A mom son incest story

Mom Son Incest Story: The Glass That Would Not Come Clean

This is a mom son incest story I wrote down after the kitchen stopped being only a kitchen. Jeanne Catherine LaMonica keeps her hands in the water when she is thinking. Anthony LaMonica came over for a leak under the sink and stayed because leaving felt worse. If you want the voice that writes these nights, come find me on my page.

The leak he was asked to look at

The glass in her hand kept turning under the water long after it was clean. I watched from the doorway and didn’t announce myself. My real life mother, Jeanne Catherine LaMonica, does that when she’s thinking, keeps her hands busy so the rest of her can go somewhere else. The kitchen light caught the wet line of her wrist. I had driven over because she asked me to look at a leak under the sink, and I had stayed because leaving felt worse than staying.

“You’re so quiet, son,” she said, without turning around.

“Yeah,” Anthony LaMonica replied.

Mommy, Jeanne, shut the water off. For a second the only sound was the last of it sliding down the drain. When she finally looked at me, something in her face changed, like she had already decided what the quiet was about and was waiting to see if I would lie.

Mother son kitchen sex, before either of us named it

I didn’t. I crossed the kitchen, took the glass out of her hand, and set it in the rack. Up close she smelled like dish soap and the lotion she keeps by the sink. My hands found her waist. She didn’t step back. Her breath caught, small and sharp, and that was the first real thing either of us had done all night.

“Anthony LaMonica… my son.” Not a warning. Just my name, said like she was checking it still belonged to her.

I kissed her anyway. Slow enough that she could have turned her head. She didn’t. Her mouth opened under my incest kiss with my real life mother, and the hand that had been holding the glass came up and gripped the front of my shirt. Years of not doing this collapsed into the space between one breath and the next. I backed her into the counter. The edge caught her hips. She made a low sound into my mouth when I pressed in, and I felt her knees give a little, like the decision had finally reached her body.

On the counter she wipes every morning

I got the black dress up. She wasn’t wearing anything under it. I had known that from the moment I walked in and hadn’t let myself use the knowledge until now. My mouth dropped to her breast. She swore, quiet, fingers in my hair, and arched into it like she was angry at herself for wanting it and doing it anyway. I worked her panties down. She lifted for me. When my fingers slid through her juicy mommy pussy lips she was already wet, and the proof of it knocked the last incest mother/son fucking hesitation out of me.

“Tell me to stop,” I said against her throat.

My real life mother, Jeanne Catherine LaMonica, shook her head once. “Don’t.”

I freed myself, dragged the head of my incest cock through her, and pushed into mommy. She took me with a broken inhale, arms locked around my shoulders, forehead against mine. I stayed buried while she adjusted, feeling how tight her pussyhole was, how she pulsed around me, then started to move. Short strokes at first. Then deeper, harder, the cabinet door ticking behind her every time I bottomed out. She hooked her legs around my waist and met me. No more almost. No more writing it down and deleting it. Just the wet sound of me fucking my real life mother, Jeanne Catherine LaMonica, like a slut on the counter she wipes every morning, her voice gone rough when she said my name again. “ANTHONYYYYYY.”

She came first. I felt it hit, her whole body tightening, a choked sound against my shoulder, nails in my back. I didn’t slow down. I kept mommy there and drove into her pussy until I couldn’t hold it, spilling deep while she held me through it, both of us shaking, the faucet still dripping into the empty sink.

The bedroom door was already open

We didn’t move right away. My forehead rested on mommy. Her dress was bunched under her arms. I was still inside her, my cock softening, and neither of us reached to separate this incest. Down the hall the bedroom door was open. She followed my look, then met my eyes, and the night stopped feeling finished.

Mommy’s pussy was mine… forever.

If the unfinished part of a night is what you like, read the night the sky would not let me finish.

Call Rory after the sink goes quiet

The excerpt ends with the faucet still dripping. The call does not have to.

Ask for extension 862. Adult roleplay only.