Mother Novels Novels & Stories

My mother could drug minds. Who was Mother?

Mothers have their ways to put you on your feet every time, her mom always has a way of ruining their perfectly running conversation whenever she puts a call through, she either asks if she is familiar with the color code 'cockroach brown' just to inform her about the wedding of her neighbor's daughter which she is planning to attend or she brings up a program she listened to on the radio about late childbearing or pre-menopause just to advise her to be fast about settling down or just getting pregnant and bring her her grandchild. Just last week, her mother forwarded a picture of her younger female cousin who had recently put to bed in the states, in a bid to announce that she has become an

She was more trouble than I was on a bad day—and that was saying something. The market men and women avoided her like a plague-infested rat, and apparently, with no one else to terrorize, she had chosen my meek, gentle mother as her next victim. My mother. Sweet, quiet, gentle Mama—who could barely swat a fly, let alone defend herself against that hurricane of a woman. And this was the part where Edwina Danielle Jonas lost all sense of decorum. But today, she messed with the wrong person. Because here’s the thing: no one, and I mean no one, lays a hand on my mother and walks away untouched. Not even Agatha with her foul mouth and five husbands.

After all, she couldn't fight back anymore. "Mom! Why is that? He hit me, you should hit him too." Mrs. Melly's son did not accept, he was confused to see his mother who did not fight back like before. Not only that, he also got a sharp look from his mother. "Shut up, Rama!" Mrs. Melly pinched her son until he cried. She didn't care about his cries and his reddened hands. Meanwhile, Daniel looked at Mrs. Melly with one eyebrow raised. He couldn't believe that a mother could treat her flesh and blood like that. Mrs. Melly seemed shameless for doing that in front of many people. Daniel grimaced, concerned for the child.

‘It seems to really respond to a mother’s touch. Sweet Jesus! The over-endowed MILF was talking dirty and everything! This cock-crazy mama was sure as hell nothing like the typical mothers of the girls I dated; they were usually thick-waisted broads with prison-issue haircuts, Anita Backer, and as much sex appeal as Mrs Claus.

If Vera was a delicate, petite woman, Victoria was without a doubt the ultimate mature woman. Only Victoria could handle my size. However, she was my future mother-in-law. How could I do such a thing?

So she throws down her pencil, her pussy on fire, and heads on out. * * * Sheila Miller I just couldn't focus on my social studies test. I couldn't think of anything but Mom. She was just so hot. So sexy. The ultimate MILF. She gave birth to me. That made her a true mother. My mother. I licked my lips. Screw the others. Ms. August. Ms. Waters. Mrs. Greene. None of them held a candle to my blonde and sexy mother.

It was one of her comfort potions whenever she had dysmenorrhea, or whenever she was stressed. "Mom, you do realize that I'm already a family man now, right?" Ira chuckled, yanking his mother's hand away from his face. "Please stop squeezing my cheek as if I'm still your five-year-old errand boy." "I know, I know," said Helena, tapping his jaw gently. "Nice to see you again, Miguel," his father greeted him, too. That was the latter's pet name for Ira. "Hey, dad. I'm sorry we came late for the family breakfast."

He came forward and properly introduced himself. "Hi Nana, am Luca". "Hi Luca, am Louisa but you can call me Nana. she hugged him and placed tiny kisses on his face making him giggle. Louisa Quinn, my mum and she's everything to me. She's the reason my siblings and I are where we are today. The person behind our success. We weren't rich but we weren't poor either. We were comfortable with what we heard. She was a pharmacist at one of the biggest hospital in New York. My elder sister Anastasia was the one who followed her path in career but she's a neurosurgeon. My brother owns chains of restaurants all over the world and I went into architecture and interior designing.

My mother, Everly Monroe, was hurrying toward me. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Delicate features, huge innocent eyes, and a slender figure that made her look like a goddess or an angel. Her soft blonde hair looked like it had been kissed by moonlight—no wonder the media once called her “the woman who most resembles the Moon Goddess.” Someone like her was never meant to stay in a place like Pebble Creek Pack, let alone marry a farmer. And she realized that pretty quickly herself. At age 21, she walked out of our house and never looked back.