Later that night, when I knew my mother had gone to bed and was surely asleep, I crept out of bed and picked up my jeans which sat on the back of a chair. I had wandered around the rest of that day with the pair of my mother’s panties secreted in the front pocket and I had felt enormously turned on in having done so. I fished them out and for the first time I examined them, taking in every detail. The colour (black), the style (tanga briefs) and even the stains on the inside of them. I bunched them in my fist, the inner parts exposed, pressing them against my nose and inhaling deeply. That scent! That amazing scent! No matter how faint it might have been, having sat in the laundry basket for a while, no doubt, it was evident it was the special scent of my mother, the kind of scent that a husband, rather than a son, was meant to be familiar with.
I drew in lungfuls of her scent while I gripped myself and wanked furiously. If I thought the level of arousal at my wet dream of her, or wanking off in to a photo of her had invoked, couldn’t be surpassed, I was so very, very wrong. I climaxed so hard I literally had to bite deep into my bottom lip not to roar out load as I emptied my balls.
Nothing could best this. Not now. However, I was oblivious to the Pandora’s Box that I had opened, one that which would lead to the most exquisite intimacies with my mother.
Look out for Part Two of my recollections which I will post when I get the chance.
Added Scott
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