Summer was always a time for freedom. Without school to worry about, I always indulged myself in whatever suited my fancy. After my freshman year of college, however, that indulgence took on a whole new meaning, largely thanks to a few very important members of my family.
My nineteenth birthday had passed just a week before summer break began. Just leaving adolescence, I was at my physical peak. My dark brown hair was cut short, and I'd developed quite a nice build during two semesters biking from class to class. I'd tried my hand at being something of a ladies' man, but mostly found myself too polite to go too far. My grades had been solid, my social life frankly abysmal. While I was good-looking enough, according to my female friends, I was too much of a "nice guy". I fell face-first into the friend zone every time.
Coming home was something of a respite. For all my academic success, I had been disappointed with my social life. At home, I could relax, be myself and not worry about trying to score. Plus, I still had that huge cache of porn magazines under my bed. Hopefully. For all I knew, Mom had cleaned the whole thing out while I'd been gone.
Mom had been an even more perfect mother ever since my father had left. None of us, not me, not Mom, not my older sister Cynthia, had spoken to him since he'd run off with a local country singer four years previously. For my part, I knew I'd never be able to understand. Mom was sweet, a great housewife, a tremendous cook, and had been teaching math at the local high school for nearly twenty years. Plus, although I'd never have admitted it aloud, she looked incredible. Despite being 46 years old, Mom was one of the sexiest women I'd ever seen. Her auburn hair framed a beautiful, heart-shaped face. Her tits were large (38DDs...all right, so I looked through Mom's underwear drawer a few times when I was younger)., her hips wide, her ass nice and round. My cock had probably gotten hard to Mom more than any other woman I'd ever known...which had caused me both a great deal of embarrassment and pleasure over the years.
For the first time ever, Mom and I had the house to ourselves. Cynthia had graduated college the year before and moved several cities east to begin graduate work in clinical psychology. Mom was delighted to have me home, having been quite lonely during the school year. Since she teaches school, she got summer off herself, living just off the alimony and savings rather than taking a summer job like a lot of teachers. This gave us the chance to talk and really bond in a way we never had before. I told Mom about my difficulties with women and my near-painful shyness. Mom told me about how heartbroken she'd been by Dad's betrayal, and about the struggle to find happiness as a single woman in the middle of her life. These long talks would often last into the middle of the night. Many times, they ended with the two of us hugging and in tears. I thought there was no way I could get any closer to my Mom than I did in those first couple of weeks.
Of course, I couldn't have been more wrong.
One afternoon, while Mom was out getting some groceries, I decided I might as well take the opportunity to relieve a little sexual tension. With frantic hands, I lifted up my mattress and pulled out my magazines. I'd already stripped down to my boxers, allowing my cock to dangle from the slit in the front. While I'm not quite pornstar quality, my cock is not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Right around seven inches and a nice thickness, with just a little hint of foreskin. I was already hard in anticipation, but, as I flipped through my magazines, I noticed something was wrong. Something was missing. After a quick mental inventory, I realized what it was: my incest magazines.
After visiting our local adult bookstore right after my eighteenth birthday, I'd stumbled upon the magazines almost by chance. With titles like "Family Fuckfest" and "Naughty Relatives", I'd just laughed them off at first. But something deep inside me kept drawing me back to that rack on every visit. I found myself flipping through them and, as I read the stories of families locked in incestuous lust, I found my cock throbbing harder than it ever had. On impulse, I'd bought four or five. Each night, I'd jerked off furiously to them. At first, the scenarios were purely third person in my mind, voyeuristic. Over time, however, the mothers in the stories took on the appearance of my own beloved Mom. The sisters became my busty sister, Cynthia, with her blonde hair and her cool demeanor. Even as I flushed with shame, I'd shoot what seemed like gallons of cum into my hand each night.
I'd left the magazines at home, fearing the mockery should my roommate discover them as part of my stash. Now that I'd returned, however, they'd turned up missing. With a frown, I realized that my Mom must have found them. Whatever shame I'd felt from masturbating before, I felt two-fold now...and yet I was doubly aroused. Mom had likely read some of the stories, probably noticed the most folded and stained pages were the ones related to mother-son sex. With a rush of instinct, pure impulse, I got up and ran to her bedroom, my cock bouncing stiffly between my legs. It only took a few moments searching to discover my instinct was right. In Mom's underwear drawer, tucked toward the back, were all of my incest magazines...plus a few new ones, apparently purchased during my time away.
My mind reeled, my knees almost buckled. Mom had not only read the magazines, she'd liked them enough to keep them, to buy more of her own. Part of me tried to explain it away, to say that she just wanted to understand it, that she was going to try and get me help. But my cock knew the truth better than my mind did. Slowly, I sat down on Mom's bed and opened one of the new magazines. This one came with illustrations. While the first story was something with a grandfather and his granddaughter, something that didn't quite get me going, the second story was amazing. The woman rode her son six ways from Sunday, fucking his brains out with a lusty abandon that was amazing to read. My hand flew over my cock wildly as I finished the story. Unable to hold back, I groaned loudly and shot, seven, eight, ten ropes of sperm, splattering my stomach, staining my mother's soft silk sheets. Exhausted and spent, I lay there, dazed, my amazement growing even greater as I read the byline. "Submitted by: Janine D., Andersonville." My hometown. My mom's name. Stunned as I was, I found myself doing something I shouldn't have...I drifted off to sleep, passed out in a pool of my own sperm, with the incriminating magazine lying open and near at hand.
I awoke several hours later to the feel of a soft hand on my shoulder, shaking me. As I stirred to consciousness, I realized my position with alarm, memories flooding back to me. I sat up with a shock to find Mom sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me with a mixture of curiosity, amusement and fear. One hand rested slightly on my bare knee. My cum was sticky-dry on my belly now, my soft cock hanging loosely from my shorts. I struggled to find something to say.
"Mom..." I croaked.
"Shhhhhhhh..." she said, shaking her head. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, honey. It's perfectly natural for a man to masturbate. I rather wish you'd thought to bring tissues, though, I just washed those sheets," she says with a smile.
"Sorry," I blushed sheepishly, feeling more like a little boy than I had in years. Mom and I just looked at each other for a long moment, unable to say anything.
Finally, she broke the silence, "I see you found your magazines. I hope you're not too upset that I borrowed them."
"No, not at all, Mom. I mean, I guess I was just afraid you'd freak out. You've always been really open about sex, but this was...this was different," I said.
