Steamy Affairs(Erotica)

New Story Title:

THE SURPRESSED HORNY HOUSEWIFE (Incest/Taboo Erotica)

Summary: He learns his mom has suppressed desires.

Read and enjoy.

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Just so everyone knows my name is Stanley Braun. In German that means brown, though I’m not sure how that relates since most of my family has sandy blonde hair. I grew up in a very conservative area of Indiana where the German communities are pretty much the normal thing.

I can remember when we would visit my grandparents on my mother’s side as a child. Every night before bed my grandfather would sit and read from the bible on the sinfulness and wickedness of the world; and the punishments of places like Sodom and Gomorrah.

By the time I entered college I began to realize my view of God was a lot different from my grandparents. I saw him more as benevolent and allowing free will; while they saw him as demanding and vengeful. For me it was like living two lives; one away from my family, and one around them.

What I never knew until this summer, was there a very familiar conflict elsewhere in my house. When I discovered it, it made me think of a lecture in English literature I had from a very good professor; she had explained the difference between repressed and suppressed.

As she explained, repressed were thoughts we didn’t know we had, but created anxiety and conflict in us; while suppressed were thoughts we were well aware of; and had to keep in tight check. Of course it didn’t hurt she explained it while I plowed her fifty year old dripping pussy doggy style.

I’ve always had a thing for older women; what can I say. I find girls my age of twenty to be whining, needy, and either bubble heads or bitches; in my humble opinion. Now a woman over forty, knows her body and what she likes; she’ll tell you what she likes without reservation or judgment; and when you treat her right she knows how to show her appreciation.

Jean Paxton was that kind of woman. Forty-three, a mother of two; she never once altered my grades for any reason I didn’t earn. But if I ate her pussy right; she could suck the very cum right out of my balls. Fair is fair right?

That summer, classes had ended Memorial Day weekend; I had headed home between my sophomore and junior year; where else was I going I was a poor college kid. The first couple of weeks weren’t bad, I caught up with all my friends; hung out with family; all the usual stuff. But by June it was starting to get to me.

I swore if grandpa or dad gave me one more of their “the evils of youth” sermons; I was going to scream. Oh, I should have told you; both of them are preachers. No not ministers, the fire and brimstone kind of preacher you see in a revival tent. They ran the largest church in town together; and it was grandpa’s intent dad would take over when he retired… or died.

But by June my brain was melting, and I needed to get out of the house. Dad was visiting some folks from the church; I knew mom was around, so I went hunting for her to ask if I could borrow the car.

She wasn’t in the kitchen or cleaning, so I headed upstairs. No, I didn’t find her standing naked in her bedroom; but she was in her bedroom. She was sitting at her vanity and it looked like she was writing.

“Hey mom” I called out.

She gave a squeak; flipped the book closed and jammed it into a small drawer on the vanity. Hell, I never saw her move so fast. I asked about using the car; she stuttered out that was all right; and I couldn’t help but notice her flushed face and neck.

I headed down and grabbed the keys in the kitchen and headed for the car. The entire time I wondered what was in that book that had so startled mom. Of course, hiding it in her vanity was the perfect place. That was woman’s things, according to dad; and he was very rigid about you never crossed ‘man’s things and woman’s things’. There was no way on earth he would ever go near that vanity, I thought.

Later that night, as my parents were watching television, and I was in my room playing video games; the memory of that book came back. I was too curious for my own good. I slipped down the hall and into their room. It only took a moment to find it in a drawer of her vanity. I reached down to pick it up and froze. I had just caught sight of a thread mom had lain across the brown binding.

Sneaky, I thought. It was so important to her to know if someone disturbed it she had put one of the oldest, but most effective, tripwires in place. I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a quick picture; that would allow me to replace the book and thread in exactly the same locations.

Holding the book I made fast tracks back to my room. I didn’t want to take a lot of time, the last thing I wanted was mom to know I had been snooping in her stuff; privacy was highly valued around this house.

It only took a few pages to realize what I was holding; it was a diary of sorts. It wasn’t the normal kind of diary about acts and deed; but more a journal of feelings and thoughts. Mom was using the diary to sort through feelings she was tormented by.

It started a little over a year ago, in the early summer. It was quickly evident mom was having sexual feelings and she had no idea what to do with them or how to cope with them. I made it through about a dozen entries, before I hurried back; and using the cell phone picture replaced the journal.

Back in my room I sat in front of my computer, and thought about what I had read. On one hand it came as a total shock the things mom was writing. She had spoken of pangs in her chest, butterflies in her stomach when ‘he’ was around. She had even spoken of moistness and physical excitement when he was near her. None of that matched the image of my mother in my brain. This was a woman who was the daughter of a preacher; wife of a preacher. She never said a foul word in her life, even when angry. I didn’t think she was capable of an impure thought; but apparently I was wrong.

Which is strange because she was still a woman; and a very vibrant one at that? Look, I’m a twenty year old, modern college aged male. Half my world revolves around sex and porn; so bear with me. Do a quick Google search of a Nina Elle; and what you’ll find is a forty year old German porn star that looks a hell of a lot like mom.

Mom doesn’t have the 34DD’s; but I would guess at least 34C or 34D. She’s a bit heavier at about a hundred and twenty pounds; but she holds it damned well. Let’s just say she was high on the list of masturbation fuel for a perverted son.

I always thought it was a shame God gave that body to a sexual ultra conservative. By the time I reached half way through her journal a week later; it was beginning to dawn on me she wasn’t as conservative as I thought.

The biggest shock came when she confessed she had masturbated over ‘him’ last winter. Apparently he hadn’t been around for a while; and that absence had driven her to do something she considered a mortal sin.

For three entries afterwards she had berated herself; and then… she did it again; and again; and again. The way her journal read she spent half the winter spread out on her bed; her fingers knuckle deep in her soaked pussy. Just the mental image of that made me rock hard.

The most frustrating part was that I was almost three quarters of the way through her journal; and I still didn’t know who this guy was my mother was pining for. Was it a neighbor? Some guy in town? Someone from the church? She never used a name; only him or his and words like that.

But then she didn’t need to name him; she KNEW who he was. It just drove me crazy wondering who had the body and presence to crack through her conservative concrete wall and make her drip like a faucet. And then I found the entry that tipped the scale.

When she talked about how “he” had returned from school; how ‘he’ was now around her so much it was driving her body insane; I finally got the picture. I slowly closed the journal and stared at my reflection on the computer screen.

“Holy shit” I whispered to myself.

OK, I thought. Time to test the theory, I thought; and as my professors would tell me, without test data you have no true conclusion. I stripped off my shirt and tossed it on the bed. Bare from the waist up, I headed downstairs and to the kitchen.

Mom had passed on Wednesday bible study with dad; saying she was a bit under the weather. I know it sounds cliche but I figured a warm cup of tea was a great opener.

Mom was sitting wrapped under a quilt on the corner of the couch when I walked in the living room. I sat just at the edge of her feet and offered her the cup.

“Oh thank you honey” mom said as she turned towards me.

Her eyes widened as her gaze locked to my bare chest. She held the mug between both hands that never moved. I literally watched a crimson shade race from her cheeks and down her neck as she stared at me.

“Where’s… your shirt?” she asked in a low voice.

“Sorry I was a bit warm” I told her. “Does it bother you?” I watched as her eyes traveled up and down my chest

“Yes” mom whispered as she continued to stare.

“Should I go put a shirt on?” I pressed her.

“No” she stopped me from rising off the couch. “Stay… like that” she almost husked.

She sipped her tea as her gaze went back and forth between the television and me. When her attention was on the television, I slid my hand under the edge of the blanket. Taking her by the ankle I drew her foot out and across my lap; where I slowly started to massage her warm skin.

“Stanley… mmmmmmmmmmmm” she murmured as I massaged the heel of her foot.

“You shouldn’t… unnnnngggg” she moaned as I worked the tight muscles of her calf.

“Do you know what you are doing?” she almost panted as I remained silent.

I finally raised my head and stared into the eyes. The heel of her foot was firmly placed against my raging hardness, there was no way she could miss it.

“Every step of the way” I told her without wavering my gaze.

I saw a flash of something in her eyes; and then fear washed over her face. She slowly slid her foot back and swung her legs around.

“I need to go to bed” she murmured.

I just sat immobile as she rose and headed for the stairs. I had a pretty good idea what was going to happen inside her bedroom; but it didn’t seem the right time to eavesdrop.

Instead I headed up to my room and prepared for bed myself. As I settled on my pillow, I thought I heard a passionate outcry down the hall; but I ignored it.