what you want com Danny gets what he wants
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What You Think Here It Is Part 2 free porn video
Note : This story is completely fictional!
Dear reader what you thinks her it is actually I am not given this name in first but it is clicked after the finishing work of this story it is enotirely different theme. Read the every word of amazing story and write to me
The next morning when I awoke, mom was in the kitchen preparing breakfast and went up behind her and put myself against her and she turned and said, “Hansy, I was serious, that was once, and you said you wouldn’t push.” I nodded my head sheepishly in assent. “Okay,” she said, “Now give me a kiss and sit down to breakfast like my good son.”
We ate and talked about everything except what I wanted to talk about and then she said, “Hansy, I know we’ve been through this but I want you to do something for me. Right now it’s the most important thing I can think of that I need from you. It’s hard for me baby because I’m upset but I’m not going to keep saying it. I decided that this is the last time I’m ever going to bring it up.”
I thought for sure it was going to be about what a mistake last night had been and how wrong, and on an on. What she said was, “I want you to go to school; I want that most of all. Will you do it baby? Will you do that for your momma?”
Two minutes before, after being rebuffed I would have said, “No,” But the look on her face and the sound of her voice wouldn’t let me refuse her. “Okay mom, I’ll go.”
“OH honey…” she brightened. “…and you’ll try?”
“Yes mom, I’ll try…I’ll be the best little student they have.”
She laughed and hugged me and gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. “Thank you honey; I love you.” She was beaming.
I went to school and I tried. To my surprise, I liked learning. I wasn’t bored like I was in high school. The teachers were exciting and challenging. The other students were a more diverse group than the people I knew at home, and they were friendly. And through it all, I was thinking about my mom.
We started e-mailing and I kept her up on what I doing. I called her “sweet girl” instead of ‘mom’ in my letters because I never knew who was looking over my shoulder while I was on the computer. She enjoyed it though and said she hadn’t been called ‘girl’ in a long time. I really wanted to call her “My love.”
I tried to keep it light and amusing and only told her once in awhile how much I missed her and how much I still wanted her. As the semester progressed, I told her that I now knew the difference between Phillip Roth and David Lee Roth and that in a film course I had seen that Jean Simmons didn’t have as long a tongue as Gene Simmons. She said I made her laugh. We wrote short notes back and forth all the time.
Anytime I wasn’t studying or hanging out, I was reading stories on the Net about mother’s and sons. Even though I knew that most of them were far fetched I was still turned on by them because I could identify and fantasize so easily. There were two stories by an author named Emma that I read over and over because the son in the first story was named Hansy and the mother in the second one was named Sherry.
It wasn’t very graphic but this is the paragraph in the first story that got me going: “His first entry took my breath. His second took my heart. I felt I was giving him all my love and that could only feel good. He slid up into my tight channel and I became excited by the new sensations: the pressure, the heat, the trepidation and the anticipation of him coming in me there. I was transported and started to hear my moaning as if I was outside myself. Bobby's rhythm became steady and I joined, meeting his thrusts instinctively. I lost track of time as my head rolled and my arms began to shake. It seemed he slid in and out of me for a minute and an hour. He penetrated into me to the hilt. Nothing prepared me for the sensation of him touching the absolute depths of me. I gave myself up to it and to him. I heard myself scream as I came and I must have touched myself because I found one of my hands between my legs when the excruciating orgasm subsided. I was wet and dripping from his cum and we were entwined as he kissed me and told me "I love you" over and over and over again.”
And the second story called Things Take Time had a part where the mother lets her son have anal sex with her, and that I could really not believe, but it excited the hell out of me anyway. Here’s the part I read about ten times: “He shifted her to the edge of the bed and then with his feet on the floor he drove with his hips until half of his cock disappeared between the rounded globes. Another long moan from her was followed by the attempt to get it all in. He stroked back and forth and the constriction of her anal ring massaged the shaft. He drove the remaining inches into the hot passageway and she said, “Oh God…I’m on fire…oh…oh…” He was surprised that with each exclamation, she was pushing to meet his strokes. She grabbed his arms for balance and with each thrust he had complete penetration. She was taking it all in and he was climbing to the sky.
He took both of his mother’s breasts in his hands as he drove into her again and again. The tight passageway tried to hold him firm as he fought to keep moving inside her. The friction heated both of their sexes. Each time he completed a stroke, he stayed buried inside her, moving in her as though there were something in her he was searching for. Each time he did it she let out a moan that ended with a little cry. And when he said, ‘mother’ and stroked her, she said ‘yes’ louder and louder.” I thought that the chance of anything like that happening to me was somewhere between slim and none, but it didn’t keep me from thinking about it, wanting it, and letting it feed my fantasies. At the end of the first semester I went home and told my mom that I had started dating a girl named Doreen who was originally from England. She was enthused and said she was happy for me. She wanted to know about her so I said, “She’s pretty, but not as pretty as you, she’s got nice boobs, but not as nice…”
She laughed, “I get the picture, you big tease.”
I told her that Doreen seemed serious and that she wanted to go out more than I did and I asked mom what she thought I should do. She gave me the usual parental speech about testing the waters and going out with as many people as I could, to see whom I really liked etc. and then she said something that surprised me. She said, “But you’re always going to love your old mom, aren’t you?”
I said, “Of course mom, you’re my sweet girl.” We kissed, but nothing more.
Well mom wasn’t my first, Doreen was. Although I did see other girls, for about six months I saw mostly Doreen. Actually, I saw all of Doreen, all the time. She liked sex and she seemed to like sex with me. That was encouraging. Most of my friends had had their ‘first’ in high school. I guess I was a late bloomer, but I made up for lost time with Doreen.
She liked first time she put it in her mouth, I wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the feeling. I shot off almost immediately, and not knowing whether I should come in her mouth, I pulled out and the cum ended up everywhere but. She was good natured and laughed about it and we eventually got it all together. Most of the time, we sixty-nined. I would use my tongue as I had used my fingers on my mother and she knew how to tease, and lick, and suck, until I exploded in her mouth. I would be lying though if I said that when my eyes were closed, and I started to come, I never thought of my mother.
The first summer home was difficult, probably because it was so good. My experiences with Doreen left me sexed-up and confident. Mom looked as appealing as ever Mom but I stayed low-key because I sensed that it was the way she wanted it.
We had lot’s more to talk about. I was interested in music and I had such a good professor. And it was interesting how little I really knew about things that seemed so familiar. Mom loved to hear about it. So I went on and on about Beethoven’s Fifth and how everyone knows the first four notes, BAH BAH BAH BHAAM, but how if you listen closely, he takes that four note motif and then uses it as a three note, two note, and finally a one note motif.
Mom was impressed when I told her all about the symphonies we’d studied and the books I’d read. And the nice thing was that I wasn’t just putting on an act; I really liked talking about those things with her. We even went to the museum when they had an exhibition of Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein. We talked about how the Pop artists liked mass culture and at the same time could criticize it, like the ‘more is better’ soup cans or how Marilyn Monroe gets more grotesque in the screen-prints showing what celebrity did to her. And when we weren’t talking, sometimes we kissed. Sometimes we touched and sometimes we didn’t. She always stopped before it went too far.
Kaylin
- 20.03.2023
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