation that would let me find a way to help him
deal with his worries about the future.

I couldn't think of anything so I just watched the TV and picked at the popcorn. During
one of these reaches for a handful of popcorn, I noticed Nathan glance at me. I'm
right handed and, since he was sitting to my left, I had to twist that way, an action
that forced a gap in my robe. I was shocked. Nathan was looking into my robe!

His eyes flicked to the TV as I drew back. I acted like I hadn't noticed his look.
Had he? Had he really looked? Now I wasn't sure. I finished my handful of popcorn
quickly and reached for another, this time twisting in an exaggerated fashion so my
robe would gap more than necessary. I could sense his eyes straying down to seek my
cleavage.

I can't explain what I did then. I turned my head toward the TV, feigning a sudden
interest in what was transpiring there, leaving my robe open while I held my hand
in the bowl, allowing my son a long look, knowing he must be able to see the whole
inside of my right breast as it hung freely from my chest.

Could he see my nipple? I remember thinking that as I continued watching the movie.
I can still feel the tingle that thought sent through me. Would a young man my son's
age be interested in a woman's breasts, a woman my age? Evidently. I had just passed
forty but despite my husband's wandering eyes, I still attracted my share of attention
from the opposite sex. But I was Nathan's mother, not just an older woman.

Eventually, I had to sit back but I took very little popcorn so only a brief moment
later, I was back. Again, I seemed distracted by the movie and took longer than usual
to retrieve even a small handful of popcorn, digging deeper in the bowl before finally
filling my need. As I sat back to feed, I smiled to myself. I wasn't quite sure what
I was up to but I felt good and the thought of my son sneaking peeks at my breasts
excited me. A strange tingle traveled up and down my limbs and my breathed shortened.
As I watched the movie, I shrugged my shoulders as if trying to ease stiff muscles
but I was really trying to loosen my robe. Good grief, Marilyn, I thought. What are
you up to?

I couldn't help myself. My robe hung loosely from my shoulders as I leaned forward
further than before in search of more popcorn and I could feel my unkempt breasts
sway with my movements. I searched for popcorn for so long that an independent observer
would consider my behavior odd if not brazen. But Nathan didn't object. I kept fishing
about in the bowl until the commercials started. Only then did I sit back.

