Into the Womb
Introduction:
An intercourse between mother and son.
I opened the mail, and well, it was porn. The writing was mediocre and the editing had some issues, but most notably it seemed to be about a mother having sex with her own son.
While that certainly wasn’t my favorite genre, I couldn’t honestly say I hadn’t thought about it occasionally on a fantasy level. I didn’t find my actual mother attractive in any way, instead my thoughts were always about pretty fantasy mothers guiding their boys in natural ways.
Because of this I thought it was unusual how the mom in the story had been described quite realistically, in a way which reminded me of my own mother. The strangest thing was how I still thought the story was really hot. Even the questionable writing and lack of storyline didn’t matter when the action started.
I entertained myself with this text for a while and then saved it in my porn folder. You know, the one which everyone has on their computer even though they pretend they don’t. Yet I had to wonder who the hell had sent me this and why? I could only think the author who had been trying to submit it somewhere and had mistyped the address so it ended up into my inbox instead.
I decided to respond to the sender and inform him that he had sent this thing to the wrong place. I might have felt awkward about doing so if my e-mail had any connection to my real name, but it didn’t. I could imagine the author being quite embarrassed about his screw-up, but his address was made up too. He wouldn’t be in any real trouble and he would get to submit his story properly.
I didn’t think about the matter any further until a few days later I got an answer from the sender. I frowned and wondered what he could possibly have to say to me. Perhaps he wasn’t embarrassed about his writing and wanted to thank me. The subject line said “Signal”, and the message in its entirety read: “Wear red socks if you want to go all the way. Don’t stress about it. Any time is fine for me, sooner or later”.
I didn’t, of course, own any red socks. Who the hell would wear crap like that? I thought about the message all day, until our family had gathered for dinner. For some reason the story made me occasionally glance at mom differently than before. I tried to shake that feeling away and concentrate on my casserole, but I was still thinking about those soft forms under mom’s shirt.
Suddenly it clicked. My hand shook so hard my fork fell and clattered against the plate. Everyone turned to look at me, but I dismissed the event with an awkward smile and picked up the implement again.
I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps I had been mistaken about the identity of the sender, and that thought sent chills down my spine. Whether those chills were nervous or excited, I couldn’t be sure, but I do know the next day I went to the mall to buy a pair of red socks. I thought it would have been difficult to even find men’s socks in that color, but the shops were full of even much weirder crap. Damn hipsters. I remembered why I usually shopped at Wal-Mart.
When the next day had arisen, I found I didn’t have the courage to put the socks on, so I tossed them into a drawer and went downstairs to eat breakfast.
Mom was alone in the dining room, everyone else must have already left.
“Morning,” she said, but she only momentarily glanced up from the newspaper she was reading.
“Morning,” I said, but my gaze lingered on her longer than it usually did. I didn’t normally pay much attention to my mom, or at least how she looked like. I’m sure that’s the same for most people, but now I made note of how her brown hair curled over her shoulders, and how her breasts bounced slightly when they bumped against the table. She raised her head, so she must have noticed me staring.
“There was a wasp just about to land on your shoulder,” I said and pointed to empty air behind her.
She glanced back and shrugged, seeing there was nothing there. “It must have flown out,” she said.
Luckily the window actually was open, so there was at least a theoretical possibility for something like that to have happened. I had taken a peek at my mother’s breasts when she had looked away. They seemed to be quite big, but they probably also sagged quite a bit, although I couldn’t think of a reason why I should be thinking about something like that.
The day proceeded normally from there, as did the following ones. I found myself holding the red socks in my hand every morning, but every time I returned them back in the drawer. Eventually the tension became unbearable, because of quite improper images which were going through my mind with such intensity that they made it difficult to think about anything else. One morning I finally put the socks on before I went downstairs, not sure whether I wanted mom to be home or not.
Nothing special happened during the breakfast itself. If mom noticed the socks, she didn’t say anything about them, or even pay any attention to them. That should perhaps have been a relief, but it only made a tingling suspicion arise within me. There’s no way I’d normally wear socks like that, and they were so red they practically burned. She should at least made some kind of a quip about them, unless she was on purpose pretending she didn’t notice them.
When we finished eating mom went to wash the dishes, her back turned towards me. After a while of silence she said: “Eight o’clock.”
“What?” I wondered.
“Remember to be in your room then. Your father and sister will be going to grandma’s for the evening,” mom said. That explained very little, until I remembered the red socks and immediately broke into nervous sweat. I sheepishly left the room while mom’s back was still turned. This couldn’t really be about what I was thinking, could it?
The day felt long and I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I didn’t want to come home early either, because that would have felt even more awkward, so I tried to calm my nerves down with a movie. It worked so well I don’t even remember what movie it was.
I was home by eight, sitting in my room. I hadn’t seen mom when I had come in, but that meant little. She could have been in the garden or in the washroom in the cellar.
I heard a knock on the door and quickly turned to look. It was indeed mom. She didn’t come to my room that often because I was officially an adult even if I still lived at home, and she wanted to respect my privacy.
She came in and sat on the bed. I swallowed nervously, and I noticed my hands were shaking so I put them down on my lap.
Mom smiled warmly. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine,” she said, “It’s not as difficult as you think. It’s a perfectly natural thing after all.”
I was blinking and glancing towards my computer and then back at her.
Mom patted the bed next to her and said: “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but at least come here so we can talk about this and what you want or don’t.”
I did so. I stepped towards her and sat down on the bed beside her.
Mom took my hand into hers and said with a warm voice full of parental care: “Your first time is very important…”
“Mom…” I nervously said, feeling warm even if there was a certain weirdness in this situation.
“I’m here for you,” my mother said, looking at me with her brown eyes. We had instinctively started leaning closer to each other as our gazes had connected. Mom took my hand to her lips and kissed it very lightly. Then she lay it back down on my lap and reached for the hem of her blouse.
I watched my mother pull her shirt over her head. She was wearing a supportive brown bra and I could see wrinkles and liver spots between her breasts. Her hands slowly moved to the bra, and I didn’t stop her when she started pulling it down. One naked breast fell saggily down, and then the other followed. Mom lifted her breasts one by one and made sure the bra was set underneath them so it still offered some support against their heaviness.
Her areolas and nipples were large and dark, and there were a couple of wiry hairs on them. My attention followed her hands downwards to her stretch-marked belly, and then across it to the button of her beige canvas pants. I watched her fingers working it open, and then she got up and drew her pants down.
I stared at the dark mound which was visible through the fabric of her Sloggis. I watched how her hands slowly moved under the waistline and how first dark and bristly pubic hairs came to view, and then a big and prominent clitoris and flappy labial lips which were loose from birthing me and my sister.
I stared with my eyes blinking until mom lightly caressed my cheek and drew my attention to the object she was holding in her hand. It was a condom in a wrapper.
“I’m not on the pill, so we’ll use these, if you feel uncomfortable otherwise,” she said, waving the contraceptive in front of my face.
I touched her hand and moved it down “What if I don’t feel like that at all?” I asked, looking her in the eyes.
Mom responded to my meaningful gaze with one her own and said: “Then we won’t use them, and whatever happens naturally will happen.”
“Let’s not use them. I want to come inside you, mom,” I said, feeling very warm as I finally dared to say it out loud.
Mom gave me a little kiss and a friendly smile, the condom falling from her hand to the floor. “Fine. Come here,” she said, and helped me undress.
Feeling the light touch of her fingers and occasionally also that of a soft naked breast started a twitching erection before I lay down on the bed. Mom explained she would ride me in what was called a “reverse cowgirl” position, which allowed her to best control her hips, and which would also be good for ejaculating deep into the womb. Being inexperienced, I could only nod along in agreement and say: “All right, mom.”
My mother took my erection in her hand, climbed on top of me, and then she took me inside her. I could feel the scraggy pubic hairs surrounding the vagina and its flappy labial lips as I slid in. Mom’s pasty thighs were marked by cellulite, and her big clitoris was resting against my balls, safely nested in the nook between them.
After adjusting her position mom leaned back, supporting herself with her hands, and opened her legs wide. She first shifted her hips in a way which made me sigh, and then they started to move in the same natural way as when she had been giving birth to me.
I kept sighing and groaning deep as I was trying to move my hips along with my mother’s as well as I could, considering my lack of experience. It was tender lovemaking where we carefully listened to each other’s feelings and adjusted to them accordingly.
I wanted to make my first intercourse last as long as possible, but it wasn’t easy. Many times I was so close my legs started twitching, so I had to quickly shift my hips and wait for mom to do the same before we continued, until finally I couldn’t take it any longer. Mom could sense it too, because my hands were on her hips and I instinctively stated thrusting really hard into her. Every thrust brought me closer until my hips made a twisting motion, and then it happened.
There was a short pause during which everything just throbbed and the tip of my penis and my mother’s cervix instinctively and naturally opened to form an unobstructed channel from my testicles into her womb, and finally our love became true. An earth-shudderingly intense the orgasm made me grunt hard as I fired a long and audible squirt of warm prostatic juices and eagerly squirming spermatozoa into my own mother’s womb.
At the moment of ejaculation my hairy balls were throbbing and pulsating against my mother’s prominent clitoris, tenderly stimulating it in the most natural way possible at the same time as my sperm cells were rushing towards the ovum. This combined with a deep womb-opening cervical orgasm meant mom was in sensual and romantic heaven, and her warmth and shudders made my return to the womb was just as good for me as it was for her.
When our hips finally stopped moving I was sighing deep and caressing my mother’s cellulite-ridden thighs and ass. This sweet and romantic intercourse which had gone all the way had left us feeling starry-eyed and all lovey-dovey. I can’t say how things may be for other incestuously copulating lovers, but it had been wonderful for both mom and me. I can’t imagine all these feelings being possible in normal romance or lovemaking. We were sighing as we looked each other in the eyes. Our lips touched lightly, and I leaned down to cover my mother’s stretch-marked belly in kisses. I lay my head there and let mom caress my hair. We slept like this, still naked and together.
***
I’ll add some words here after the story is over, since I feel it’s important to understand the differences between reality and what happened in the story. While this was in some ways an attempt at realistic storytelling, it still uses some notable artistic licenses to spice up and describe the events.
First of all, in reality, ejaculating into your own mother can be a very intense and emotional experience, and it certainly is an important moment for anyone, but it’s not a sexual act any more than a birth is. In that sense it’s wrong to call it lovemaking or even an intercourse, because those are words for what couples and lovers do. Mothers love their children and vice versa, but it would be absurd to call them “lovers”. “Maternal re-fertilization” or “maternal re-insemination” would be good scientific terms, but they are quite clinical, so it’s best to just understand the event as a natural reversal of birth, a return to the womb.
You also have to understand that the first time is different for everyone. Sometimes your important first ejaculation with a loved one may be the kind which wetly strikes against the roof of your own mother’s mouth, rather than entering the depths of the velvety teenage pussy you had been dreaming about. These are the kinds of things that are not talked about, even though they happen all the time. That’s just how life is. There is no reason to panic. Just be kind and let her swallow, and everything will be fine.
This story also doesn’t on purpose explain what happens afterwards. I’m sure you understand that in real life all kinds of complications may occur if you really go all the way, such as strange and conflicting feelings and other problems trying to come in terms of what has happened.
Then there is the danger of conceiving, which can always happen in real life, regardless of what precautions you are taking. It is very important to be aware of that before the decision to carry out the intercourse is made. You you have to talk about the possibility beforehand, and both of you have to agree to it. The union is only going to work if both of you are feeling completely at peace when it finally happens.
That’s that. Take care, and see you in the next story.
