Teenage son takes care of Mom after new baby arrives, incest stories, I can’t begin to describe how much my life has changed these past couple of years. I wonder sometimes if I am going to be ruined for any other woman because of my relationship with my mother; yet I can’t seem to think about anything else. My heart starts racing even as I write this, knowing Mom told me to tell our story, and she is waiting to read it.
It started when I was 18 and in my last year of high school. My mom was 39 and to everyone’s surprise, including her own, she got pregnant. I honestly didn’t even know my parents did anything that often, as they fought a lot and he was either working outside or spending time with his friends. I never understood it because my mom was like a throwback to the 1950’s, only more fun. She did everything around the house and treated my dad like a king. Waited on him, did all the laundry and cooking and cleaning; in addition to her 9-5 job as a legal clerk. Only thing he did was “man” stuff like fix things and take care of the yard. He was not a bad guy he just did not spend time or appreciate her like he should have.
Anyway, I was busy a lot that last year of school, and I did not take the time to help out around the house until mom was in the last 3 months of her pregnancy. I played football and was involved with stuff at school, but I was not overly popular with girls or guys. Once football season was over, I started to hang around more at home.
I don’t know what it was, but my mom looked absolutely stunning to me all of a sudden. I had never once paid attention to a pregnant woman, unless I saw one on a beach or something, but there was just something amazing about seeing mom with her belly getting so big. She was still very active; going to yoga classes after work, shopping, taking care of the house and generally not slowing down one iota. She dressed very sexy, or at least what I considered very sexy, for a woman that was six or seven months pregnant. Mom shunned those baggy clothes and seemed delighted with her new found shape. Snug, form-fitting, yet classy blouses, sweaters and skirts for work; tight leggings and jeans, with sexy tops for weekends. And those flannel or silk “jammies” as she called them were too much for me at times. Running around bare foot, bending over the oven or to pick something up; catching a glimpse of her bare belly and her swelling breasts.
I can not tell you how embarrassed I was on more than one occasion when she caught me ogling her while serving dinner or lounging on the couch. Mom would simply smile and go about her business, but inevitably she would make eye contact with me later and I would feel myself turning beet red. Was it my imagination when she started leaning over me more when serving dinner? Or when she started sitting next to me on the loveseat, tucking her feet under her, but in my direction; instead of sitting in her usual spot on the couch? And as the weeks went by, did she really need more help from me and not Dad around the house? Asking me to pull things down from the cabinets or carry the laundry downstairs to the basement. She would always give me a little brush on the arm or a kiss on the cheek, but never really look me in the eye or give me anything extra to go on. She was just being my sweet mom.
I wanted to be around her more than ever now. I had always been kind of shy, which is why I went out for sports, but even that never took the edge away. Being with mom was the only place I felt completely safe and able to be myself; whether that be serious or silly or angry or even sad. I took it upon myself to start waiting on her like she always did for me and Dad. I felt guilty that I had never done this before. The first time I did it, I just fixed her a drink while I was fixing mine. She looked at me for a second like I was from another planet, and then she just smiled.
After that I would always ask if I could do something for her or help out. I started all the daily chores, and actually became what she said was a mother hen. As her belly was now huge, I did not want her moving a muscle. I also realized something else at that time. It made me feel more like a man to take care of her. Dad thought I was plain stupid for doing so much especially when I had my own things to do. And he thought I was even crazier when I no longer complained when she asked for someone to go to the store with her. I offered to go for her instead now. She started making little comments to him about at least someone cares about helping her and stuff like that. Dad would get pissed on occasion, but normally it looked like he hadn’t even heard her over the television.
I would watch Mom waddle around in front of me at the grocery store or the Costo’s, picking out things for the family. On these outings she would always make sure she got each of us a favorite treat that Dad would not know about. Some extra cookies or ice cream, or we would stop off and have a quick lunch someplace out.
She was beautiful already, but the pregnancy made her even more so. Dirty-blond, shoulder-length hair, small lips and a cute little nose, with the prettiest blue-green eyes I had ever seen. She wore just enough eye makeup to make her eyes “pop” which gave her a little bit of a naughty appearance as well.
Mom could tell I was enthralled by her, and she began to flaunt it as she entered her ninth month. Almost every night now, she would ask me to rub her feet or her shoulders. She was home all day now and not working, so would have a snack ready for me when I got home. I think she loved me telling her that she shouldn’t be doing anything for me at all and then watching me as I made over her for the next twenty minutes by fluffing the couch pillows and fixing a drink or something for her too.
On numerous occasions she would get all excited and call me over to feel the baby kicking. She would hold my hand on her tummy and watch for my reaction. More often than not there would be nothing to feel except for her. She must have known that I was almost overcome by being able to touch her bare skin there; that it had nothing to do with the baby; even though that was kind of neat to be honest.
So, Mom ended up having my baby sister, Vicki, right around Christmas and for the next few weeks, I continued to hover. Even Dad helped out more than usual. Mom was not one to stay down though so she was up and trying to get back to her old routine in just a few days. She was surprised when I continued to chip in even after she told me she was fine now.
Four months later mom had her shape back pretty much. All except her breasts which still looked way too big for her little frame, and her tummy which had a slight, soft pooch to it around her mid section. I was mortified when one day she caught me staring at her running on the treadmill in the basement. I was fixated to her bouncing boobs and the large wet spots from her sweating made me so hard I couldn’t get off the bench. She looked down at her chest and blushed when she saw where my eyes were focused. But instead of chastising me or covering herself up, she just kept running, wiping the sweat from her forehead and chest with a towel and smiling at me.
“I can’t believe how much they’ve filled out, can you?” she said. I couldn’t believe she had just said that so openly. She saw the look on my face as I turned my face away and attempted to keep lifting again. “Well I can’t. I was happy with my 36-C’s thank you very much.”
I didn’t say anything; I was much too ashamed that I had been caught looking.
“And they are just too heavy to do all this running.” She slowed the treadmill down to a crawl to bring herself down. “They make my back hurt. In addition to all this mess,’ she said in a disgusted voice.
I abruptly turned to see what she was referring to. She was looking down at her chest and instead of just the wet spot at her cleavage there were too very dark spots around the front of each breast as well. Stupid as I was, it actually took me a few seconds to realize what it was!
Mom stepped off of the treadmill and ran the towel underneath each breast, restrained in that too small, gray sports bra. She lifted each one right there in front of me, seemingly not paying attention to me at all; and swiped away the moisture underneath. I couldn’t move. I was glued to the bench as I watched her (and tried not to watch her) all the while my cock growing to ever larger proportions.
At last she finished wiping herself as dry as she could and she bent down a couple of times to stretch out her legs. Her body was incredible. You couldn’t tell she had even had a baby! Then she stood up she gave me another shock. She winked at me and said “Don’t work yourself to hard, Baby.” She emphasized the hard part.
I couldn’t help but watch her ass sway as she walked across the room and went up the stairs. Had she seen how hard I was? Was that what she was referring to? No way, I told myself. I was upset beyond reason that she had seen me hard, if she had. But there was no way I could believe she was ok with it; not knowing it was from watching her!
For the next few days I felt like every time I looked at her she was already looking back at me. I couldn’t even get through an entire meal anymore because of her being so close to me and me trying to forget what I had seen that day. What was more, she had been very open from the time she brought the baby home; openly breastfeeding in front of me and Dad no matter where we were in the house or car. She would often switch Vicki to her other breast after a while and leave the first one completely exposed. Mom never made eye contact while doing this. She would always be talking or singing to the baby. These were the times that I allowed myself to look from the corner of my eye and take in the sight of Mom’s beautiful breasts.
There was something about those blue veins and all the little bumps around the nipples, wet and swollen from my sister sucking so vigorously. I knew I shouldn’t have been watching her, but I couldn’t help myself. I let myself look longer and longer until even when she got up and left the room carrying Vicki, both breasts still wet and half exposed, my eyes would follow her every step of the way. By the time that day on the treadmill had come, Mom had caught me looking more than a few times and every time I shied away, she would tell me it was ok to look. No harm in looking. She knew I was curious, etc. I would feel guilty again, and then the burning in my body would take over and make me steal another glance. Mom would sit there in the rocker beside the couch, bare legs crossed; my baby sister hungrily sucking on one breast, while her tiny fingers reached for the other. Too many times I thought to myself that I wished it was me reaching out like that. To just touch it for a fleeting second with one finger would be enough to last a life time.
It was during one of these daydreams, me sitting at the dining room table trying to keep my mind on studying, that my life would change.
Mom was talking to Vicki and rocking her to sleep. She had already switched from her left breast to her right. She was wearing shorts, and her legs looked so smooth. Her toes were painted a dark pink, and I was watching her moving her one foot to and fro to aid her in the rocking when I heard what she was saying.
“You are so hungry today aren’t you Baby?” She was talking to my sister of course. “My little piggy, yes you are!” She glanced my way and smiled before turning her attention back to her. “Just like your big brother. Always hungry for Mommy.”
I froze and looked at her face, but she was not looking at me, only at the baby.
“That’s a good girl. Drink all Mommy’s milk and go to sleep, Baby.”
My head was literally pounding. I tried not to think about what she had said, but it was enough to fuel a million late night fantasies. I felt so disgusting. Wanting my mother. But wanting to do what with my mother? I had not thought about sex, just simply being with her. Holding her. Kissing her. Sucking on her nip…. No! I had to stop myself.