A Family Saga

At nineteen, I hated everything besides music and sports, but when an older male cousin showed me masturbation with objects, I was obsessed.

One night, we were alone at my house, and our parents had gone out for the night. My cousin eventually started to roam the home and inspect the rooms. He stopped in the master bedroom and found my mom's panties in a drawer. Then, he began to sniff a red pair that looked like a thong. Although I was intrigued, I wanted something different. I looked around for something I could use while he did his work; it felt so good, better than anything I had felt before. And there they were, strewn about on the floor next to the dresser: A pair of my mother's dirty socks. She had a unique odor to her feet, sort of a musty, anis quality, like the back of an old attic. When I buried my nose in the most odorous sock, I inhaled a smell unlike anything I had experienced before; it was intoxicating and invigorating all the nerves down my back, giving me goosebumps. Pretty soon, a warm sensation enveloped the insides of my bowels and stomach. And then, as if it occurred not to me but to someone beside me, I ejaculated into the dirty sock.

My legs began to shake, and my cousin laughed. I had to kneel against the wall to keep from falling over.

"Isn't that great?" said my cousin. "Just watch out, though, because your mom might be missing some socks." He smirked as he rummaged through some more drawers.

But I didn't care. I could give two shits whether or not my mom knew I stole her socks; I'm fact, I wanted her to know. I started picking them off the floor in her bedroom at night, quick not to startle her awake, or would that be such a bad thing?

One afternoon, I got more ambitious, taking them away when she got home from work and put her feet up on the coffee table. Her toenails were painted a luscious, bright red.

I grabbed the meat of the soles in my hands and rubbed with my fingers inward. Her face started to melt into a strange, trance-like design, so I knew I was on the right track. After a while, I turned my attention toward the toes. I squeezed each one with my fingers, moving up and down while wiggling them slightly.

Then she started to moan. I was too busy concentrating on the little ridges of skin between the toe and the top of the sole, and I was in an ecstatic trance handling and massaging my mother's feet -- those previously untouchable relics of the holy sex of my youth. It took all the power within

me not to lean forward and start sucking her toes. Her moaning started to increase, and I felt my penis grow to its full size in seconds. My mother began to wiggle on the couch while I rubbed the ball of her left foot. My cock ceased to grow -- I could feel it pulsate underneath my pants to such a degree that a bulge formed down my leg. My mother opened her eyes for a second in her relaxation, still transfixed by the pressure on those thick soles, and when she looked at me, she frowned, her eyes downcast and her cheeks relaxed as if trying to remember something that happened a long time ago.

"You're too good at this, son," she said. "Who have you been practicing on?" She pulled her legs and feet behind her.

I shook my head. "Nobody, Mom," I choked out, "I swear."

She just sat there and started. She looked away, contemplative, as if some secret were hidden behind the walls. Then smiled wanly, not out of joy, it seemed, but out of the satisfaction of being worshiped. Then her gaze loomed down to my shorts; she was staring straight at my boner and smiling. Without saying anything more, she lifted her right foot and pressed it against the rigid, throbbing log.

"It's okay, baby," she said, trying to keep her voice down, "these things happen. I'm your mother -- I can make it go away."

With that, she placed her foot on top of the mound my cock made; it spasmed ever so slightly with the touch. She looked down at my crotch with furrowed brows, concerned at the movement of her foot against the fabric of my shorts; she looked back at me with that same deep continence, never wavering or flinching or giving any indication that she was invested in what she was doing. She began to curl her chubby toes inward into the shaft of my cock as she began to pick up the speed as she stroked. The thought of my mother pleasuring my cock almost made me burst, but I held on just as she began to run the smooth part of her sole against the part of the fabric right against the underside of the firm shaft. Her chubby toes curled tight against my cock, gliding up and down and bunching everything up faster and faster, making it so that if I didn't pull away now, then I would cum right there in my pants, in front of my mother. I grabbed those smooth. thick feet in both hands, burying my nose deep inside the balls of the feet.

I took one initial inhale, closing my eyes; my mom cackled loudly next to me, although it only encouraged me more. At first, I took in the scent -- a lingering soreness that lingered sharply until it gave way to a sweet release of musty sweat. I felt as though I would rip through my shorts, so I started to pull down my shorts and boxers together. Before I could get enough leverage to get them past the knees, I felt my mother's hand yanking them down the rest of the way. My hard cock bounced back against my abdomen as she completed the job. When I looked up, she was already inspecting what she had seen.

"Oh honey, I had no idea," she said. She covered her mouth with her hands. A long strand of hair hung down her shoulder. She sat up on the couch and bounced in place. The smile on her face made her look much younger, and I smiled back, realizing what was taking place. I then took my hard cock in my hand, conscious for the first time that my mother was witnessing this, an audience to my sick pleasure. I wasn't quite sure whose pleasure it was most; all that I could think of was about how terrible the situation was and, thus, sexier than anything I could ever imagine. I looked at her straight in the eyes and started to jack off -- first up and down with tender strokes, slowly into a crescendo of rubbed flesh.

At first, she covered her eyes in what I could only assume was mock modesty. I turned away, leaving her to look, which I knew she would.

I closed my eyes and pictured her without any clothes on -- her breast remained perky beneath her t-shirt, and her ass was as bulbous as it was when she met my dad, or so he says. And then I felt it: An enveloping soft skin around the head of my cock; I looked over and saw my mother smiling, both her soles against the flesh of my cock, her blue toenails almost glittering as she wiggled her stubby toes. I let out a slight gasp and smiled back. At no other moment in my life had I felt as close to my mother as this -- not just because of the intimate contact; I mean, skin is just skin, but the process with which we were both experiencing pleasure. Pleasure given by each other.

I opened my eyes. Her mouth was tightened in concentration, her eyes down on my cock. She was intent on making me cum, it seemed. Or maybe she just wanted to get it over with. I tried to adjust over to her, but the weight of her feet and their grip on my cock prevented me from maneuvering. Finally, I reached out with my left hand, brushing my fingers over her right breast over her blouse.

She wriggled away from my reach. "No, dear, that isn't what this is about," she said in her high-pitched, accusatory tone.

"But I want to see your tits, mommy. Oh god, I want to look at you naked so bad --" I had to clench tight to prevent from cumming right there. I closed my eyes again tight, pouting with my lips.

She pumped her feet faster and clenched my shaft with both feet tighter. I began to breathe in short breaths, uncontrolled movements of my ribcage seizing my outer flesh. I looked at my mom, but she was concentrating on my cock and every thrust up and down with her feet. I tried to smile again, but the pressure inside twisted and gnarled my face into something desperate and sinister. I was going to cum. My mother would make me cum. With her feet.

"That's my boy," she said. Her teeth were clenched. I could tell she wanted to get the job done. "Just let mommy make you feel good."

The first wave of pleasure was already released inside my brain; I knew that the next flood would be the last, the ultimate flash of certain bliss and enthusiasm.

"Mommy." It was all I could say. My eyes started to tear up. I thought I was going blind. All I could think about was sucking those fat toes one by one; nothing else mattered. I was alive.

I came in two giant spurts before I even had a chance to exhale. My mother squealed and gasped. Each subsequent mini-spurt sent a blanket of marvelous, calm energy down my back. I slipped over as my cock deflated. My mom grabbed a foot and began to lick each toe of its cum; she seemed to be delighted in this because she smacked with delight each digit as it exited her full mouth, smiling wide with those full lips. I leaned back, satisfied more than ever, but somehow trepidation about what was to come; indeed, I couldn't act like it never happened, passing my mom in the hall as she picked up the laundry or kissed me out the door for school; then there would be my father -- would she tell him? Surely not. Even if he found out, there wasn't much to freak out about -- my mother's feet did the fiction part; she's the one who offered up her bare soles to me.

After smacking out a pinkie toe from her mouth, my mother looked straight into my eyes; they were welling up with tears, and I knew she was having a hard time fighting back her emotions.

"Thank you, baby," she said, "I am truly blessed to have a son like you." She sat her feet down on the rug and smiled, toothless this time, in a rather stern but sentimental manner. "I won't tell Daddy, of course. Let him figure it out in his own way." She pulled up her skirt, tied her hair in a bun, and rested her hand on my shoulder. He doesn't give a shit, anyway," she remarked while leaving the room.