Mom never said a word…well she couldn’t by I Ain’t Write
Discover the compelling tale in "Mom Never Said a Word... Well, She Couldn't," an adult story by I Ain't Write. Dive into a world of unspoken truths and hidden desires that explore complex relationships and the intricacies of communication. Perfect for those seeking a captivating read that intertwines emotion with eroticism. Read more to uncover the secrets that lie beneath the surface.<br/>
Some girls hate to have their hair pulled, others love it. This story is about the night I found out which kind of girl my mom was.
This happened a long time ago…and probably would have never happened if my dad hadn’t travelled so much and my mom wasn’t as beautiful as she was…is.
I was 19. She was 37, petite, beautiful, long silky red hair that framed the pale skin of her face perfectly. She had freckles that broke like a rusty galaxy across her upturned nose and high cheeks. I was the apple of her eye, her only child. Yes, she doted on me. I was strong, smart and very popular in High School…I was now carving out my place as a leader among the freshman at the small, private college I went to in Peoria. Nothing remotely sexual had ever bubbled up between us. She was mom. I was son. That boundary had never been challenged, until this night.
Dad was on the road again. My mother, Del, sat next to me on the couch watching a fairly scary movie. She was wearing this night dress of her’s that was not very revealing, but showcased her body in a very wholesome, yet erotic light. She had drank nearly a bottle of red wine by herself as the movie crept along. Even though I was only 19, she and my dad was okay with my drinking a few beers here and there, but tonight I had picked up a bottle of Mezcal. What she didn’t know was that I had picked up a bit of a coke habit at school, and in between the boring scenes of the horror flick, I was sneaking into the bathroom to do a bump or two.
I was getting fucked up.
Sitting next to her, I started seeing her as a woman….not just as my mom. I could see her nipples pushing up against the fabric of her night shirt. Her hair was hanging across her face and, suddenly, it looked so sensual, so glossy, so thick. Her eyes were locked on the screen of the t.v., following every twist in the plot.
I casually raised my hand and took a long lank of her hair in my hand.
“Mom, ” I said, “You want to hear something strange I learned about girls at school?” I began rotating my hand, coiling the length of her hair around my fist.
“Sure. I can only imagine what you’ve been learning from those sluts.” She replied.
“Sluts? Why do you call them sluts?” I laughed.
“Instagram, SnapChat, Twitter; they all compete for followers and ready to do anything to get them,” she added. “They’ve objectified themselves. All they care about is whether or not someone finds them attractive enough to hit, “follow.”
Her eyes had been darting back and forth from me to the television screen as she said this. Gleaming, dark black eyes jumping from me to the movie. I now had her hair tightly wrapped around my hand by the time she finished her diatribe regarding my female classmates. She had no idea where my head was. Had no idea how the Mezcal had seeped into the darkest recesses of my brain. Had no idea where I was going with the conversation.
“You’re right about all that, mom, but that wasn’t what I was talking about. I’ve learned that some women hate to have their hair touched, and others like to have it pulled.” And with that, I jerked my hand around in such a way, that I could feel most of her hair cinch more tightly around my fist. “Which type are you, mom? Do you freak out when someone touches her hair, or do you like it pulled, like a scalp massage?”
“Ouch, Michael….be a little more gentle.” Her head fell forward then as I tightened my grip. My left hand joined my right, and together began to gently tighten her red tresses very tight.
“I’ll be gentle mom, but tell me, do you like the way that feels?” I asked, feeling the Mezcal and Cocaine surging through my mind. Her hair felt like ropes of silk in my hands. Fuck. I felt blood surging to my cock. Stiffening beneath the harmless cotton of my sweatpants.
“Any woman would like that kind of massage, Michael, if it was done gently-”
I twisted my hand, pulling her hair more tightly around my hands. “I’m not talking about gently, mom. I’m saying that some girls hate having their hair pulled in any way, and others can’t get enough of it.” I pulled my hands up so that her face was level with my own. I was drunk, and I was looking into my my mother’s sexy eyes, glowing blue from the light of the t.v.
“I’ve learned that those that like to have their hair pulled, like to be pushed into things. Forced into things.” When I twisted my hands this time, there was no place for her hair to go. “I’ve learned that when a girl feels that she has no choice, she can be led to do anything, mom.” I turned her face to look at my crotch which was now very swollen. “They can’t blame themselves, they have to follow directions when their hair is pulled this tight.” I forced her face down to my cock, “They are not responsible for their own actions, mom, they have to do what they are told.” I pulled my mother’s face down to my lap, and rubbed her cheek against my insanely hard cock. “When I do this to them, mom, they don’t put up much of a fight. They let me do this.”
The Mezcal and coke were hitting me now very hard. I angled her lips to the bulge in my pants, and then pressed down, making her “kiss” my cock, from the base, all the way up to the tip. “Why do they let me do that, mom? Why do they let me force them to suck my cock.” I turned her face back up to meet my eyes, while I quickly untied the string of my pants, letting my cock free. The shaft and head reared up suddenly, literally blocking her face from me. Precum was streaming from the tip and running down the shaft in thick, clear rivlets. I tightened my grip on her hair and raised her head up so that I could look her in the eye.
“You know what I think, mom? I think you’re one of those girls who likes to have her hair pulled. That’s what I think.” She met my eyes but said nothing. Did not resist. Did not fight. Even when I released one of my hands out of her hair, and pushed my finger onto her chin…opening her mouth. This fucking bitch, I thought, she is going to drink a lot of cum tonight. I slid just the very tip of my cock into her mouth and felt her tongue swirl along the head, lapping up my precum. I saw the head of my cock disappear between her lips, along with much of the shaft. I could see her eyes clearly now. I pulled her down further. I could feel the head of my cock bump against the back of her throat…but I wasn’t stopping there. I saw her eyebrows raise as I pushed her head down on my cock and felt it pop through her gullet and into the satin heat of her throat. She never said a word…well, she couldn’t.
I cannot tell you how amazing it feels to have your balls bottom out against your beautiful mother’s bottom lip. Or the feeling when you pull your shaft back and feel the pop of the head of your cock leaving her throat. And the look of confusion, panic and surrender as you tighten your grip in her hair and pull her back to you, feeling the spongy head penetrate her throat over and over again. I cannot tell you how difficult it is to keep yourself from cumming as you fuck your mother’s throat. I couldn’t stop myself. All my senses were on overload and I felt my cock preparing to open the flood gates. I pulled my cock out of her throat so that only the tip was lodged between her beautiful lips, and I came. Staring into her eyes, I felt my body clench in sweet agony with each volley of cum I released into her mouth. Felt her mouth work on me, swallowing each rope of cum I fed to her. We all have that list of the 10 best orgasms we’ve ever had…this ranks at the very top to this day.
I was not shy. I did not avoid her after this happened. Most of the time, all I had to do was rest my hand on shoulder and she would float down to her knees, her mouth open and ready to serve me. But, sometimes, I had to wrap her hair around my fist and force her to her knees. I think she liked that best.
My dad returned home a few days later. They went to bed. I was in my room drinking and doing lines. Around 3:00 am, I crept into their bedroom naked and hard. I raised the duvet and slid under it, wedging myself between my mother’s legs. I raped her then. Laying next to my father. She tried to twist away, but I was already deep inside her. “Stop.” I whispered in her ear. I felt her knees raise and part, my cock sunk just a little deeper inside. I covered her lips with my own, and felt her tongue slide into my mouth. “Dirty whore.” I thought. I fucked her then. Slow. Deep. Hard. We came at the same time. I felt my mother’s pussy contract around my cock and I filled her with my cum. My god. She became such a slut for me. She likes to have her hair pulled. She never said a word…
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