After a long day at work, I begged for my son to massage my sore feet for a little relief. My legs fell open as his hands pressed into my aching soles and… I saw him staring up my skirt. I was shocked but… oddly flattered. My hands reached for the hem of the dress and lifted it. I knew this was very wrong, even though it felt so good to be wanted…by my own son.
A few nights later, I approached him for another massage after a bath. His hands worked my moist skin and moved up to my soft inner thigh. Moaning in pleasure, I urged my son to explore between my legs…I knew he wanted to touch me…to finally feel his mother’s wet pussy. But my sweet boy couldn’t muster the courage to go all the way. He didn’t realize that he could have had me right then and there.
Then one late night, I came home after an evening out dressed to the nines. My son didn’t know, but it was for him. I posed provocatively in the chair, finding excuses to show off my legs. He wanted to have his mother, but couldn’t admit it to himself…I was going to make all of the decisions for my sweet boy. Oh, but he grew up to be such a man… I craved my son’s touch. Deeply. Intimately. Passionately…
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