Cum Ye Motherfuckers Cum 1

This Oedipus opus is dedicated to my mother, Dell

PREAMBLE

Greeting to all Oediplex OediPals, both sons and mothers who ever thought about committing incest with their parent or child, most especially those who did share that intimate act. I seek to write and share high quality erotic on the subject of mother/son incest with everyone that I can reach. We all need a cum. To that end this piece of writing is provided to make you cum.

I have included in this work the true 'The Confessions of Oediplex' my real story. Sadly I am but a want-ta-be motherfucker, having never actually had the opportunity to do so. Or rather, the opportunity I had passed by unrealized, which is the second part of this writing, the part created to make you cum. (Patience you'll get there, but you'll miss the best part if you skip ahead.)

That lost opportunity is recreated in fantasy below as the consummation of having sex with my mother. It is based on the real circumstances of our lives, but extends in fiction what might have been, if things had taken just the slightest turn differently. If they had, this is how I believe I would have gotten to fuck my mom. It could have really happened this way. The names are not changed, as I am not innocent and she has now passed to paradise. The story action is written from her perspective which I think makes it hotter, though I begin the narrative with the set-up of our circumstances.

The

best part

is this, if you will contact me - your email definitely will be answered and you will be provided with information that will lead you to having many more orgasms. But there is so much more in store for any who will consider themselves Oediplex Oedipals. So read what is below, then write me for more. I promise a cum to all who would call themselves my pals.

Oediplex 8==3~

The Confessions of Oediplex

Why I wanted to, but never got the chance to fuck my mother.

I believe from my study of the subject of incest that the familiarity of family life breeds (pun) not contempt so much as neutrality. The exotic, exciting, erotic, romantic feelings are directed most often to those who are outside the genetic-unit. Though, interestingly enough, they may very well resemble a family member. In other words, 'birds of a flock don't often fuck, but birds of a feather will tend to nest together'.

From Ohio we moved to Connecticut where my folks purchased a split level house who's walls carried sound better than the old one. Also I was staying awake later as I got older, and began to hear strange sounds from the recreation room in the floor below, after I went to bed. I could hear sometimes the voices of my parents, in odd patterns, moans and muffled cries. Then one night I was sure that I heard my mother saying, "No . . . no . . NOO!" My parents had highly emotional fights and I thought that perhaps my father was getting physical with her, though he had rarely ever done so.

I crept down the stairs and peeked over the banister to see what was going on. My dad was squatting in front of my mother who sat in an easy chair; she had slid down so her behind was at its edge. His boxers were at his feet and her nightgown raised to her waist, he was between her legs. I ask if everything was okay. After an initial moment of surprise on my pop's face, that passed though irritation to understanding, he assured me that they were fine and well and I should go back to bed. Mom was red faced and said nothing, but she appeared to not be in distress. I returned to my bedroom with mixed thoughts as to if I had witnessed them having had an altercation or sex.

A few weeks later the same scenario played out twice more. These times, however, I saw the flash of uniting genitals before they realized they were being viewed. My father was quite brusque and firmly ordered me back to bed in a commanding voice that conveyed his annoyance with me and my hampering their activities. But my mother spoke also, to me reassuring me that all was okay and encouraging me to go back to sleep.

Now I was sure it was intercourse. A couple nights in the following month I sneaked down to peek again, but was afraid to get caught and so only watched for a few moments to observe their private action. The last time I even arrived just as they were climaxing together and stayed just long enough to observe the aftermath. Then my folks no longer did it downstairs but behind the closed door of the bedroom.

My Oedipus Complex comes from years of masturbating outside the door of my parent's bedroom while I listened to them, when I was 18 or older of course. My mother was quite verbal when she had an orgasm, and it was "yes, yes, yeess!" then. But she had a conservative upbringing. Even so, my folks had pre-marital sex in the parlor of mom's Sorority house (behind the upright piano). So when she was building to the climax, it was like she was resisting the feeling of loving sex, and it was "no, no nooo . . ." before she would give into the overwhelming climax my dad brought her to. Several times each eve that they fucked mom would be very vocal when she came, though it wasn't every night they did it, but often. So that is where my love of seduction themes comes from, my mommy's "no!, no, noo . . as he went down on her; then "yes, yes, yeess!" when she was orgasming as he penetrated her.

In my youth I fantasized about most anything half pretty and wearing a skirt. In my sophomore year of college, something, I'm not sure what, began to swing me to older women images (teachers) and particularly mother/son stories for my turn-ons. By my senior college year I was totally into incest, mostly mother/son. The observation I made about the books which served to fuel my rod, was that those with incest themes were of people who loved and cared for one another. The rest of the porno literature made more of the physical mechanics and how many beds and combos could be done with the stock of characters in the story.

The non-incest was, for the most part, too dry, no emotion, lacking of feelings for the partner. The best part of making love is the relationship. Cheap meaningless sex has its place, God knows I've never gotten enough of it myself; but screwing the most forbidden, seducing the loved one and the conquest of lust over morals and propriety, and future complications (i.e., don't tell Dad), that is my cup of tea, my fantasy, hot button, turn on, fetish, kink, deviation, perversion, decadence, etc.

I would call most of my real sexual experiences pedantic or pedestrian if it didn't make it sound like I was a pervert of the kind I'm not, no foot fetish here. Each of the three ladies I wed (that was no lady that was my bitch) knew what kind of pervert I really am, and were perfectly aware of my proclivity to mother/son incest fantasies before we wed. Generally they had no problems with that and indeed we role played too. So my three divorces were due to other problems, none sexual.

At one point my mother might have actually been coming on to me. In reflecting back on the period of when I when I was home from graduate school during one summer, I recollect several times when we kissed in greeting her tongue would French me. I was a bit befuddled by this, never imagining that my conventional mom might have the same kind of imaginings I had about her-and-I doing it together. I thought that she had been making an error in her affections. Kissing me like she would dad, but unintentionally with her son. In retrospect perhaps it was no mistake but rather a testing (or tasting?) of the waters, of whether I might follow through on my fantasies.

There was one time, which never happened, but might have been the occasion that I finally got to fuck my mother. Here's what I think might have happened.

When I was fresh out of grad school, in my first house, as a young professional and single, (having recently ended an engagement with a gal in Indianapolis); my mother asked if she could come and visit me, alone. Knowing now, what I later found out from my dad; that at the time, that they had stopped making love several years before, I can imagine she was very horny by then.

Added to the quite possible discovery by my mother (possibly at sometime in the past) of my incest pornography with mother/son sex themed book between the mattresses (I didn't try too hard to hide it); then it is conceivable that I might have gotten to fuck my mother on that visit. Which never happened, as before she had set a date to visit me (and of course I had no idea of the potential of that stay) I had met the gal who was to be my first wife and we were very quickly engaged.

No matter what, at that point my mom would have not interfered. She wanted grandkids. But my father told me one thing about my mother that would have been critical, if we had started down the path of incest. Dad told me (after mom died of cancer at 54) that she was a goner if you ate her pussy, then she had to have it in her, she couldn't allow herself to cum that way for some reason, she would always say "Put it in, put it in, now!" That explained the vocalizations I had heard at their door. While my father was in a talkative mood that night and similar evenings, I wrung all the information on their sex lives and my mother's body that I could from dad.

I could say I pumped him, but that would give a different misimpression! Get this, when I told him that night that I had the hots for mom for all those years, he said he had wished he'd known; that he had such power over her that he could have arranged it. I assumed he meant during that period after they had stopped making love and that I was as yet unattached. Where is a friggin' time machine when you need one! Someday I will write a fantasy of the visit that never happened. I'll let you know!

Well here it is, read on for your promised climax of the story,

mothers are encouraged to have more than one climax.

The Seduction of Jocastrix

How Oediplex might have gotten to fuck his mother, if only . . .

Her son's tongue slithered over her clit again in his serpentine style that drove her to the peak of sexual excitement and she reached the point of no return. "Put it in," she gasped and uttered the words in a breathy most urgent plea, "put it in, now!", was all she could say as she repeated her begging.

Dell had reached the point of no return; she must have a cock in her cunt, even if it was the penis of her son. But even better that it was the organ of her beloved David, the devoted son who now was filling her long emptiness and the longing they had both had hidden for so long. She reached the point of no return and gladly welcomed it as she welcomed the tool of her boy, as she was well deserving of the cum to come.

She had reached to point of no return. And this is how she reached it.

Dell was a typical suburban housewife of a commuter husband. He made a six figure income and life was very comfortable in Connecticut for them. But they had been estranged in sexual matters for nearly three years. She was sure that her spouse, while his interest in sex had waned with older middle age, was occasionally getting a piece from the attractive secretaries at the office, though not his own - as she did trust that particular woman. Dell also suspected there was a call girl once in a while.

The situation was a source of bitterness, but otherwise life was sweet and she really had no other options she cared to pursue. She would not give up on a marriage that, aside from the lack of sex, was exceptional. There were no men she cared to take as lovers, sometimes she was propositioned, which embarrassed her. She was not without desire and needs, and the clunky vibrator of those days helped to relieve things when she resorted to it.

But it wasn't a penis. So she was a frustrated lady with a reasonable figure and a sex drive at peak in her late forties. There was one other man alone she might consider having sex with. Except that he was her son David. She only had those musings because she had found a regular parade of pornographic books between his mattress and springs when she changed the bed linens. The sheets were so stained with the yellow of his semen she had switched from white to a matching pale lemon for his bedding.

She couldn't help notice the titles when she did this chore in his room. "Mommy Does Sonny", "Her Son Was Her Lover", etc. David had never approached her or even let on in his conversation about his desires. But he must have a powerful Oedipus Complex thought Dell, as all the books were of the same genre. She had begun to read one or two out of curiosity when she as sure she was alone in the home and would not be interrupted.

It was easy to find the good parts; the books' spines were cracked by repeated opening to the section where the mother and son consummated their passion. The greasy fingerprints from the Vaseline lubrication were evidence of his masturbation, as if the volume of Kleenex in the wastepaper basket some feet away was not enough of a telltale. She noted that over the years David had become proficient at tossing tissue and getting it into the receptacle.

Curiosity had lead to reading, reading had led to arousal, being turned on and horny she had masturbated to the fantasies her son had cum to. Thus Dell was introduced to think about what her conservative Midwestern background would have seen as sinful, but her liberal arts college education had informed her it was not an unheard of phenomena. She might never have thought about having sex with her son, save for his dirty books, but she had and her fingers had done the walking while she lay on yellow sheets.

Indeed, sometimes with the confidence of complete privacy and plenty of time, she had gotten totally naked on David's bed with his books on incest and read and cum so much that she made a huge wet spot on the linens she was about to change. But all that had changed as her son had moved to Long Island to a place of his own, leaving no naughty literature to peruse for self-abuse. Now she was even more frustrated and the vibrator had quit working several weeks ago. But a plan began to form in the back of her mind.

David was in his late twenties, but unattached, his engagement of the past year having come to naught and none of his other dates were serious relationships. He, like his parents, had most certainly engaged in pre-marital sex. These days, in the Seventies, that was much more accepted as being okay and open, than when she had taken her fiancé behind the piano in the Sorority house parlor to be taken by his father. Dell always had had a strong sex drive.

In fact, she was actually not new to incest, as she had made overtures and willing engaged in losing her virginity to a favorite uncle. They had lived for several years during the Depression on the farm owned by the man who had married her mother's sister. A sweet fellow, handsome and not able to withstand the temptation of being the first lover of the ravishing, raven hair beauty; who made it clear she was open to his showing her what sex was about. They had several brief interludes, but the Presbyterian pall of guilt curtailed an extended affair. Then she and her folks had moved away when her dad got a job with the railroad as a stationmaster.

So it was that Dell, feeling no sexual loyalty to her husband, being frustrated carnally and not being Simon-pure herself when it came to incest, considered exploring the possibility of having sex with her son. After all, she already knew of her son's lust and considering his maturity and freedom from any romantic attachments, plus given the fact that his house would afford them the opportunity of intimacy and privacy, there was the potential of their lust culminating in a loving session of steamy sex in that safe setting.

Dell asked David on one of his phone calls to home, when they were the only ones on the line, if she could come and visit him, just herself for a few days perhaps. She promised to make his favorite dinners and help with housework and that they would have a chance to pal around. David agreed to what could not be passed up as a great deal, to have her provide the kind of mothering he missed, being on his own nowadays. But Dell thought to herself that there was perhaps another 'mothering' he might get too, if he played his cards right.

[Now, gentle reader, understand at this point in our narrative, that as much as many of us like the idea of seducing our mom and getting her to do that which she might be reluctant to do; the fact is moms are by definition, not virgins. In fact they are sexually experienced mature women who have minds and desires and plans of their own. While in youthly courting we might refer to the old saw that "he chased her until she finally caught him", the same is not without parallel in the lives of people of more mature ages too.

Women can and often are the sexual stalkers, only more subtle and without allowing the man to know he was being beguiled. So, while in the stories of mother/son incest we might see the mom ready to jump into bed with her offspring, the reality is more likely that if she is of a mind to - it is not in wanton fashion. But rather, she in a cautious consideration weighs the multitude of factors involved in going to that measure and depth of intimacy with her son. So it would have been with my mother. Dell would have been open to allowing things to develop, without pushing me into something I was not ready for. I was ready indeed, if things had been made clear to me; but unfortunately they remained hidden and we didn't connect with physical intimacy.]

Dell arranged to meet David in New York City for lunch at a favorite restaurant of his Monday after next. She would catch the train down to the Big Apple, and shop in the morning. Then after lunch she planned to take him to an art museum he had not been to, but would be delighted to discover. Later they would take the Long Island Railroad back to his town and be at his home in time to order pizza. His favorite dinner to be served up the next evening after work. David was eager to have this special attention lavished on him.

Dell got the items she wanted in the morning of that fine Monday in September. The weather was warm and dry, 'perfect air' for being naked, it went through her mind. [with a wink and nod to my fans!] They followed through on her plans and had a fabulous time together. The day had been so nice they walked quite a bit, rather than taking a cab. They arrived at David's place and did get dinner on the way - pepperoni pizza and a good wine.

His home was furnished with family spare furniture. The living room had the old couch from the downstairs recreation room, before it was redecorated; his bedroom set was from his grandmother and some things from Goodwill were scattered about. Comfortable, not too shabby, but a bachelor pad all the same. He had however cleaned the place up for her visit.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

THIS IS DELL.

David said in one his stories by Oediplex that he would have me help write the second part, using the 'nom de naughty' of Jocastrix. Okay, for as much as I am in his psyche, Jocastra to his Oedipus Complex, I think I can have a say in this story. I might be in heaven, but I live in spirit in his heart and he has my words in his memory and he speaks sometimes with my voice as my phrases are echoed when he verbalizes. So I am going to take up the narrative in the first person. Besides, that makes it a hotter reading don't you think?

I was pleased and admittedly surprised at his efforts to make the house that he was renting so presentable in honor of my visit. All those years of nagging about cleaning his room must have actually gotten through! We had wine with the pizza, a good Vapoliccelli I bought on the way from the train station. After dinner I told David I had bought a present for him, as well as something for myself, at Bloomingdale's. When your husband is a top executive with a giant company, money is not an issue, though we don't spend ostentatiously. I enjoyed the look of surprise and confusion when he opened his present.