In the darkness, the boy just lay there in his bed. His mind was at war. A part of him was disgusted at what he had done. He had raped his own mother. The other part enjoyed it. Not so much the actual raping but the fact he had finally fucked someone. His own mother in fact. Finally after what seemed like hours, exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep
When he woke up the next morning, he remembered what happened the night before. He could not believe what he had done. He had fucked and came inside his own mother. The same mother who had looked after him all his life, especially after his father had died. How could he have done it? Sure he had fantasised about her but he was sure a lot of boys his age did that. Doing it in real-life was something altogether different. At first he blamed his mother. She did come into his room after all and allowed him to kiss and fondle her. But that was no excuse. She was his mother and he should respect her, not lust after her. Besides she had been drunk.
He lay there in bed thinking what had happened last night. He could not help but to picture her underneath him as he roughly fucked her. The feeling of her cunt wrapped tightly around his cock. The more he thought about it, the more aroused he became and the less guilty he felt. He suddenly realised that more anything, he wanted to fuck her again, despite the dangers, despite her protests.
Trembling with lust, he pulled back the bed covers, he quickly fished out his now aching erection and started to fondle it. As his passions mounted, he started to stroke himself harder and harder, reliving the moments when he was lustily fucking his parent. With a large groan, he came, shooting large spurts of white cum into the air.
As soon as he felt satiated, the guilt returned.
Getting washed and dressed, he went downstairs for breakfast and found his mother wasn’t there. His aunt informed him his mother was a little under the weather. It was obvious that his mother could not face him after what he had done to her. Feeling ashamed, he decided to spend the morning down at the beach.
That afternoon, when his aunt and uncle were out for a local race meeting in Blackpool, he tapped at her bedroom door. The guilt was still there and he was also worried that he may have hurt her.
“Who is it?” A voice said softly on the other side of the door.
“It’s me.” The boy replied.
There was a pause and then she told him to come in.
She was lying in bed, her face wet with tears. On seeing him, she pulled herself up so that she was sitting upright. Immediately the boy’s gaze fell onto his mother’s breasts as they swelled out against the fabric of her nightdress. He groaned inwardly as he felt his prick lurch within his pants. Tearing his eyes of her boobs, he sat next to her on the bed.
She looked at him. “I am so sorry.” She said and then she burst out crying again.
His lust forgotten, the boy took her in his arms.
“Why are you sorry?” he asked.
His mother suddenly stopped sniffling as she said: “It was so wrong we did last night, what I allowed us to do.”