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NOTE:- ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18 YEARS OF AGE
“You think this scene is gonna work out?” mom asked.
We are co-authoring a romantic novel. We were writers in our family and the money came from publishing short steamy romances. She used to work on hers and me on mine. But months ago she announced that we are gonna co-author a book. First of all writing, a steamy romance with a co-author isn’t that easy. And second, writing it with your mom guiding you, cutting your scenes out, striving for perfection isn’t that beautiful.
“Sorry mom,” I said.
“Let the characters burn. Let them burn through lust and love and then when the time comes, we unleash their desires and write a scene where they make love,” she told.
“Mom, you said I’m gonna write that scene, the last act,” I said.
“No, we’re gonna work our parts of writing them. The best one goes into the book,” she told me.
“No, we decided, you write the first two acts and I write the last two,” I said.
“I have read your sex scenes, they are weird, filled with carnality and lust” mom told.
“All sex scenes are filled with carnal desires and pure lust”
“No, not all, some, some are filled with love and passion, and more love,” she told me.
“Come on, I have read your love scenes, you let your characters go through tease, denial, and lovemaking. They don’t come till the last page, and the story ends ambiguous,” I said.
“That is because I let the readers guess. Not like you, unleashing your lust through BDSM fantasies, underwear fetishes,” she told.
I kept quiet.
“By the way where’s my underwear?” she asked.,
“You keep snatching it away from the laundry,” she told me.
“No, I don’t, why would I snatch it?” I asked.
“To masturbate,” she said.
“Mom lets concentrate on the work,” I said.
“Rewrite that scene where Stacy cries for her husbands’ love, and then we’ll discuss,” she told.
“I have written that thousand times already”
I went to my desk and crunched prose. I kept looking at her from my desk. She was wearing a red color saree, with a green border. The hair railing from her forehead to her breast hidden by her pallu. She wrote the scene and then another. She has hit the mark of flow. I struggled, she finished half the story. I struggled to put words. Working independently, helped me write whatever I can. But this was a failure. No one will ever love this story. It’ll destroy our careers.
For years we have lived in the same house, together. We didn’t talk, we ate together and got back to our writing. We barely spoke. She wanted me when she was going through a divorce. But I was busy exploring my fetishes in stories. She also had an affair with her boss, which didn’t go well. If you doubt that, read, “Bossy pants” by mom. In which she has described living in a dual relationship with my dad and her boss. Dad was abusive and the boss was supportive. The boss took her in his cabins, removed her clothes and they had sex. She has kept all those details hidden, I realized this was a true story. She has been through a lot.
She announced to the publishers we are gonna work on a story together. I wanted that, I wanted to connect with her, to know her more. I wanted to ask her how she is after the divorce. It must be hard loving someone with your heart and getting betrayed. The affair with the boss lasted three months. She went wailing and crying for days thinking he used her in all the ways. Then she wrote another story, “Betrayal of the boss” the sequel, where she has an affair with his son to avenge the boss.
Weird I know. But I have also written a lot of weird stories.
Reading her stories it was clear that she was attracted to young guys. She didn’t have an affair with the boss’s son, but she liked him.
I worked on my scene and rewrote it as she told me. Three times.
“Done,” I said.
“Show me,” she said.
I emailed the document to her.
It was a sex scene it involved two people each other eating each other and ravening their bodies, munching on lust. The scene was evocative, passionate and erotic. It was sensual and seductive.
“Badly written,” she said out loud.
“Fuck me, baby, what kind of dialogue is that,” she told.
“I rewrote it thrice,” I said.
“Didn’t expect this from you,” she said.
“Okay, I have had this enough from you, your idea of love is different than mine,” I said.
“Yes, mine is pure and you are lustful,” she said.
“No, not like that, they both are craving for each other. and that dialogue represents how much she wants him”
“It also represents a side of lust. She was a shy woman, and she suddenly shouted too much,” she said.
She was my senior and wrote over 100 romance novels. She’d written over a thousand sex scenes in different ways. Those were passionate, erotic and sensual. Who was I to fight her? She knew this business more than me. She was much more successful than I was.
“What do you propose?” I asked.
“What are you struggling with right now,” she asked. Karaköy Escort
“This scene,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know how to describe her naked,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Whenever I got stuck in a scene like this, I watched porn,” she said.
“What, no,” I said.
“Mom” I shouted.
“Let me help you,” she said.
“I am not going to watch porn,” I said.
“Watch me,” she said.
“What are you gonna do” I shouted from my desk.
She removed the pallu of the saree and stripped it down. She ruffled the tucked saree out and stood in her petticoat and blouse. The tight blouse stuck to her breast, and that red silky petticoat hugged her body. She had a figure of a mermaid.
“Mom” I shouted.
“Keep staring at me and work on your scene,” she said.
“No, work on it, stare at me, and work, getting erotically inspired to write bits of help,” she told me.
I opened my document. I stared at her, she kept on working on her writing. Her collar bones had sweat all around it. The cleavage bounced and jiggled as her fingers snuck to the keyboard. Her breaths increased and described the scene’s emotions. Her navel, chubby and sweaty, milky white, glistened. Her petticoat was tightly clung to her body, giving way to the outline of the shorts she was wearing inside. She wore a golden pearl on her feet. She was all dressed up in red. Her perfume encircled in the air filling the room. I have never seen her like this. She was clothed, but she showed her underskirt and sat in a blouse revealing her navel.
I got aroused, heated up, my fingers threw themselves on the keyboard and they wrote the scenes themselves. Whenever I got stuck in the middle of the scene, I looked at her. She looked at me, then smiled. My heart and my mind raced when she stretched, her navel got stretched to get me a glimpse of the underwear strap underneath her skirt.
Was she seducing me?
But this helped me write. I wrote about the character’s nakedness. I wrote how they desired themselves in the dark. I wrote for the first time erotically inspired.
“Done” I shouted.
Mom looked from her laptop.
“I sent it to you,” I said.
“Never seen you so satisfied writing a scene. Is the scene making you happy or the scene right in front of you?” she asked.
She read the scene thrice.
“Wow, fantastic,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said.
“It looks like me in the scene, naked, with large supple suckable breasts,” she said.
“Oh, no, mom, actually it’s inspired by you so,” I said.
“You find them suckable,” she asked, holding her breasts and juggling them.
“I mean, I” I stuttered.
“Don’t worry, it’s normal. I’m your mom, you know it is suckable, you’ve sucked it?” she told me.
“Yeah” I nodded.
“Then, the thickly hugging clothes on her body showed the outline of her underwear,” she told me.
She then touched the underwear outline on her thigh.
“This is me,” she said.
“Oh, mom, come on,” I said.
“But this is beautifully written. I mean, fantastic, the only thing is…” she paused.
“You perverted your mother while writing this,” she said.
“Erotically inspired,” I said.
“Which scene is next?” she asked.
“Sex scene,” I told.
“Okay, write it,” she said.
“I need more inspiration,” I said.
“This is what you’re gonna get, don’t forget I’m your mom,” she told me.
I wrote the scene looking at her, rewrote it twice and edited it. She unhooked the top button on her blouse which let the air wiggle around her cleavage. Her blouse was wet with sweat and showed the bra she wore. She wore a pink sports bra underneath and lifted her petticoat while tussling it and stretched it.
“Finished” I shouted again. I sent it to her.
“Hmmm, good, good,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I am the one who is inspiring you,” she told me.
“The underskirt lifted as she stretched her legs. The blouse one button unbuttoned gave way to the breezy wind to seduce her sweat covered cleavage. The cleavage wobbled in the blouse and danced” she said making a face.
“I am sorry”
“But, in this scene, you know, only one character is naked and comfortable. The other character isn’t feeling anything” she told me.
“I have described the other character as well,” I said.
“But not that much,” she said.
“Sometimes. Being naked makes you feel all your senses and words come out easily” she told me.
“Okay,” I said.
“So, shed your clothes, and write freely,” she said.
“Me, you want me to be naked?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“No mom this is too much of a story,” I said and backed off.
“Okay, then I cover myself with clothes and write and you write your scenes struggling,” she said.
“No no no” I shouted.
I Escort Karaköy enjoyed the view but was scared if she saw my bulge under my pants. I removed my T-shirt then my pants. I was sitting on the hard chair, wearing only underwear. My bulge was already hard. She kept staring at my body and my frame, then my stomach. Then my bulge.
“Wow,” she said.
“What mom,” I said and covered my bulge.
“You’ve grown,” she said.
I got back and rewrote the scene. The heat around the room increased. She unbuttoned another button of her blouse and lifted the petticoat, which showed her milky thighs. Her sweet wet bra gave the smell of her perfume, which was all over the room. It ignited something in me. Her smell ignited a passion and it rose from my underwear.
My precum drained a part of my underwear and she breathed hard. I touched myself, I moved on a chair while looking at her legs and her chest. I didn’t look at her face, she was staring at me. I didn’t realize that. I wrote and touched myself. I wrote looking at her and imagined stuff and touched myself. The desires arose, filled up my veins. Before I can know before I can comprehend anything I have come in my underwear. Mom sighed and I finished my scene.
“Sorry, I got lost,” I said.
“I can see that,” she said,
“I forgot you’re here,” I said.
“Yeah, but you wanked prying on my legs and cleavage,” she told me.
“But I wrote a scene,” I said.
I sent the scene and she read it carefully. The scene had her reference again. Then I stared at the wetness on my underwear. Then read the scene again.
“You just masturbated,” she said.
“How is the scene,” I asked.
“It…..it is……good,” she said.
“But, you just wanked off, in front of your….”:
We didn’t talk
She covered herself wearing the saree lightly. I wore my clothes. We kept eyeing ourselves sneakily. The heat in the room increased unbearably. But the work was done and it was time to discuss the further plot.
“Okay, work is done,” she said without smiling or showing any emotion.
“I am sorry I did that,” I said.
I got up and hugged her and kissed her head. She did the same.
“This is inappropriate. The fact that I am making an effort to bond with you doesn’t mean you do all this” she said with tears in her eyes.
“I am sorry mom, won’t do it,” I said.
“Good,” she said and went to sleep.
I stayed in the room and smelled it. Her perfume didn’t leave the room. It was all over the room in the air, on my lips, on my hands. Her perfume ignited something deep within.
When the day was overtaken by the night, I stayed awake in my room and my ears heightened to the sound of mom opening the door of her room. I sneaked out and saw her walk to the bathroom. It has been like this every night. I follow her to the bathroom and stand near the door and hear her undress. I hear the strap of her bra opening, the silky nightie slipping on to her legs to her shoulders. I hear the ruffled up saree ending up in the small tub which she kept over the washing machine.
The door makes a noise and she comes out. I see her walk to her room, with the tight nightie hugging the skin. Her ass wobbles up in that shiny silky pink nightie. I go into the bathroom and search for her panties.
I remove the saree, see her petticoat and then I finally see her bra and panty. I lift the tub and run to my room.
I undress and I remove the saree. My dick aroused and I ran the soft saree of hers through my dick.
I wank off when I smell her underwear and her bra. I lick the underwear opening. I slide the silky petticoat on my legs. The silky cloth warms my dick. I wank, fast and slow, subtle and horny.
I imagine her naked. The desires clatter up and arouse me more and more. My senses get brightened up and I come.
My semen jumps off from my dick and it drenches her underwear. I smell it again and again and lie on the bed fully naked feeling her clothes over my body.
I hear someone, I sense someone standing outside. I turn and see someone running past. I pace to the door and hear mom’s room’s door shut. She watched me wank off to her clothes. I am dead now. I got out of my room and stood there thinking about what to do. Whether to apologize or to not say anything at all. I roam the living room scared to death.
I sneak into her room, I see her lying with her legs apart holding a cushion between her legs and rubbing it.
She lifts the cushion sliding it to the soft pussy and dances and moans. I see her pinching her nipples in that shiny nightie. I have never seen her naked, not even now I get a whole glimpse of her beauty. But those hard nipples and those parted legs, and this insane desire she has. She watched me masturbate on her clothes. She has watched me masturbate in front of her.
Now, she can’t let it go. She fingers herself and moans.
“Aashu” was my pen name. She used to call me that.
As I heard that, a thousand stars Karaköy Escort Bayan fell from the sky, and the earth shattered. My legs trembled with her legs, she moaned my name more and more, making sure I didn’t hear it. But I was here. As her legs trembled, mine trembled, our hearts waved and bounced and bodies filled with sweat. I came just by watching her come. Her shiny legs, and feet were full of her dripping cum, she slid those fingers into her rose and licked it all away. I can’t believe I just watch mom masturbate. She turns around and looks at the door and I hide. But she has seen me. She pushes the nightie down to cover her legs and wears the strap on her shoulder hiding her visible near nipple. She walks to the door.
“I am unable to sleep today,” she says.
I don’t respond.
“Let’s not talk about it,” she said.
“Let’s sleep,” she said.
She holds my hand and invites me into the room. She crawls on her bed and gestures. I crawl beside her. She tugs her body into mine, and we cuddle. Her back pressed into my chest. Her ass rubbing my dick slightly, erotically. We humped each other unknowingly or knowingly. She tugged my hand under her chest, I tried to touch her hard nipples. She wiggled and jiggled her ass on my boner, teasing it.
“Ever since your father left me, I have always looked up to you,” she said.
“Son, you are a good son, a good boy, you’ve always taken care of me, always stayed by my side,” she said.
“Mom, I will always stay by your side. Don’t worry about me. I’ll always be with you” I said.
She cried and turned around. Her face faced me. Her eyes filled with tears. She’d never cry but today she did. She kept her breast on my head and pulled me into it. My face submerged into her cleavage. I felt a lot within me expanding and earth-shattering.
“I missed you. I’ve been so selfish these days. Baby, I love you so much. Your mommy loves you” she told me.
My lips touched her erect nipples through her nightie. It poked my lips and I don’t know what happened to me. My mouth opened and it jolted onto her nipple. I began kissing her erect nipple pulling her into me more. I pulled her waist into me, our thighs into each other. My face collapsed and submerged into the oblivion of her bosom. My legs intertwined into hers. My body one with hers. We breathed together, hard and slow, shallow and hollow.
“I’ve been very lonely these days,” she told me.
I looked into her eyes and wiped her tears.
“Mom, you’ve me, wherever you go, I’ll always be with you,” I said.
“Oh, I love you Aashu,” she said and hugged my face into her cleavage more.
My lips nibbled her nipples and she evoked. I snuggled with her chest with my lips and she giggled.
“You used to do that when you were small,” she told
“Am I not still small for you?” I asked.
She ran her fingers through my hair and caressed my face. Her nightie was soaked.
“But you aren’t small anymore, you’ve gotten bigger and braver,” she said.
“No mom, I’m still your weak son,” I said.
“Oh, Aashu,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said and pressed my boner into her ass. She wiggles her ass, and I hold on to her cleavage hidden beneath the silky nightie. But we sleep, closing our eyes and awakening our desire to sleep the longest.
The wind was suddenly cold and harsh as the scorching heat of the summer. The day was dry and breezy.
I opened my eyes on mom’s bed, saw her hair on her cushion. I covered myself from the blanket. I was shirtless, maybe she removed my shirt in the night. If she did I was more than happy something had advanced between us. Mom arrived from the washroom and sat on the edge of the bed wearing the same nightie. She combed her wet hair which dangled downwards and intertwined. I untwined her hair and turned it aside revealing her beautiful nape. I kissed the cold nape from my dry lips which made her drool. She turned around and I saw in her eyes what I have been wanting to see for years. A yearning, a bodily yearning for someone’s touch. Her heartbeat slowed and again pacing at its rate. She saw me like I was not her son, but more than that. I saw her more than a mom. Our dried up evoked desires sat in our bodies while our thirsty bodies stared at each other. Our eyes made a strange look searching for meaning in each other’s eyes and within minutes, we were hugging each other.
I could never imagine the pain she has gone through. I push her into me more and more. Our bodies were now sticking into each other, but our hungry animalistic parts weren’t. We avoided that, we avoided to not touch our hungry parts. But what else could we avoid? How can I avoid what she did yesterday while I was creeping in her room? Tucking that cushion between her legs and moaning my name, she came and her legs shone under her pearl white thick cum. How could she forget what she saw when she crept me into my room? Laying her clothes all over my body, smelling her panties while wanking off with her bra on my dick, and folding her blouse and saree.
How can she forget the fact that I came all over her saree, and her inner wears? How can we forget that we saw each other self-pleasure our hidden desires for ourselves in the closed walls of our rooms while we both knew we were creeping. We both knew we were being watched. We both knew and yet we did. What can we forget?
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