Moms Against Public Drunk Nudity #13

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There are no underage characters in this story. All characters are over the age of 18-years-old.

Moms Against Public Drunk Nudity


Jennifer has her wicked incestuous, sexual way with her son.

Even with her living on the planet for 44 years, and even liking who she is as a person, Jennifer thought she knew herself by now. Having experienced these inappropriate, incestuous feelings before, albeit more so recently, it’s always so oddly strange how she was so determined and so sexually excited about going through with her devious, incestuous plan one minute but not the next. When she was thinking about having sex with her son last night while masturbating herself, unable to suppress her lust for her son, which she has successfully done many times before, she was ready to go through with having sex with her son this morning. Yet, now that the morning is here, she’s having second thoughts.

In the heat of her sexual passion last night while masturbating herself, she thought it was a good idea to have sex with her son, Robert, this morning. While feeling her breasts, fingering her nipples, rubbing her clit, and pleasuring herself with her vibrator and dildo, she couldn’t help but think of Robert naked and touching her, licking her, and fucking her. With her feeling horny already, it excited her more to think of having sex with his naked body while pleasuring herself to an orgasm.

Yet, even after giving herself an orgasm, when she could more clearly see things after climaxing, she still thought having sex with Robert this morning was a good idea. Drifting off, she fell asleep with the sexual fantasy of having sex with her son. Playing out in her head in her sexy dreams, even though her dreams were still so fresh in her mind when she awakened, instead of opening her eyes feeling horny, she awakened feeling guilty by the lurid thoughts of having sex with her son. She felt like an incestuous slut. Now, in the bright light of the morning, with her horniness somewhat sated and her incestuous desire abated after masturbating herself and climaxing, Jennifer had second thoughts about going through with what she dreamt and fantasized of doing with her son.

Even though he’s already massaged her nearly naked body, how could she continue this lunacy by having not accidental sex, as her mother suggested, but planned sex with him? Even though she’s massaged his nearly naked body, it was time to put a stop to this sexual strategy for the sake of saving her son from drinking and whoring. Even though she masturbated him and allowed him to cum all over her tits, that was then and this is now. Stronger in mind than in body, she knew that if she saw him naked and if he saw her naked, that she’d lose all defenses. She knew if she stepped in the shower with him as she had fantasized of doing last night, that she’d suck him and fuck him.

Instead of being sexually attracted to her son, what she felt now were more normal feelings that a mother has and should have for her son. What she felt now weren’t sexual feelings. What she felt now diluted her sexual excitement and interrupted her feelings of her incestuous connection with her son. Instead of feeling the sexual excitement this morning that she felt last night, she felt guilt that she’d think of her son in such a forbidden, sexual way. What kind of mother is she to want to have sex with her son?

Yet, more than her wanting him, it wasn’t just up to her to want to have sex with her son. Two needed to play this incestuous game. What if he rejected her and didn’t want to have sex with her? What if when she was ready to submit to her son, she couldn’t go through with it? Now with the darkness of night allowing the light of day to reflect her image in her mirror, instead of horniness, she felt shame for the incestuous feelings that she, as a mother, felt for her son. How dare she? How could she go through with his even under the pretense that she was saving him from himself?

In the way she would have looked at her son before her mother had suggested she, her sisters, and their childhood friend have incestuous sex with their sons, what if he looked at her with contempt. When she offered him her body, what if he looked at her with hatred instead of with love and shame instead of lust? A mother inappropriately lusting over her son, what if he looked at her with pitiful sorrow instead of sexual arousal? Now, instead of wanting to have sex with her son, with her guilty conscience getting in the way of going through with it, she already felt remorse for having misplaced sexual feelings for her son under the pretense of saving him from himself.

The realization of what she thought she was doing for him and what she deemed was a sacrifice on her part, made her wonder if what she was doing was for her own sexual satisfaction and not for his personal salvation. With her becoming just as bad as her mother, an incestuous slut, she questioned how any mother could have sex with their bakırköy türbanlı escort son for any reason. Only torn by her guilt and twisted by her lust, if she didn’t have sex with him and if he was killed in a car accident or killed someone else while driving drunk, she’d feel responsible. She’d feel that she could have prevented it, if only she gave him what her mother told her to give him, incestuous sex, everything would be okay.

* * * * *

While imagining him naked and in readiness to take a shower, she stood by the bathroom door and listened. With her heart filled with lust and her head filled with voices, what she heard was just as emotionally disturbing as it was sexually exciting. With an Angel on her right shoulder, she listened to her conscious telling her not to do what she was about to do. With the Devil on her left shoulder, she listened to her libido telling her to walk through yet another incestuous door and have sex with her son as she did the night before.

As if her mother was standing there beside her, she heard her Mother’s voice in her head telling her that what she was about to do was the right thing to do. She heard her sisters voices all in agreement that this madness and incestuous method is not only the only way but also the best way to save their sons from killing themselves and/or from killing others while driving drunk. When she put what she was about to do in that justifiable perspective and in that pretense of twisted commonsense, of a mother saving her son, how could she not do what she was about to do? It wasn’t about incestuous sex after all or was it? Deceiving herself that she was thinking more of her son’s safety that she was about her horniness and sexual frustration, so long as she continued fooling herself that she was doing the right thing, she was okay with having sex with her son.

Taking her hesitating in her self-righteous a step further by invoking her religion, she listened to all of those voices in her head from the Catholic Church. Because Carol always wore her rosary beads around her neck and was quick to fall to her knees to pray, all of her sisters, her mother, and even her childhood friend thought that Carol was the religious one. Conversely, because Jennifer enjoyed wearing sexy clothes, and was quick to fall to her knees to suck cock when she was younger and dumber, they thought that she was the wildest one. Surely not the moral or the most modest one, yet she was cursed with the voice of reason. If God was alive, he’d command her not to have sex with her son. Yet the Bible and literature is filled with incestuous passages of mothers having sex with their sons, brothers having sex with their sisters, and fathers having sex with their daughters.

Using all that she read about incest as her justification to have sex with her son, nonetheless just because the words were written in the Bible and throughout literature doesn’t necessarily make what was written true and what she was about to do right. Conversely, just because the word incest was written in laws enacted by old, white men that told her that what she was about to do was illegal, doesn’t necessarily make what she was about to do in her eyes and in her son’s eyes wrong. Just because she found some sexual satisfaction, a side benefit to saving her son while abating her sexual frustration, killing two birds with one stone, what’s so wrong with that?

From the Catholic Nuns in Parochial School, to the Catholic priests giving their lecture of right and wrong in Mass before passing judgment on her in the confessional, she was so confused. Obviously tempted by the Devil, if she proceeded and continued in having sex with her son, deemed to have sinned, she’d be damned to go to Hell and doomed to burn in Hell’s fires forever. An internal struggle of right and wrong that had no clear answers albeit that trumped all arguments when her son’s life was in jeopardy, the safety of her son is what drove her to continue down the Devil’s slippery slope. A criminal offense in most states and a crime in most countries, if only her parishioners in church knew what she was about to do for the sake of her son. Even if they knew, she’d still turn a deaf ear along with her sexy shoulder from them all telling her that what she was about to do was not only wrong but also a sin.

A sin? How dare anyone come into her personal, private life to judge her? Why should it be a sin for a mother to do everything in her power to save her son, even if that meant damning herself by giving her son sex? Putting her son over her God, her religion, and the law, she’d rather be a sinner and a criminal than to be a grieving mother standing over her son’s grave. With him on his way to being dead or in jail, she’d rather be a sinner and a criminal than to be without her son. She’d rather be excommunicated and arrested than for her son to be dead.

A sin? Kettle black. She found it odd that those bakırköy ucuz escort who pointed their judgmental fingers at her the most for having sex with her son, Catholic Priests and Nuns, don’t have any children themselves. How could they possibly know what she’s feeling after losing her drunken, whoring husband in a fire that was obviously set by the Devil himself? How could they possibly feel what she feels as Robert’s mother now with a conscious choice to save him or to let him go? She found it odd that the priests and nuns who questioned her morality have sex with one another and with their parishioners when not verbally, emotionally, and sexually abusing children. How dare they cast their holier than thou light on her when they are the ones who should be looking in the mirror?

If she was still friendly with her girlfriends, with them going about their little lives with their husbands, she could just hear their voices whispering between one another that she had sex with her son. Getting up on their high horses to voice their outrage with their disapproval, if she hadn’t already lost her husband in a fire and was still friendly with them, she’d be an outcast in their narrow minded, little community of hypocrites. Even though her reasons for having sex with her son were justifiably valid in her mind, her ex-friends would never understand her decision to have incestuous sex with her son. They’d be just as bad if not worse in their judgment of her than would the Catholic Church.

Even though they’d all publicly shame her, deep down inside, they’d all wish that they were the ones having sex with their sons. They’d all wish they were the ones sucking and fucking their sons while their husbands cheated on them with hookers and strippers. How dare they shame her? How dare they judge her? How dare they all forsake her in her time of need after her husband died by not visiting her and not even calling her to ask how she was doing? If they walked a mile in her shoes, with her son following the same destructive path of his father, they’ll all do the same thing that she was thinking about doing now.

She could hear the voice of her dead husband lambasting her for having sex with her son. Yet, with him unable to justify his infidelity, it’s not okay that he had sex outside of his marriage. It’s not okay that he had sex with multiple, young women nearly half his age. It’s not okay that he had sex with hookers and strippers. With his voice haunting her even from the grave, what right does he have to judge her, especially now that he’s dead? Dead, dead, dead, he may continue to haunt her, especially after she decides to have sex with her son, but he can’t stop her from having sex with her son. How dare he haunt her with his new found morality because she was the one having sex and not him? Surely, if they had a daughter, her deceased husband would be having sex with her too.

She could hear the voice of her psychiatrist telling her that the real reason why she had sex with her son was not to save her son but to pleasure herself. She could hear the voice of her psychiatrist telling her that the real reason why she was having sex with her son was to get back at her mother, her father, and/or her husband. Oh, give me a break. What does he know about a mother’s love for her son with him sitting in his leather chair with books lining the bookcases behind him that he doesn’t read while staring at his fish tank filled with tropical fish? With him being human and having needs and desires too, who the Hell is he to analyze her? Freely admitted by other psychiatrists, psychiatrists are the craziest people on the planet.

With him thinking so very much about sex and with his psychological analyses always going back to mother and son sexual relationships, Sigmund Freud was the biggest pervert on the planet when he was alive. Otherwise, if he wasn’t sexually twisted, he’d never focus so much of his energy on incestuous sex, on mother and son sexual relationships, on father and daughter sexual relationships, and on brother and sister sexual relationships. As if he was psychologically analyzing her along with everyone else in her life, she could just hear his voice now.

“Tell me, how did you get along with your mother?”

“My mother? What does me having sex with my son have to do with my mother?”

“There’s always a connection back to your mother,” she imagined Dr. Freud saying. “Please answer the question. How did you get along with your mother?”

“I never got along with my mother. From the mailman, to UPS man, to the FedEx man to the pizza delivery man, she was a selfish bitch more concerned about having sex with men outside of her marriage than in caring for us. Then with all of them having their sexual way with my mother, she had sex with whoever came to the door. There were the Fuller Brush man, the Encyclopedia Britannica man, the aluminum siding man, a Jehovah’s Witness, and who başakşehir escort knows who else. When she wasn’t around, we took care of one another with the elder sisters helping the younger sisters,” she imagined saying as if she was really talking to Dr. Sigmund Freud.

“I see,” she imagined him saying while writing his notes. “Tell me, how did you get along with your father?”

“Which father? My biological father or my pretend father? My biological father drove a UPS truck. My real father was killed in a fire along with my husband, my four sister’s husbands, and my childhood friend’s husband, while drunk and having sex with hookers and strippers,” she imagined saying to Freud.

“I see,” she imagined him saying while writing his notes. “Tell me, have you ever had sexual thoughts for you son?”

“I never had sexual thoughts for my son until my mother confessed that she was having sex with her son, my brother. She told my sisters and me that we could safely keep out sons away from drinking and whoring by having sex with them,” she said wondering what Sigmund Freud’s response would be to that bit of convoluted logic.

“I see,” she imagined him saying while writing his notes. “Tell me, is this what drove you to having sex with your son?”

“Yes. We wanted to keep our sons safe by giving them something else to busy themselves with other than drinking, chasing women, and driving drunk,” she said.

It was then that she realized that her pretense of having sex with her son wouldn’t pass the litmus test when analyzed under the scrutiny of the great, late, Dr. Sigmund Freud.

“I see,” she imagined him saying while writing his notes. “Tell me, what you feel when you think about your son?”

“I feel love. I feel the way that any mother would feel about her son. Only, my loving feelings are turned and twisted by sex,” she imagined saying.

“I see,” she imagined him saying while writing his notes. “Do you feel sexual excitement?”

“Along with a mother’s love for her son, yes I feel sexual excitement. I feel lust and passion. I have a deep rooted need to suck and fuck my son while thinking about him licking and fucking me,” she imagined saying to the doctor.

“I see,” she imagined him saying while writing his notes. “Do you feel guilt, embarrassment, humiliation, shame and/or remorse? Do you feel good about what you sexually did with your son or do you feel bad? If you had the opportunity to change what you did, would you do the same thing and have sex with your son again?”

Choosing not to answer any of those questions in her head, ready to do the dirty deed, instead she put her hand to the bathroom doorknob.

* * * * *

Going where no mother should ever go with her son, she was about to do what no adult mother should do with her adult son. It was one thing for her son to give her son a massage, but it was quite another thing for her to give her son a massage with a happy ending. Now taking her incestuous lust for her son a step further, she was about to take a giant leap beyond what was even acceptable in an incestuous relationship. What was supposed to look more accidental than blatantly obvious, now with no mistaking her intension, she was going to step in the shower with him.

Putting her trust in how her son would react to seeing his mother completely naked and there in the shower with him, she was going to take a shower with him. Yet, more than just taking a shower with her son, she was going to have sex with her son. While touching him, feeling him, licking him, and sucking him everywhere, she was going to make sure that he was squeaky clean. Not only using her hands but also her mouth and her tongue, she was going to wash his dirty, naked body. Making him a mother and son memory, she was going to give him a sexy shower that he’s never had before and may never have again.

Standing outside the bathroom door, she felt, fondled, and squeezed her breasts and fingered her nipples through her clothes while thinking of her son naked. While imagining her reaction to seeing him naked, she touched herself with the thoughts of her touching, feeling, stroking, sucking, and fucking him. While imagining his reaction to him seeing her naked, she touched herself with the thoughts of him touching, feeling, fingering, licking, and fucking her. Reaching inside of her blouse and inside of her bra, she fondled her breasts while fingering her nipples. Then, reaching down and inside of her pants, she rubbed her clit and fingered her pussy with the heated thoughts of having incestuous sex with her son.

She listened through the bathroom door to the rustle of him removing his clothes while waiting for her son, Robert, to strip naked before she stripped herself naked too. With the closed bathroom door as her perceived incestuous line to cross, she waited until she heard the water running and him in the shower before she silently and slowly turned the doorknob. She waited until she heard the radio playing and him singing before she silently opened the bathroom door and quickly closed it behind her. With the steam from the shower her cover, as if she was a female vampire suddenly materializing from out of the shadows, she knew that she could see more of him through the foggy glass shower enclosure than he could see of her.

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