Erotic Mother Son Stories Novels & Stories

I cried out into the kiss, hips bucking wildly as she fucked me with slow, deliberate strokes, curling just right against that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids. Upstairs, Dad’s faint snoring drifted down the hall like a warning bell, but it only made everything hotter, dirtier, more dangerous. Elena broke the kiss just enough to whisper against my swollen lips, her fingers still pumping deep inside me, thumb grinding my clit in perfect circles. “Shhh… don’t make a sound, baby girl. Or Daddy might wake up and find out what a filthy little plaything his daughter has become for his wife…” My pussy spasmed hard around her fingers, another wave of shame and pleasure crashing through

“She had screamed like that too…a sound that pleased my c*ck greatly as I hammered into her just like this.” His hips started to plummet into her hard and fast, and soon, Denae laid stiff against the bed, unmoving as he continued his assault on her. She felt numb, and somehow the story of how her mother died was more painful than his c*ck hammering against her battered walls. It must’ve been painful…for her mom and for her dad who could do nothing but watch. They died in pain because of her and so many years had passed, and she had yet to avenge them…

Way too handsome and young for a man my mom was dating. My pulse raced as I tried to tear my gaze away, but it was almost impossible. There was something about him that had my attention immediately locked. I watched my mom hug him and plant a little kiss on his lips before she held his hand and turned to me “Veronica, this is Joshua,” my mom said. “Joshua, this is my daughter, Veronica.” “Daughter? I didn't know you had a daughter?” Joshua whispered to her, wide-eyed “I’m so sorry I never said anything before. I… I just thought you’d be alarmed and-”

I even wondered if she had really gone mad. "You treated me the same way too when I was little, no?" Mom suddenly stopped laughing. The memories of her childhood, as described by her, became fragmented and cruel. It turned out that when Mom was a child, my grandfather eloped with someone else because Grandma couldn't give birth to a son. During that time, Grandma must have lost her sanity and would beat and scold Mom every day. Therefore, in Mom's memory, giving birth to a daughter was a misfortune, and keeping a husband was an instinct all women had.

The question flattened the room. He didn't answer right away. He thought about his mother. Small woman, fierce, who used to tell him stories about wolves that guarded the old world. His grandmother had told her the same stories. Matrilineal. Passed down through women who watched their sons grow strange and didn't have the words to explain it. "I have a son," he said quietly. She blinked. "You have a—"

My mother, Sophie Nash, was also my homeroom teacher, and she loved nothing more than using me to assert her authority. She was convinced that the worse off I was, the more afraid my classmates would be, and the higher her authority would be. Once, when I passed an eraser to a classmate during class, she slapped me so hard across the face in front of the whole class that my face swelled up. Another time, after I secretly ate a crumb of a classmate’s snack during recess, my mom dragged me up to the front of the classroom and pricked my lip with a needle until blood gushed out. Later, when a classmate was caught by the vice principal for having a romantic relationship while underaged, my m

When your son's bedtime stories came from mommy because daddy was always at another business dinner? "Ladies." I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "If you'll excuse me, I have another appointment." "Of course! Don't let us keep you from that perfect life of yours!" Mrs. Whitmore's laugh tinkled like breaking champagne flutes. I made it to the elevator before the words really hit. Perfect life. They saw what I let them see. The authentic Sera Blackwood, wife of Jonathan Blackwood, old money, new success. Mother to Oliver, the sweetest eight year old who still believed in magic and happy endings. Part-time art authenticator who worked "for fun" because surely Jonathan pr

“Leaking like a faucet. You love being used, don’t you?” “Yes—fuck—yes—please—” He plunged back in—deeper angle now, hitting her cervix on every stroke. She clawed at his forearms, nails leaving red trails. He leaned down, captured a nipple between his teeth—bit hard—then sucked it deep while he hammered into her. “Gonna fill this slut hole,” he rasped against her skin. “Gonna pump you so full you’ll be dripping my cum for days. Every time you fuck my stepson you’ll feel me instead.”

"I'm not. Teasing means you wouldn't get anything. You just got something and are going to get a lot more. This is called patience, baby. Little boys don't have it, but men do. You ready to be my man, baby boy?" "I'll be anything you want me to be." He moved closer to her and pleasantly surprised to see his cock was still close to fully hard. How couldn't it be with his topless mother in front of him? A mother who jerked him off while telling him how she used to pose for men's magazines and got off on it. Who confessed to being wet when men took her picture and now got even more worked up when her son did it. Who had started a twitter feed to masturbate to young men wishing they were her son

And then they both moved. It was a synchronized, devastating rhythm. Arthur thrust into her ass, a slow, claiming penetration, while Daniel filled her pussy fast and hard. She was stretched beyond belief, filled in both holes, a double fucking that sent shocks of pleasure through her entire body. The friction, the fullness, the sheer obscenity of it pushed her towards a climax that felt like detonation. “Fuck her ass, Dad,” Daniel encouraged, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Make her scream.” Arthur groaned, his pace in her asshole picking up, matching his son’s rhythm. The bed rocked. Jessa’s world narrowed to the slam of their bodies, the slap of skin, the crude, beautiful words pouring from