A physics puzzler that will really make you think!4.14 / 5.00 1,771 Views
Classic arcade shooter with awesome special attacks!!3.84 / 5.00 1,225 Views
Arcade gameplay meets mental calculation!3.95 / 5.00 9,148 Views
You sick adolscent.
I would've just read my book but no! I just read a sick story.
At 10/21/06 08:39 PM, Sgt-Mongoose wrote: god too discreptive! You need to get a girlfriend
People always say that, but they don't read that in the story it says I do have a girlfriend. You should probobly read the story before making those assumptions.
hehehehe. I FOUND THE ENDING STORY BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!
She was fifty-three. She was thirty pounds over- weight. She was my mother. She was my ultimate desire.
I first realized I wanted to sleep with my mother when I was ten years old. My mother wasn't a drop-dead gorgeous woman, but she was very comfortable with her body. She wasn't an exhibitionist by any means, but bathroom doors were never locked when she was bathing or using the toilet. She never minded if one of her children needed to use the bathroom when she was in the tub; it just didn't bother her.
On this one particular day when I was ten, my mother was indeed lying in the bathtub, soaking her then forty year-old body. Arriving home from school, I ran into the house and straight for the bathroom. I had, and still do have, an unusually small bladder, so I wasted no time unzipping my pants as I barged into the bathroom. Nearly having my pre-teen cock in my hand, I was in for quite an eyeful when I saw my mother in all her glory sprawled out in the tub.
"Oh, Mom, I'm sorry," I apologized, feeling my face turn bright red. As many times as this happened, it never failed to embarrass me at least a little bit. I started to turn around and exit the room when she stopped me.
"It's fine, Martin. Do what you need to do," she pleaded.
Reluctantly, I moved towards the toilet and pulled down my pants and underwear far enough to relieve myself. As I did this, I glanced in the wall mirror opposite the bathtub. I saw my mother absent-mindedly squeezing water from a washcloth all over her body. She would occasionally splash water over her pleasantly abundant breasts.
I studied my mother's body. She wasn't much more than 5'4" and maybe 125 or 130 pounds. At the time, she was really still in pretty good shape, having just a slight stomach. Her face was pretty, very Midwestern, which was where she was from. She had brown, slightly curly, shoulder-length hair that was damp from the bathwater. The real highlight of her body, though, was the immaculately groomed mound of hair above what I knew to be her vagina. She epitomized everything that woman was to me at that time.
As my mind regained its awareness, I noticed my dick getting erect. Having just recently discovered "boners", I again could feel my face redden. And I could not for the life of me urinate. I now concentrated on trying to relieve myself. I heard my mother, behind me, still splashing herself with water. I was still unable to go.
I put my hard dick back in my pants as gently as possible and flushed the toilet, trying to give the impression that I had been successful. I washed my hands quickly and glanced once more into the mirror at my mother. My dick grew even larger as I left the bathroom.
"Thanks Mom," I said as I exited.
"That's okay," Mom replied, continuing her relaxing bath.
Nothing similar to that experience ever happened again. My mother's habits never changed, but mine did. As I got older I didn't want Mom catching me ogle her with my eyes. And I ultimately knew it would be wrong to do so. But this all changed more than a dozen years later.
Now at 53, my mother had put on some weight over the last several years. I wouldn't at all call her fat, but she was "thick". Her hips, breasts, thighs and stomach had all gotten wider. Her hair now had streaks of gray in it and her face had acquired a few more lines.
I, myself, had graduated from college and entered graduate school, pursuing a Masters Degree in Eastern Philosophy (quite practical, I know). Towards the end of the summer between my first and second years in grad school, I went back home for one of my nephews' baptisms. It was nice to see all of my family and everything but I was ultimately happiest to see my mother. My father had passed away five years before and, although my siblings were still around town, I worried that she was lonely. Her primary focus in life had always been family and now she was living in the house all by herself.
By the time the baptism and the subsequent activities were over, it was nine o'clock at night. I accompanied my mother back to the house where I spent my childhood. It would be just the two of us in the house for the duration of my stay and that was perfectly acceptable with me. My mother told me she was going to take a bath before she went to bed. This immediately conjured up images in my head of that one fateful day when I was ten and I got erect.
As I unpacked in my room, I could hear Mom start the bath. The sound of water suddenly gave me the urge to urinate. A thought entered my mind. I wondered if my mother would still be as casual as she once was about sharing bathrooms. I figured that no one would be the worse if I gave it a shot.
I walked out of my room and to the bathroom door. I knocked.
"Yes Martin?" Mom answered.
It was a gamble, but I responded, "I'm real sorry, but I was just wondering if I could sneak in and relieve myself right quick like?"
I succeeded: "The door's open," she said.
I opened the door and it was like I was ten again. I saw my nude mother, once again, lying in the bathtub. Her body had changed but the effect she had on me was the same.
"I'm sorry. I'll be quick," I told her.
She seemingly ignored me. I walked to the toilet and took out my hard cock, my hands shaking nervously. I aimed it into the toilet and nearly strained myself trying to piss. As I tried to urinate, I looked into that well-positioned mirror and saw my mother. Her eyes were closed, her body resting. I saw her stomach rise up and down and her breasts jiggle slightly as she breathed in and out.
Like my earlier experience, I decided to give up and fake my urination. I gingerly placed my dick back in my pants, flushed the toilet and proceeded to wash my hands. I was about to leave the room when a streak of boldness hit me. I walked to the bathtub and sat down on the edge. I knew my mother must have known I was right there, but she did not react. She just laid there with her eyes shut.
part two coming once i find it. MUAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!
My eyes flew over her body. Just like I remembered, plus 30 or so pounds distributed nicely. Since my father's passing, my mother apparently hadn't been keeping up with her grooming as well, though. My mother's pubic hair was no longer immaculately groomed. The once small mound of hair had spread to twice the mass it was before. And it looked glorious on her body.
As I look back on it now, I have no idea what could have been running through my mind, but something possessed me to venture further. With my hands still nervously shaking, I reached out towards my mother's breasts and slowly started to caress them, fondling the two beauties gently. I looked at my mother's face for some kind of reaction: delight, disgust, fury, something, anything...but no reaction. I wasn't absolutely sure she wasn't sleeping.
At least there wasn't any resistance at this point, so I started moving my right hand slowly down her body. I continued groping her breasts with my left hand and I bent forward and lightly kissed one of her nipples, nearly falling in the tub in the process. As I did that, I thought I heard a slight moan slip from my mother's mouth. My right hand continued towards her cunt, only stopping to stroke her bushy mound for a moment.
I slowly stroked the outside of my mother's opening. I stuck my middle finger into her and let her cunt close around it as I probed inside her. It felt so warm and smooth and so...right. Imagining my dick where my finger was, I nearly came. After a few minutes of this, I pulled my finger out, hearing for certain a moan from my mother.
I stood up from the bathtub and quickly disrobed. I reached down at my mother's legs and lifted them as I slid in the bathtub under them. Letting her legs rest on my shoulders, I bent forward and kissed my mother's delicious cunt all over. Poking my tongue at her opening, I was finally allowed access into her body. I darted my tongue in and out of her repeatedly, tasting and inhaling her juices. I could hear consistent sighs escape from my mother's mouth and her body was rhythmically reacting to my oral ministrations.
Through this all, I was impressed with myself for not coming but now I needed that release. Fearing I might not enjoy myself fully screwing my mother in the bathtub, I got out of the tub. I reached into the tub below her body and started to lift her out of the tub and into my arms. I finally saw my mother's eyes open and a smile slowly revealed itself on her face. Still, though, she remained speechless.
My mother was heavier than I had expected, but, with her arms around my neck, I managed to carry her into my room and onto the bed. I laid her on her back and spread her legs. I then moved to hover above her, my arms bracing myself against the bed. Our eyes met. I could tell she wanted all of this as much as I did. I kissed her passionately, sucking on her lower lip and then entering her mouth with my tongue. She kissed me back, but the rest of her body remained almost limp.
I reached down to my jutting erection and guided it towards her cunt. I teased her with the tip of my dick for a moment before thrusting myself into her. I met with little resistance and I had to hold still for a minute for fear of spurting my cum in her right away. Gradually my penetrations picked up speed and I could feel Mom bend her knees and shift them upwards to better position herself for me. All the while I continued to kiss my mom's face and neck.
As I was about ready to come, my mother started to thrust her hips back at me, almost violently, and I knew she must be nearing orgasm as well. Several thrusts later, I felt spurt after spurt of semen evacuate my body and fill my mother's cunt. She moaned loudly and, finally using her hands, aggressively pulled my head into her breasts. After what seemed like several minutes, I stopped coming and Mom released my head from her breasts. I slowly pulled my deflating cock from her soppy vagina and let the rest of my body collapse on my mother. But I didn't move my head. I just let it lay there in between my mother's breasts as she started to stroke my hair with her hand.
That was the last I could remember from the previous night, as I woke up the next morning alone in my bed. I could hear my mother cooking in the kitchen. I got up out of bed, put some clothes on and walked to the kitchen.
"Good morning, Mom," I said, almost cautiously.
"Did you sleep well Martin?" she replied.
"Uh, yes," I said, "thank you very much."
I could not detect anything in her voice or her demeanor that was any different than usual. I sat down at the breakfast table and watched my mother cook. Our love-making session the previous night had left me not knowing what to do or say. I didn't know why my mother had let me have my way with her. I decided to play it cool and let her broach the subject. She never did.
I left home later that afternoon and never once did Mom act like anything strange had happened that weekend. By the way she acted I wasn't even entirely sure she remembered anything from the night before. We hugged each other goodbye like we always did, nothing sexual, and I walked out of the house.
This happened three months ago and it still consumes my every thought. I want to make love to my mother again and I hope if we are alone with each other again, I will be able to summon enough courage to make my move. Or, even better, maybe she will make the first move next time.
epic, i almost read the first line
1.) You are a sick, demented freak, who needs to get a girlfriend and out of his parent's home.
2.) I respect that.
3.) What does cunt taste like? I've gotten a bj before but I've never really carpet munched in my life time...
4.) Please, please, please do not sniff your mother's panties... that's just a little bit TOO freakish.
This shit will have tons of parts so dont piss off at me.
As a child--and through my teen years--I don't believe my mother was the object of my friends' fantasies as their mothers were mine. My mother was, well, just a lot more motherly than their mothers. She didn't have a nice tight body with ample breasts that she readily displayed in skimpy bathing suits as did my friend Jim's mom. Nor did she have a rumored reputation of boffing school chums of her son as my friend Chad's mom had. To be sure, those two women, among others, were masturbation fantasies for myself and many others around school, but never once in my formative years did I think about my own mother in that manner. Obviously, though, I wouldn't be writing this story if my feelings about her had not changed.
To be honest, my mother is not a cosmetically beautiful woman. She stands at just a few inches past five feet and, in recent years, has added some thickness around her thighs and hips and all that lies between. She's always been somewhat flat in the chest and whatever perkiness there once was in that area has long since departed. She has fair skin accented by numerous freckles on her face and body, typical of those bestowed with the color of red hair she possesses. She is now just past fifty years of age, a fact that is affirmed by a few more lines on her face and a smattering of gray hairs on her head.
In my physical description of my mother, I am simply being truthful. What that description lacks is how wonderful of a mother (and now grandmother) she has been to her children. I am the middle child, sandwiched between two sisters. My mother and father met in high school, dated for a couple of years and, then, married shortly after their graduation. My father was a hard worker, beginning as a blue-collar laborer for the railroad before moving into the administrative offices of the railroad later in his career. Unfortunately, he passed away several ago, not long after my youngest sister graduated from high school. Mom was lonely at first, of course, as all of her children were now out of the house she raised them in. However, my oldest sister had her first child--a girl--not long after my father's death and my mother soon found herself with a new generation of our family to care for. My sisters and I are all spread out across the country (and away from Mom), so my mother found herself away from her own home much of the time, caring for my older sister's children (yes, she had more) and then my younger sister's kids as she, herself, got into the breeding game. We all see each other during the holidays two or three times a year and we keep in touch by phone and written correspondence as much as we can, too. In short, despite being spread throughout the country--or maybe because of it--we have remained a close family.
In my late twenties now, I have remained single despite watching both my older and younger sisters marry and start families. With a few of my friends from college I started a small, city-wide arts review magazine. We review local theatrical productions, film, local authors, etc. The pay is admittedly poor, but it does give me easy access to all of these events, which helps my dating life. My sex life in college, alternately, involved screwing the best looking girl I could find or, occasionally, whomever I could find. I'm no Don Juan by any means, but I was able to hook-up with some very attractive women. On other occasions, I hooked-up with some not so desirable women--women I'm probably lucky I didn't contract something from. Anyway, in the last couple of years, I have tried to get serious about the girls I have been seeing. There have been a series of rather plain, but extremely good-hearted and kind, women who I have spent a few to several months with each. Despite my own good intentions, I found that I cannot ultimately take the relationships to the next step when that next step is needed. I became increasingly more contemplative about this problem of mine and the girls I have been in relationships with and came to a conclusion: They are not my mom.
It seemed so obvious now. The girls shared so many things with my mom--their looks, their general personality--but they were not my mom. She was obviously what I wanted all of these years, I just didn't know it. I began to think about her at night, her pale, wide thighs, her ample ass, her small breasts which I knew I could almost get my whole mouth around. I stopped dating other women and became solely focused on my mother. Thanksgiving was just a month away and I thought about how I would seduce her every night as I stroked myself to sleep.
At 10/21/06 11:56 PM, sunkist1 wrote: plagirization
Stop stealing his great-writings and posting them in your account. Let him have full privelages of his own material.
Im not. im just simply posting the rest of his story because he wont do it quick enoufe.
READ THIS:AlL credit from these storys goes to the bald clam.Im simply posting his story so you can see it.
I arrived home--my mother's house where I grew up--on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, my sisters and their families had arrived before me, so as I walked through the door, I was inundated with hugs from nieces and nephews, all of them shouting, "Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex!" until their respective parents pulled them from me. I greeted both of my sisters and their husbands warmly before noticing the absence of my mother.
"Where's Mom?" I asked my older sister.
"In the kitchen getting food ready for tomorrow," she said. "You should go in and see her, she'll be so happy you're here."
I walked through the living and dining rooms and peered into the kitchen, just as my mother had bent over to pull something out of the refrigerator. She was wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, her customary loungewear over the past few years. Her sweat pants fit like a glove on her thick thighs and round, bubbly butt. I was tempted to rip them down her body right then and take her from behind. This was the dichotomy of my mind at that moment: wanting to make nice, sweet love to my mother, but also wanting to passionately and hardly penetrate every last one of her orifices.
Finally finishing in the refrigerator, my mother stood up and noticed me in the doorway.
"Oh, honey, come here," she said, but fortunately, due to the tent pole that had developed in my pants which I was trying to conceal by slightly bending over, she came to me first. We embraced tightly for a minute, my erection pressing into her stomach. She had to notice, but didn't say anything. I lowered my head and slightly sniffed her red, but graying, hair. It smelled of the lilac-scented shampoo she had used for as long as I could remember--it was heaven. Still holding each other by the arms, we drew apart and looked at each other. A huge smile filled nearly all of her freckled face, which I then held as I moved my lips towards hers. Though I tried not to make the kiss any longer than our usual greetings, it had much more significance to me since the realization I wanted to bed my mother. She tasted so good to me--like, well, home-cooking--as I let my lips suck just a little bit around her lower lip before I relented to my better judgment and moved away from her face.
Starting to tear up a bit, she said: "It's so nice to have you here with your sisters. I know it has only been a few months since I saw you, but it always seems like so much longer. How long can you stay?"
As long as it takes to screw the rest of the red out of your hair, I was thinking, but instead said: "My schedule's somewhat flexible through the weekend."
The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful, sexually speaking. My mother spent most of the time with my nieces and nephews, doting on them, as my sisters and their husbands and I caught up with each other since the last time we had spoken. As I talked with them, I kept an eye on my mother as she bent down to play with my nephew or got on all fours to chase my nieces around. Trying to keep my mind focused on the conversations, I was also struggling with trying not to shoot a huge load of cum in my own pants while watching my mom and thinking about what I wanted to do with her.
The evening, alas, came to a close and the adults all went upstairs to our respective rooms while the children slept on the floor in the living room. If it had not been for the presence of the rest of my family in the house, I may have become adventurous and attempted my seduction that night, but, not knowing the results of an attempt, I played it safe and just jerked off in my old bed that night, thinking about my mother. The irony of doing the same fifteen years ago while thinking about my friends' mothers did not escape me
You seem to be going through some sexual emotional issues that is clowding your morality.
If this doesnt pass I would see a councellor.
Get a picture of your sister. A picture at a BBQ or something. Then when you feel this 'urge' to start sniffing, just look at the picture and you will see how sick you have become.
im not saying this from experience its just advise.
Now you say your sister is good looking and youve been away for a while, and both your brothers are gone. Maybe its your body telling you something is wrong and that life has changed. My last house I lived in for 5 years. If I lived there again it wouldnt feel the same.
If she is good looking then whats her email address??? lol
At 10/15/06 07:18 PM, l-o-l wrote: this is the greatest thread ever made.
Yeah and would have seen a lot of great threads in your time I take it?
At 10/21/06 11:49 PM, Cereal-Palsy wrote: Best. Story. EVER!
Not even close.
Uhhh okay this is weird.
I don't find a problem with incest or anything but if she's like 5 years younger than you than that's just.... awkward.
Hey I didn't cuss for once!
Tell me about it...........
But I'm weirder; I wrote a story about a guy who had s@x with a pumpkin!
you're 30 and you still live at home???
At 4/22/09 12:38 AM, MultiCanimefan wrote: Raped by hongkong. NEXT.
Yeah, that was one champion of a post, wasn't it? -Zerok
At 10/15/06 07:18 PM, HeavenDuff wrote: how are we supposed to trust an alt account?
This definately is an alt...still this story walks the fine line of disturbing and grotesque. Baldy guy, or whoever your real accounts name is...your disgusting for having those thoughts thought up. Your sick for even having thoughts of having those thoughts thought up. I should slap you for even thinking of having thoughts of having those thoughts thought up. :P