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An American Incest Story: Chapter One free porn video
My name is Robert Schapiro in the summer of 1985 I was sixteen-years-old and only cared about four things. The first was playing soccer. To me, it was (and still is) the greatest sport in the universe. The second was video games. Back then I had a ColecoVision and a Commodore 64. I thought they were the coolest things ever.
The third was comic books. My favorites were Uncanny X-Men, The Avengers, and Micronauts. The fourth was “Star Wars.”
My family lived in one of the more affluent suburbs of Detroit. Neal Schapiro, my father, was a top executive for one of the Big Three. He was always traveling. We were lucky to see him once or twice a month. When he was home, he was a great father. He would take my sister and me to games, Greenfield Village, play catch, and go to movies. But you could tell he didn’t like being at home.
When I was born on May 30th, 1969 my dad was forty-years-old. He never had being a father or husband penciled into his life plans. Besides being an executive, his family had money, lots of money. He knew his wealth was attractive to women, and he played that up. He wanted life to be a party, and for him, it was, until he met my mother.
Lee Reilly was a petite eighteen-year-old when she started working as a stewardess for Eastern Airlines. She loved the idea of having a job that would take her all over the country.
I don’t know much about the early days of their relationship. And honestly, I don’t want to. All I know is that when my mom told my dad she was pregnant he freaked. He wanted to write her a check every month and have nothing to do with us. However, my grandmother found out about my mother and her condition.
She threatened to cut him off if he didn’t do the right thing and marry my mom. I think that if my dad wasn’t an only child and my grandmother didn’t desperately want a grandchild, she wouldn’t have forced the issue, especially since my mom wasn’t Jewish.
After I was born, my dad enjoyed the novelty of being married. While all his friends were married to middle-aged women who stopped taking care of themselves, he was enjoyed being the object of their envy every time he walked into a room with his hot nineteen-year-old trophy wife on his arm.
Slowly, the novelty wore off. By the time Beth, my sister was born two years later, he was barely home. He was usually away on business in London, Singapore, or South America. Sure he always brought us amazing presents from everywhere he went, but it would’ve been nice to have him home more often.
It’s not that he was a shitty parent, he wasn’t. It just would’ve been nice if he were sitting in the bleachers cheering me on at any of the sports I played.
My mom was great. She devoted her life to my sister and me. Yes, she spoiled us and got us everything we wanted. But she also introduced us to the arts, encouraged us to play sports, and most of all to be happy.
I hope I didn’t ramble on too long, I felt that you needed to know a little bit about me and my family before getting to the story.
September 1985
I just started 11th grade. Every day after school I had soccer practice, and I’ll admit I was pretty good. Not getting to play in every game good, but good enough to not be sitting on the bench the entire time either. Every practice I would bust my ass to let the coach know I mean business. Which meant I would always come home a sweaty mess.
Since I started playing sports in first grade, my mom would always have a bath drawn for me when I came home from practice. By this time in my life, I was more of a shower guy, but there was something relaxing about a bath after a rigorous workout.
Almost everyday my mom would come into the bathroom to check on me. Her excuse was she was worried that I might’ve drowned. She’d use that pretense to talk about my day, bathe me and after drying me off inspect my body.
I never thought there was anything weird about it. I simply thought this happened to everyone. My mom was always touchy-feely. There was never an underabundance of hugs and kisses in our house. She always made my sister and me know that we were loved. That’s why I never thought there was anything wrong when she bathed me.
However, at sixteen, I started feeling weird about this. It made me feel uneasy. I didn’t like my mom seeing me naked. I was now at an age where I thought of or saw a beautiful girl I got an erection. And whenever I had a chance I would masturbate. I honestly thought there was something wrong with me. I knew from sex-ed that it was normal, but as often as I was doing it there was no way that it was anything but normal.
Usually, my mom gave me a few minutes to myself before coming into the bathroom. On this day, she was in there waiting for me. Her long red hair was tied into a ponytail and she was wearing a green tank top and jean shorts. As she added bubbles to the bath she then told me to get out of my sweaty dirty clothes and get in the tub.
As I got in, she threw my clothes in the hamper. She then grabbed the soap and a washcloth and started cleaning me off. The second her hands touched my body my cock got hard. I tried to make it go limp by thinking of the ugly girls in my class. It didn’t work.
She was making small talk as she cleaned my front and back. I wasn’t paying attention to a word she said, I was too busy staring at her tits. They looked amazing in the tight green tank top. I was too enthralled by them that I didn’t notice that she put her hand in the water and reach for my hard cock. There was nothing unusual about this. Normally she’d take a soapy washcloth and lightly scrub it. This time it was different, there was no washcloth; just her hand. She clutched it, and started stroking.
I was freaking out. Moms weren’t supposed to do things like this. How could I do that to my mom? Especially when what she was doing was the exact opposite of a bad touch. It felt different and better when someone else was touching it. I wanted the moment to continue forever, but it didn’t. Seconds after she started playing with it I erupted. I shot my load into my mom’s hand, among other places.
“Mmmmm,” she said as she licked my cum off her fingers. “You taste delicious. Now finish up we’re having pizza for dinner.”
She then walked out of the bathroom. I laid in the tub and wondered what just happened. Was this normal? Just thinking about it got me hard. I grabbed it and started furiously stroking. Within seconds I shot another load. Making myself cum didn’t feel the same. Sure it felt good, but not as good as my mother’s touch.
Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Mom was carrying on like nothing happened. She and Beth were talking about a TV show while enjoying pizza from Papa Romanos. I was too horny to enjoy it. All I could do is pick at it while thinking about what mom did to me.
“Mom,” Beth said, “Robert looks like he’s sick.”
My mom turned and looked at me and asked, “Are you feeling okay sweetie?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Go to your room and I’ll be up in a few minutes to check on you,” she said.
I excused myself from the table and ran up to my room. As soon as I entered I shut the door, took off my clothes and got into my pajamas. I then hopped on the bed, got under the covers, and then got on my stomach, put my right hand down my pajama bottoms and started rubbing my penis.
Normally when I did this I would fantasize about Heather Grubb. In my opinion, she was the hottest girl in our class. She had long black hair and always wore tight designer jeans. I wanted her so bad. But this time was different, this time I kept on switching between my mom and Heather.
Eventually, the fantasies merged, they were doing things together that I saw in the Hustlers dad hid in his home office. The thought of them together really excited me. I couldn’t contain myself and soon exploded all over my hand and in my pajama bottoms. I then wiped my hand on my shirt and turned over. I noticed that my door was slightly ajar and my mom was peeking through the crack.
She then knocked and asked, “Honey, can I come in?”
“Yes,” I responded.
She opened the door, entered the room, closed it, and came over and sat on the edge of my bed. For several minutes she sat there nervously without saying a word. She looked and turned away several times as if she was trying to figure out what to say. Eventually, she stared me right in the eyes and asked, “Is that the way you like to masturbate?”
“I wasn’t doing that,” I replied, “I was doing push-ups.”
She then grabbed my blanket, threw it off my bed to reveal the cum stain on my pajamas. A smile spread across her face as she said, “Uh-huh. Looks like you’re a regular semen factory.”
“Mom,” I yelled in embarrassment.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you’re at an age where you produce a lot of it,” she said.
“I’m a freak,” I said.
“Why would you think that?” she asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Honey, would you like a repeat of what happened earlier?” she asked.
I nodded yes.
“Then tell me why you think you’re a freak?” she asked.
“I’m always horny,” I said. “The girls at school make me feel that way.”
“And that’s why you masturbate three to four times a day after your bath,” she said.
“I don’t do that,” I replied.
“Honey, you’re pretty obvious about it,” she said. “Whenever you ejaculate you let out a loud groan.”
“You can hear me?” I asked as my face turned red.
“Yes,” she replied. “Everyone can hear you. When I had the girls over on Saturday they heard you too. Ms. Rhodes was impressed by your stamina.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Honey, we heard youTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
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