The Nasty Wife

"Does that feel good, baby?" my wife half-whispered, tightening her grip, pumping a little faster.

"Yeah..." I cooed, throbbing in her hand, slightly writhing from her ecstatic touch.

We'd gone to my mother's for the weekend, that day being Friday. It'd been a while since we last visited, so staying over was quite nice. Miranda and I inherited my old bedroom, which was turned into a guest room after I left. Since my sister was just a door over, and because my mom was just down the hall, we were too afraid to have full-blown sex, as she was always kind of loud during. However, she couldn't keep her hands off me for the entire weekend, so she settled with using only her hands and mouth.

Miranda's hand squelched as it stroked my shaft, for she'd saturated me in lubricants prior to pleasuring me. It was such a wet, sloppy hand-job, and she had no inhibition about jerking her wrist upward and downward until I was weak and squirming. She alternated between her left and right hands, and also using both at the same time, pounding me with a hold that grew tighter and tighter as she progressed. During, I stared at her and her thin lips, slightly angular features, and rather impassive brown eyes beneath a pair of thick framed glasses. She was a brunette with a very serious, phlegmatic aesthetic, yet she'd the most perverted mind and ravenous libido of anyone I'd ever met. Of a rather lithe frame, she'd her top down but her bra on, having forgotten to fully disrobe her D-cups for me in her eagerness to put her hands on my dick.

It was not uncommon for her to talk to me whilst we had sex, either for her to express her lewd, deviant thoughts or to casually chat. While that may seem odd, it was strangely appropriate because we were both present and focused on one another. Now wasn't any different, though we spoke in lowered voices, lest anyone hear us.

"Your mom's butt is a little bigger than I remembered," she fatefully announced.

"What...?" all I knew is that she was mercilessly hand-fucking me, and then we were suddenly talking about my mother.

"What body shape would you say she has? I am going to guess pear, since, while her breasts are, you know, pretty big, her curves are huge. Your mom has a giant ass," as she said this, she didn't stop what she was doing, instead only going harder and faster.

"I don't know..." I softly groaned, shaking my head. "I don't know anything about body types, and I don't really know what you're talking about right now."

"What?" my wife blinked, tugging now with two hands. "Are you telling me you've never noticed the size of your mom's butt? I find that hard to believe, given how big it is."

"I don't know, I don't really check out my own mom, so..."

"It's not checking her out," she squeezed my base so blood would become trapped in my shaft, making me surge and swell, "it's just noticing what's right in front of your face. It's the first thing I noticed when I saw her, and I'm not some sort of lesbian, so if it isn't gay for me to realize the enormousness of her measurements, it's not incest for you to either."

"I'm about to cum, can we please stop talking about this, I don't want to think about my mom while I—"

But it was too late. The moment Miranda realized I'd reached orgasm, she stroked as hard and as fast as she could, though with one hand now, the other fondling my balls to help assist them in releasing built up sperm. Wrapping her lips about my tip, she received stream after stream of my ejaculate in her mouth and on her tongue. When I was finished, she'd a murky, opaque pool of gooey seed to swish around before swallowing, making sure I watched her perform this raunchy act. During my discharge, an image of my mom came into my mind's eye, and afterwards, rather than the sweet afterglow, I was filled with disgust.

"Ugh, I just came to the thought of my mom..." I confessed to her, my voice especially quiet, shuddering.

"Sorry, Hun," something about her apology was superficial, "but I thought you'd last a little longer. I didn't mean to ruin your orgasm."

I forgave her, as there was no use in being mad at my wife over it, though I was still suspicious. She wiped the lube off with a discarded garment and then we slipped into bed. The next day we would spend with my family and had to get up a little early. Having just been sexually relieved, it was easier to fall asleep, yet I couldn't help but contemplate the morality of what just happened. I'd closed my eyes when I started to release, so all I could see was what Miranda had been describing, and it continued to haunt me.

Nothing too exciting happened the following day. I caught up with my sibling while my mother and wife talked. She approved of Miranda, and the two had a certain fondness for each other, despite the fact that Mom was a very warm and tender person and Miranda wasn't very expressive about her emotions, being more of a thinker than a feeler. The highlight was when we looked at an old family photo album. It had every picture of any memory I could bring to mind, including the time we'd gone to the beach a while back. Out of nowhere, my wife asked to borrow it, that she could make copies of certain sections for us to keep. My mother agreed, and it was decided that we'd leave early the next morning to get them copied before the weekend was gone.

There was a certain incident that happened at dinner, however. My mom had gotten up to fetch a bottle of wine from the rack just behind where my sister was seated at the table. She bent down to obtain a bottle from below, and Miranda nudged me. I looked up to catch a glimpse of an enormous set of buttocks in a pair of jeans struggling to contain them, but quickly diverted my eyes. My sibling had seen this gesture from my wife, though thought it regarded her, and flashed us a look of suspicion and confusion. The night continued as usual, though, and we were finally alone in our temporary room.

"Are we on the same page yet?" my wife asked me, my cock in her hand, as I was half-way to climax.

"About what...?" I gasped breathily.

"Your mom's butt," she stated bluntly. "You saw it at dinner, right? It's massive!"

"Miranda...!" I scolded her. "Stop talking about my mom like that, okay? Especially while we're... you know, doing this."

"I didn't want to have to do this, but it looks like I have no choice," my wife said, pulling out a wad of pink cloth and throwing it upon my lower abdomen.

Unrecognizable at first, she then retrieved them, so that she may unbundle what I saw were a pair of wide, gigantic panties. I realized immediately, given the enormity, that they were my mother's. It was disconcerting to think about the woman I married rummaging through the dirty clothes hamper for my mom's underwear just to prove a point.

"Do you see—"

"Okay," I confessed, "they're big, she's... big. Are you happy now? What is even the point of all this?"

"I don't know," she bit her lip whilst eyeing the large undergarments, before putting them a few inches in front of her face and sniffing. "Wow," Miranda's expression immediately went semi-sour, pulling them away, "they smell like really pungent vagina. You've got to smell—"

"Miranda, please, I'm not going to smell my mom's panties. What's gotten into you?"

"I think it's because we haven't had a chance to really fuck in a while," she looked up at me, shifting her weight around on her knees.

Without warning, she took my mom's underwear and wrapped them around my prick. Before I could protest, I was writhing from the cottony sensation of a pair of panties rubbing against my sensitive shaft. Two urges rose within me, one to demand she stop, and the other to give into the pleasure, to ignore the fact it was derived from something that'd been so close to, touching even, my mother's genitals. Despite the fact I was sickened by the incestuous implications, it did feel good, which was frightening and exhilarating.

"Miranda, stop..." I moaned, digging my nails into my thighs to fight the urge to push her away.

"Why?" she ceased her movements momentarily, "are you about to cum?"

"No..."

She picked up where she left off, except even harder and slightly faster.

"M—Miranda," I stammered.

My wife laughed before saying, "Oh my god, I thought you were about to moan 'mom'. That would've been really nasty..."

"No, I was about to say—"

"Don't worry, Hun, just tell me when you're close. We don't want you to cum inside them, because they'd probably stain."

"Baby—"

"That reminds me," she again interrupted, "in those pictures of when you went to the beach, there's totally one where your mom has a camel toe."

"No there isn't," I weakly chuckled, certain of myself.

"How much do you want to bet?"

"There's no bet. I've seen those pictures; I was there when they were taken. There is absolutely no way... that is in any of them."

"Alright, then, so it doesn't matter if you agree to sniffing your mom's panties if I'm right, does it? Because you know I'm wrong, I mean, so it's not going to happen."

"Because that'll never happen in a million years, because I know for a fact that none of the pictures contain anything like that, yeah, I'm willing to agree to it, if only to humor you."

"Shake on it?" she extended her hand.

No sooner than we shook, formalizing our agreement, did she hop up and go to retrieve the photo album. I swallowed, though I knew she was bluffing. Underwear wrapped around my dick, I thought about pulling them off and discarding them, but my wife was already on her knees again, this time with the pictures. Almost instantly, she was at the section of our vacation, and she rotated the album so I could see, pointing right to a close up of my mom in a baby blue one-piece, her soaked, curly hair resting at her G-cup bust. The picture ended at around her knees, though she took up the whole shot, and my eyes drifted down her curvaceous body before finally seeing, to my horror, the wet imprint of a vagina seeping through the tight material of her bathing suit.

"I'm talking about a long, deep whiff, too, Hun," Miranda informed me, unraveling the cotton undergarments and holding them up to my nose. "Pretend you haven't had sex in months and they're mine."

The pheromone heavy musk of cunt—not vagina, not pussy, but cunt—filled my nostrils, and it was absolutely repugnant. My mom frequented the gym, and I realized Friday was one of her workout days, a fact I only remembered because of the sheer pungency of the odors that I was met by. My wife had the freshest pair, though in terms of most recently used, she could have obtained, since they were, without a doubt, my mother's from yesterday. The stink was so prominent that I realized I'd smell it all night, raw and powerful enough to send a literal chill down my spine and make my heart skip a beat before pounding and racing. And despite the fact I knew the horrible fragrance belonged to the hole I'd come from, the pheromones within were indiscriminate in causing me to feel the deepest, most primitive arousal fathomable because of the overwhelming scent of the female sex. It was enough to make me pre-cum a little bit...

"Alright, then," she pulled the odorous garments from my face and returned them to my shaft, "you held up your end of the deal. It's getting kind of late, though, so I'd like to finish this up so I'm not tired in the morning."

I was sexually confused and her words didn't process.

"I know dirty talk helps you along, but I don't think you'd like any of my thoughts at the moment..."

"What are they?" I already knew, and they scared me, but I wanted to hear her say it.

"They're about your mom," she nodded to the photo album still opened on my lap.

Looking down, I saw everything Miranda had previously described. Yes, my mother's body was slightly pear shaped, since her waist was so wide, wider than her shoulders even, and although she had two, hefty breasts, her ass, thighs, and hips remained her most appealing features. I saw the face that I'd remember forever, full lips, dark eyes, a soft, rounded facial structure, and suddenly realized that the way I looked at her was different. No longer was I looking at the woman who birthed me, I was looking at an attractive woman in her early forties, whose body was irresistible and whose facial features retained the beauty of her youth even yet, though refined and matured from middle age. Worst of all was the realization that I wasn't being pleasured while I happened to be looking at pictures of my own mother, I was being pleasured to looking at pictures of my own mother.

"What do you think her pussy looks like?" my wife bit her lower lip, seeing that I couldn't help but stare at the picture she'd showed me, one area in particular, as she rubbed the panties of the woman in the photo against my pulsating dick as hard and as fast as she was physically able to. "Just from the outline, you can tell it's big and swollen, with long, fat pussy lips—"

Visualizing her description sent me over the edge. I didn't even have time to tell her to remove the underwear, for I immediately inseminated into them, a fierce orgasm causing me to spurt strands of the hottest cum from the deepest pit of my balls directly into the crotch. Then, after I was sent to the amazing heights of erotic bliss, I returned and stared down at the huge wad of now creamy undergarments about my glans.

"That was hot, baby," Miranda reveled in the perversity of the moment, opening the used, cummy panties to see my filling within. "Wow, you came a lot, I can't believe it." She looked me right in the eye, gasping exaggeratedly to tease me, before saying in a salacious tone, "You must really want to fuck your own mom."

Her words made me shiver. "Miranda, never do anything like this again, please."

"Why?" she pretended to pout, her mind still in that filthy place since her libido was fiery and active yet. "You didn't like making mommy's panties all messy?"

"Hey, I'm not kidding, this whole thing was really disturbing," I said as I closed the photo album and put it aside. "I'm asking you in total seriousness never to bring my mom into our sex lives."

"What about your sister?"

"No, definitely not her either."

"Why not, Hun?" my wife's playfulness diminished and she analyzed me with her thoughtful, almost emotionless eyes. "I mean, it's not like you're fucking them, it's just pretend."

I picked up the desecrated panties with two fingers, not wanting to come into contact with them anymore, and showcased the pink garment to her, "This isn't pretend, Miranda. And looking at her picture when we do stuff together, that's not pretend either."

"It was pretend until you came inside them. I told you to tell me when you were close, now they're... Whatever, listen, I'm not going to argue with you about this. But you haven't answered my question. When you give me a legitimate answer, I'll leave you alone."

"Let me put it this way," I thought of the perfect retaliation, "what if I talked about your mom like that, huh?"

"I think I'd touch myself."

Although it wasn't exactly surprising, given how much of a literal freak she was in bed, saying unmentionable things on many occasions, I couldn't believe it.

"Hey," she took the soiled underwear from my hand and laid a quick, yet passionate, kiss upon my lips. "I'm going to throw these in the hamper, and then we're going to sleep, okay? It really is getting late, so I'd like to postpone this discussion until next time."

Since I was getting angry at my wife, I became docile, though mostly because I didn't want to fight at my mother's house, or have the memory of arguing about the morality of incest in the first place. I got into bed and closed my eyes. She left and came back a few minutes later, climbed in behind me, and held me close like things weren't so bizarre between us. Waiting in the darkness, my anger subsided, then I was glad to feel her next to me, and I fell asleep. I had a dream about my mother, of which was awkward though not sexual in nature, but I couldn't remember it very well afterwards.

It was almost noon when I awoke. Miranda had left without waking me, and I wondered if it was because of our last conversation or her just being considerate. I dressed and wandered into the living room, which was joined with the kitchen, separated only by a row of countertops. When I didn't see my mom around the house, since she'd such a strong presence that I'd have known if she was home, I realized she'd gone with my wife. My sister was sitting on the couch, and she scowled when she saw me, before shaking her head and causing her furrowed brow and raised lip to disappear. I found the initial look unsettling, and took a seat on the opposite end from where she sat.

"Good morning—"

"Hey, what's up with your wife?" she cut the small talk.

"What do you mean? Did she say or do something?"

Katy flashed me a dirty look as she said, "Well, yeah." There was an awkward pause before she explained, "The walls are paper thin, and my room is right next door to yours."

"I'm sorry if we bothered you," I feared the gravity of her implication, but I tried to act as inconspicuous as possible.

"I could hear you," my sibling reaffirmed my panic. "What's wrong with her?"

"Well, I'm not sure what you heard..."

"You know what I heard, stop acting innocent. If you had sex or whatever, as gross as that is to say, I wouldn't have said anything. But I could hear what she was saying, and I think I'm going to tell mom if you don't come up with a good explanation."

"She's kinky, I guess..."

"Kinky?" Katy gasped at my ridiculous response. "Kinky is when a girl likes to scratch or bite, she was talking... about Mom's you-know-what."

"We were just roleplaying, it wasn't actually about Mom."

"How can you sit there and lie to my face when I heard your entire conversation word for word?"

"Katy, you can't tell Mom. Okay, whatever, maybe Miranda went a little far, but if you told on her, it'd break our family apart."

"Fine, you're right, I won't tell her. But you have to let me ask you questions about it, because my brain is still trying to rationalize everything I heard."

"Go ahead, I guess..." I sat back in relief, though I was still tense.

"Is that what you think about when you... you know?"

"Are you asking if I have sexual thoughts about Mom?" I was offended she'd ask me such a perverted, repulsive thing. "No, Katy, that's gross!"

"Good," my sister coughed, as uncomfortable as I was. "So, then, you're not, like, into incest, then, right...?"

"Of course not, you don't even have to ask, you already know I'm not like that."

"But you... yeah... to a picture of Mom," she reminded me.

"I didn't want to, I didn't ask for it, and I would never do anything like that ever. If you really did hear our entire conversation, you'd know I told her to never do that again."

"But you did it, it happened! I saw the proof in the laundry, so don't say you'd never do something you've already done."

"What's the point of talking about this, Katy? I feel this disgusting feeling inside from having such a weird, fucked up conversation with my sister."

"It was to our family photo album, yeah?" she studied me with her hazel eyes.

"Yeah..." I felt guilty.

"That was during my hormonal phase, so I wore that really skimpy bikini..." my sibling coughed again, crossing her legs, fidgeting. "What I'm trying to say, or what I'm trying to ask, I mean, is... Okay, I'll just say it, then, you didn't look at any of the pictures of me in there, did you?"

My jaw dropped. "No...!"

"Just Mom, right?" her expression was so perturbed and I couldn't even process how horrible that made me feel, knowing it was all directed towards me.

"I—I, uh..."

"I don't know what to think about that. You confuse me."