Mother Son Sex Story Completely True

My name is Brandon, and I’m 18 years old. My mother, Diana, is 38, a radiant beauty with a figure that could make any heart race. Even at 38, she looks like she’s in her mid-20s, with flawless fair skin, long, toned legs, and full, voluptuous breasts with dusky pink nipples that seem to beckon in the most sinful way. She’s always been meticulous about her fitness, spending hours in our home gym or jogging through the sprawling gardens of our estate. Her dedication pays off—her body is a masterpiece, curvaceous yet athletic, with an allure that’s impossible to ignore.

My father, James, is a successful entrepreneur, always jetting off to some corner of the globe to close deals. His success affords us a luxurious lifestyle: a mansion with a sparkling pool, a state-of-the-art gym, and every comfort imaginable. As their only child, I’ve grown up in the lap of luxury, but it’s my mother who’s always been the center of my world. Everyone envies me for having such parents, but it’s Diana’s magnetic presence that draws the most attention.

This tale begins three years ago when I was 15, and Diana was 35. My father had just left for another business trip, leaving me with his usual instructions to “look after your mother.” Life went on as normal—or so I thought. That summer, everything changed.

It was a sweltering morning, the kind where the air feels heavy and the sun beats down relentlessly. School was out for the summer, and Diana, a homemaker, had no obligations to pull her away from our idyllic routine. I woke up late, groggy from the heat, and wandered downstairs. That’s when I saw her—Diana, lounging by the pool in a bikini I’d never seen before. It was a deep crimson, barely containing her curves, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. Her breasts seemed to float on the water’s surface as she swam lazily, her long legs slicing through the pool with effortless grace.

I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, a primal surge of heat rushing through me. My erection strained against my shorts, undeniable and urgent. Diana caught my eye and smiled, her voice light as she called out, “Breakfast is ready in the kitchen, sweetheart!” Then she climbed out of the pool, water cascading down her body, and disappeared into the house to shower.

I stumbled to the kitchen, my mind racing with images of her. I tried to focus on the toast and coffee she’d prepared, but my thoughts kept drifting to her glistening skin, the way her bikini had hugged her hips. I wanted to see her in the shower, to catch a glimpse of her bare body under the steaming water, but the bathroom door was locked. Defeated, I slumped onto the couch, my erection still throbbing as I replayed the vision of her in the pool.

When Diana emerged, she was dressed in a light sundress that did little to hide her curves. The fabric was sheer enough to hint at the outline of her body, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She sat across from me, oblivious to my turmoil, chatting about mundane things—groceries, the weather. But I was lost in her, my desire growing with every word she spoke.

That night, around 11 p.m., Diana announced she was going to bed. As she climbed the stairs, I caught a glimpse of her round, perfect backside swaying under her silk nightgown. My body reacted instantly, the ache in my groin unbearable. I hoped she’d invite me to sleep beside her, a childish fantasy I knew was impossible. When she didn’t, I retreated to my room, my mind a whirlwind of forbidden thoughts.

By midnight, I was restless. The heat of the night pressed against me, but it was my longing for Diana that kept me awake. I couldn’t stop picturing her in that bikini, her body glistening in the sunlight. My hand found my erection, and I gave in, stroking myself as I imagined her curves, her soft moans, the way her breasts would feel in my hands. I climaxed quickly, but it wasn’t enough—my desire only grew stronger.

Unable to resist, I crept to her room. The door was ajar, and there she was, sprawled across her bed in a delicate, barely-there nightgown. The fabric had ridden up, exposing the smooth expanse of her thighs and the curve of her buttocks. Her breathing was soft, her sleep light. I stood at the edge of her bed, my heart pounding, my hand moving instinctively to my erection. I stroked myself, eyes locked on her body, until I couldn’t hold back. My release came suddenly, hot and forceful, splattering onto her thighs.

Panic seized me. What if she woke up? What if she felt it? I fled to my room, my mind racing with guilt and fear. I’d crossed a line, and there was no going back.

The next morning, I braced myself for her anger, but Diana acted as if nothing had happened. She greeted me with her usual warmth, her smile disarming. Was it possible she hadn’t noticed? Or had the evidence dried before she woke? I couldn’t tell, but her nonchalance only fueled my confusion—and my desire.

Two nights later, the urge returned, stronger than before. I crept into her room again, finding her asleep in nothing but a lacy bra and panties. The sight of her nearly bare body sent a jolt through me. I stood over her, stroking myself, my eyes drinking in every curve. When I climaxed, my release landed on her panties, staining the delicate fabric. I retreated quickly, my heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and shame.

Again, the next morning, Diana said nothing. Her silence was maddening. Did she know? Did she secretly enjoy it? I couldn’t shake the thought that she was aware of my actions, that she was letting me continue this dangerous game.

Crossing the Line

The third night, I decided to test her. I waited until just before her usual wake-up time, sneaking into her room at dawn. She was asleep, her body barely covered by a sheet. I slid my erection between her thighs, moving slowly, savoring the warmth of her skin. When I climaxed, I left the evidence there, undeniable. I returned to my room, waiting for her reaction.

At breakfast, she was her usual self—cheerful, unaffected. But when I snuck into her room later, I found her panties soaked with my release. She had to know. Yet she said nothing, her behavior unchanged. The realization hit me like a wave: she was complicit in this forbidden dance.

That night, after she returned from a friend’s party, Diana kissed me goodnight with a lingering smile that set my heart racing. I waited an hour before slipping into her room. She was sprawled across the bed, completely naked, her legs parted invitingly. The sight of her bare womanhood, glistening in the moonlight, was too much. I knelt between her legs, my fingers trembling as I touched her, exploring her slick folds. She moaned softly in her sleep, her body responding to my touch.

I coated my erection with vaseline from her nightstand, the cool gel heightening my arousal. I pressed myself against her, sliding between her thighs, careful not to wake her. The sensation was intoxicating, her warmth enveloping me. I moved faster, my control slipping, until I climaxed, my release spilling onto her skin. As I leaned forward, drawn to her breasts, I took a nipple into my mouth, sucking gently. Her moans grew louder, her body arching beneath me.

The Awakening

The next night, I couldn’t hold back. Diana lay naked again, her body an open invitation. I positioned myself between her legs, my fingers teasing her clit until she was dripping wet. I entered her slowly, savoring the tight, warm embrace of her body. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and for a moment, I froze.

“Brandon,” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep and something else—desire. “What are you doing? I’m your mother.”

“I love you, Mom,” I pleaded, my voice raw. “I need you. If you want this, I’ll make love to you.”

She moaned, her body trembling beneath me. “Okay, baby. But please, don’t finish inside me. I can’t… I can’t have your baby.”

Her words only fueled my passion. I thrust deeper, her moans growing louder, more desperate. “Oh, Brandon, yes! Take me, my sweet boy!” she cried, her body writhing beneath me. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, her nipples hard against my lips as I sucked them greedily.

“I want to fill you, Mom,” I groaned, my control slipping.

“No, Brandon, please,” she begged, but her body betrayed her, her hips meeting mine with every thrust. “I can’t… but God, you feel so good.”

I couldn’t stop. The pleasure was overwhelming, and as I reached my peak, I pulled out, spilling onto her stomach. But Diana wasn’t done. She pulled me close, guiding my hand to her clit, urging me to finish her. She came with a shuddering cry, her body convulsing in my arms.

A Secret Passion

From that night on, whenever my father was away, Diana and I shared a bed. Our encounters grew bolder, more passionate. She’d wear lingerie that drove me wild, teasing me with her body until I couldn’t resist. One night, she rode me, her breasts bouncing as she took me deep, her moans echoing through the room. Another time, she knelt before me, taking me in her mouth, her tongue swirling around me until I exploded.

When she became pregnant, we faced a difficult choice. She chose to terminate, unwilling to bear my child, but our passion never waned. Even now, at 18 and 38, we continue our secret affair, stealing moments of ecstasy whenever my father is away. Diana is my everything, and our forbidden love is a fire that never burns out.