My Mother, His Wife

A son's obsession with his mother and brutal reality.

It was a typical Sunday morning. I walked from my room to the dining area, where Mom was preparing breakfast--omelets. I sat at the table, watching her bustle around the kitchen. I think Mom could still be attractive, even in her forties. Shoulder-length blonde hair. A big, round ass. A little softness around the belly and thighs. Small breasts. And that angelic face with light blue eyes--the one I'd seen every day of my life.

I realized I had a crush on my mother back in high school. She was sitting on the bench in front of the house, smoking a cigarette. She never smoked, but after another fight with Dad, she was clearly shaken. Wearing short shorts and a white top, she looked like someone who needed a knight. I wanted to be that knight. Someone she needed. The man of her life.

Instead, she ended up with him.

My parents divorced four years ago, when I was eighteen. I always hated my father. He'd come home drunk, start fights, yell at Mom. Insult her. Insult me. I'd been begging her to leave him ever since I even knew what divorce was. But for a divorce to happen, there had to be a breaking point first.

The breaking point came suddenly one day. I got home from school, and as usual, they were arguing. He was drunk, as always. At some point, I'd had enough. I stepped in front of Mom, swallowed my fear (I'd been afraid of him my whole life--he was bigger, stronger; to this day, the way he was built terrifies me. I always felt inferior, knowing I'd never have that kind of physical strength), and told him to get out. That's when we started grappling. His massive jaw clenched, his huge hands wrapped around my throat, then let go--only to slam a fist into my face. Mom called the police. He ran. And I was left with the shame of her seeing me like that, and the shame of failing to save her.

Soon after, the divorce came through, and Dad moved out. I thought I'd won. Finally, I'd have my beloved Mom all to myself. Over the next four years, I fantasized about having sex with her countless times. I even tried to initiate it--unsuccessfully. I'd "accidentally" touch her, stroke her, nudge her breasts as if by mistake. Once, six months ago, in a rare moment of courage, I lay down behind her and dry-humped her ass, pretending to be asleep. But nothing ever came of it...

One evening, long after Dad had moved out, Mom came home from a night out with her friends. She was cheerful, a little loose, with a flush in her cheeks and a spark in her eyes I hadn't seen in a long time. We sat on the couch, watching some stupid movie, and she rested her head on my shoulder. I could smell her perfume mixed with alcohol, feel the warmth of her body. My heart raced, and my stomach twisted with nerves.

"You're my best boy," she said, stroking my thigh. Her fingers were warm, and her touch sent a shiver through my skin. My body reacted instantly: my cock hardened, and I quickly shifted a pillow onto my lap to hide my erection. I didn't know if it was the alcohol or something more.

"Mom..." I whispered, but I didn't know what to say. I wanted her to say man. I wanted her to look at me differently. I wanted her to finally understand.

She smiled, but her eyes were glazed, distant.

"You're so good. You always take care of me." She sighed and moved her hand higher, to my shoulder. "If it weren't for you, I don't know how I'd manage."

My throat tightened. It was so close. So close I could almost taste victory. But I knew it was just a moment. Tomorrow, she'd wake up sober, and she'd be my mother again, not the woman I desired.

My first clear sexual memory is also tied to my parents. I think it shaped me in some way. I don't remember how old I was probably fourteen, but back then, I still slept in the same room as them (we were poor because of Dad's alcohol and cigarettes). I remember Dad coming home drunk, yelling about there being no dinner. Then he passed out. Later that night, I was woken by whispers: "Psst, quiet, you'll wake the child." That got my attention. I cracked one eye open, pretending to sleep.

Mom was on top of Dad, tracing his chest with her finger. Then she reached down and grabbed his cock. It wasn't the first time I'd seen it. It wasn't the biggest, but it was thick. Over the years, I'd often return to the memory of my father's cock, thinking it was three times the girth of my own.

I watched as Mom pulled back his foreskin, and I heard her whisper in his ear, "I'm sorry I was a bad wife. Let me make it up to you, baby." The word baby echoed in my ears. Just hours earlier, Dad had been a piece of shit, not a baby. He replied, "Just don't moan too loud," and nodded toward me. I snapped my eyes shut in panic. A moment later, I only heard Mom sigh. When I opened my eyes again, she was riding his cock.

She let out soft little gasps as it slid deeper inside her. Her ass looked incredible. Her hair, beautifully tousled. From the side, I saw her kissing Dad's mouth--probably reeking of alcohol--sucking on his nipples. After a quarter of an hour of riding him, the pace picked up. Mom got louder, and Dad groaned. Then they quietly stood up, trying not to wake me, covering their crotches with their hands. But I still saw it--Dad's cum dripping from Mom's hairy pussy.

That's when I saw her for the first time, covered in white semen, glistening. Beautiful. Her lips gently pressed together. Her clit, slightly red and swollen, looked amazing. To this day, whenever I think of pussy, I see that moment. And at the same time, I feel humiliated, knowing that the image of his cum is always there too.

I ate breakfast, my mind drifting back to that moment. After the divorce, my parents still saw each other sometimes. Dad would show up at Mom's when I was at school or later at university, but she always said she sent him away.

After breakfast, we watched TV together when someone knocked at the door. Mom went to the window, then told me to be quiet--it was Dad, drunk, banging on the door. She went to open it and kick him out of the yard. It took a while, so after five minutes, I went to the window. My heart raced.

I watched as they talked for a moment, and every now and then, Mom laughed. Her smile, directed at my tyrannical father, sent a physical pain through my stomach. Then she pointed to the gate, but before he left, he reached out and caressed her cheek. I was stunned. I didn't understand what was happening when Mom's lips once again let his disgusting tongue inside her mouth.

My hands clenched into fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, and blood trickled down my wrists. I breathed shallowly, as if someone were squeezing my throat. I felt sweat trickling down my back, and my heart pounded so loudly I was afraid they'd hear it through the window.

They kissed with tongue for a full minute. Mom's legs started rubbing together, and Dad had a clear tent in his pants. I watched in horror. Why. Why. Fortunately, a moment later, he left. Mom came back, satisfied, sat on the couch, and said she'd managed to get rid of him.

Her beautiful lips--the ones I'd longed for--were tainted. I hugged her. She started saying something, I don't remember what, but I remember her mouth smelled like a familiar mix of alcohol and cigarettes. Him. Disgusting. I couldn't take it. I fled to my room and spent the rest of the afternoon crying. Even as I cried, my mind kept replaying the image of Mom kissing him at the doorstep, whispering in his ear, "I'm sorry I was a bad wife. Let me make it up to you." I also cried from shame, because at the thought of it, my cock stood rock hard. I didn't know that the climax of my relationship with Mom was just days away.

I came home early from lectures. The first red flag was the open gate. The second was the unlocked door. And the third, final one--the unfamiliar men's shoes.

My mind started to panic. Who was Mom seeing when I wasn't around? Why hadn't she told me she had a lover? Why hadn't she introduced me? And most of all--why did she prefer a stranger over me?

Driven by curiosity, I walked across the lawn to the window overlooking her bedroom. I sighed in relief when I saw it was empty. But then I heard voices from the living room. I crouched down and approached the window, kneeling on the low wooden garden stool that stood beneath it. I peeked inside--and nearly had a heart attack.

On the couch--the same one where I'd cuddled with Mom just a little while ago--sat him. My father. That's who she was cuddling with now. He looked as drunk as usual. After a moment of kissing, whispering, and laughing, Mom knelt in front of him and pulled down his pants, then his underwear. She took off her own pants, and from behind, I could see her bare ass, her black thong pulled to the side, nestled in her crack.

Years had passed, and yet there it was again--his cock. That thick rod that had fueled my complexes. I watched as Mom took it into her mouth and sucked. His hand gripped her head, almost swallowing it whole. Eventually, he pushed her away and walked toward the kitchen. She wiped her mouth with her hand. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Then he came back, sat on the couch with a lit cigarette in one hand and my beer--the one I'd bought for the weekend--in the other. He took a sip, and in the meantime, Mom went back to sucking his cock.

"It's good to be home again," I heard him say.

Mom paused.

"Welcome home, baby."

She stood up, pulled her thong aside, and sat down on his cock. Smoke escaped his mouth, and she caught it with hers, kissing him repeatedly.

"I'm sorry I was a bad wife," she said--or at least, that's what I thought I heard--"I missed this cock."

"I know, little one," he replied, and with the half-smoked cigarette still in his hand, he smacked her ass. I saw his cock sink all the way to the hilt when Mom, reacting to the pain of the hot ash burning her cheek, sat down hard on him.

As I watched my mother fuck her abusive ex-husband like a wild woman, my body reacted instantly: my cock pulsed in my underwear. Every moan from her, every slap of his hand on her ass made my erection even harder. Shame washed over me in waves, but I couldn't look away. My hands trembled, and my breath became more and more ragged. I felt sweat trickling down my forehead, and my heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.

"Ohhh, baby," she moaned as he took her from behind. The couch was soaked with her squirt. I wondered if she would've squirted with me. He spanked her ass, and she only pushed back harder onto his cock.

"Spread your legs for Daddy," he said.

She, still on her knees, turned around and looked at him. That's when he backhanded her across the face. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Why was I so afraid to go in there? To stop them. To save Mom. Her angelic face turned red, but instead of running away, she just lay down on the couch, spread her legs wide, opened her pussy, and smiled:

"Take what's yours, kitten."

Smiling, he slid his cock into my--her--the most beautiful, wettest pussy in the world. After that, I mostly saw his moving ass, her legs wrapped around him. And I listened to my mother. She moaned with pleasure.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I felt my body trembling with disgust and desire at the same time. My hand unconsciously reached for my underwear, but I stopped myself. I couldn't. Not now, not while watching this. But my body wouldn't listen to me--my cock was hard as stone, and I could feel pre-cum leaking onto my thighs.

She came often, and with each orgasm, she'd say things like:

"I'm only yours, baby."

"This pussy's been waiting for you."

"Fuck your cum dump harder."

"I'll always be yours."

"Yours, only yours, forever."

Until finally:

"I love you!!!! I love you, love you, love you. Fill me up. I'll be your good, obedient wife again, please, please, flood my pussy with cum."

I watched as his cock pulsed, as his ass clenched. As his balls pumped out cum, ready to seek Mom's egg.

She was never mine... I hadn't won. I felt my underwear was wet. Now, I don't even know if I came or if I pissed myself. My body trembled, and I knew I'd never forget this sight. All that mattered was watching as Dad's cum, in a thin stream, gently flowed out of Mom's hairy, heavenly pussy. The forbidden fruit I was never allowed to taste. Her reddened pussy seemed to me like Eve's apple. Only I wasn't Adam. Never was. And never would be.

In the following weeks, I moved out under the pretense of wanting more independence. I rented a studio apartment. Sometimes, friends would ask if I knew that someone had seen my dad leaving Mom's house. I'd just shrug it off. My absence seemed to suit them, because I didn't talk to Mom much anymore. A year and a half later, I got an invitation to their remarriage. I didn't dare go. I spent their wedding night in bed, masturbating to the image of Dad's cock pulsing inside Mom and the sound of her voice: "I'll be your good, obedient wife again, just please, flood my pussy with cum." And that's when I came.