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Message-ID: <52206asstr$1129327801@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "NC" <hairpinbend@yahoo.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 14 Oct 2005 13:58:37 +0000 (UTC)
Cache-Post-Path: newsfd02!unknown@ppp20-228.ath.forthnet.gr
Subject: {ASSM} My Stacked Mother Part 1 (m/F, mother/son, inc)
Lines: 168
Date: Fri, 14 Oct 2005 18:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

My Stacked Mother Part 1
by NC (m/F, mother/son, inc)

My mother is cool. Well, I guess I could come up with a better adjective,
but "cool" is probably the most fitting. It's the word that my friends
mostly use, when they talk about her. "Dude, your mom is so cool!" How many
times have I heard that! Sure, she is good-looking I guess, but the
attention she gets has little to do with pulchritude. Her breasts are her
main attraction. To say that they are big, would be an understatement and
wouldn't do justice to them. No! The truth is that she has a pair of the
most gigantic, impressive, luscious knockers you have ever seen. So, imagine
my surprise when she comes one day and says that she has decided to have a
breast reduction.

But before I come to that, let me set the record straight. First of all, up
until that day I was a normal teenager. From my introduction you have
probably formed the wrong picture about me. I mean, I was aware that I have
a mother with unbelievably big breasts - I wasn't blind - but that didn't
mean anything. She was my mother. I wasn't lusting after her or anything. I
repeat: I was normal. I lusted after my friends' mothers perhaps and they
lusted after mine as it is supposed to happen, but that was it. No desires
or repressed feelings or issues of any kind concerning my mom. Not until
that day!

Naturally, my reaction to her decision was negative. I couldn't, for the
life of me, understand why she was willing to take such an unnecessary risk.
She explained that it was a simple and harmless procedure, but I told her
that it is surgery and like any surgery it inevitably entails certain risks.
Then she started telling me about how she couldn't enjoy life and how she
always felt awkward and embarrassed about the size of her breasts.

"Chill out mom. I think they are great. My friends think so too," was my
knee-jerk response to that.

But immediately I said it, I regretted it, thinking that it was too bold a
comment and probably out of line. Little did I suspect then, of the future
implications of that ingenuous comment. My mother's surprise was obvious.
Her eyes opened wide.

"You...you think they are great?" she asked, staring at me, waiting agog for
my reply.

"Uh...well...not great...I mean...um...I mean there is nothing wrong with them," I
said in an attempt to correct my gaffe.

"No, you said `great'. You really think that?" she insisted.

"Well...yeah." I replied apprehensively, shrugging my shoulders, realizing
that it was too late to take it back.

My mother's expression had changed a little bit. She was still surprised,
but now you could tell that it was a pleasant surprise. Her eyes were
sparkling and I had the impression that she was trying to suppress a smile.

"And you say your friends like them too? I take it that you have...discussed
about it!" she said.

"Oh come on, we haven't discussed anything."

"But, surely they must have said something otherwise you wouldn't..."

"Yeah, yeah, they've made a comment or two. That's all!"

"What kind of comments?"

"Good comments."

"Can you be more specific?"

"No. Jesus! Ok, listen mom, the point is that there is nothing wrong with
them and I think you shouldn't go through with this."

"Well, easy for you to say. You don't have to live with that problem.
Besides, I don't think you or your friends can actually form a judgment when
you haven't actually...you know...seen them."

That was the point when the conversation became really weird. OK, it was
weird to begin with, but thenceforth, I started looking at her breasts more
and more. It was difficult not to lower my gaze. After all, her breasts were
the topic of our conversation.

"I mean, I am always carefully dressed. Apparently you youngsters like them
big...but this is different," she said, made a short stop and chuckled. "It's
actually kind of cute," she continued.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing! I mean... you kids have a very fertile imagination. I am not
Anna Nicole Smith you know," she said with an amused smile.

There followed a minute of silence, since I didn't know what to say and my
mother seemed lost in thought.

"You know what? I think you should see them," she proposed.

"What are you talking about?" I replied.

"Why not? Here's the deal. You'll take a look and if you still have the same
opinion afterwards, I promise that I'll rethink my decision. Chances are
though, that you will be repelled."

At first I found her idea crazy. My mother, showing me her breasts? How
weird was that? But after a few seconds I realized that it actually made
sense. And after a few more seconds the prospect started filling me with
excitement. All that breast talk had actually turned me on a little bit. I
wouldn't mind at all, taking a peek at her humongous jugs.

"OK, whatever," I replied, with an affectation of nonchalance.

"Alright then," my mother said and rose from her chair.

I forgot to tell you that this conversation took place in the kitchen,
during breakfast. In fact, let me give you a few more details about us
before I go on. Firstly, our family consists of only two members. My
father's
passion for fast cars led to his untimely death a lot of years ago. Good
news is that we are rich. We can afford an easy life, without mom having to
work. That is one of the reasons for her wanting to have a breast
reduction, I suppose. She doesn't have to do anything all day, so she
obsesses with unimportant things, like her weight and her appearance in
general. One could call her eccentric (in fact many do), but I guess we all
have our quirks and foibles. Her age was 45 at the time and I was 15.

So, to return to my story, she stands up and takes off her blouse. It was a
baggy blouse like all of her clothing, so as to hide her, so called,
problem. Underneath, she wore a white bra. Um, I am sorry but I don't know
the first thing about bras, so I can't tell you the size of it, supposing
there was a size for that thing anyway. You can only imagine was huge it
was. But despite its size it was still ill-equipped to withstand the
pressure of my mother's colossal mammary glands. It was literally bursting
at the seams. It seemed like it could tear open any minute. The bra cups
were like balloons filled with too much water. That is quite a good
metaphor because when she unhooked the bra (from the front), I felt like
watching a waterfall cascading down a mountainside. Or maybe I should say
`avalanche'. One that I wouldn't mind being engulfed by. She was right
before. She was nothing like Anna Nicole Smith. Her tits were three times
bigger!!! They were sagging of course, but they were rich and bulky, meaty
and juicy. The pink areolas, in harmony with the rest of the... landscape were
huge as well with big plum nipples sticking out proudly in the middle.

Suddenly I began sweating like a pig. I was swallowing hard and my cock had
become rock hard. I had seen porn movies and I had downloaded pictures of
big breasted women from the Internet but never in my life had I seen
anything even close to that. The size of her tits was unbelievable. They
were hanging down to her navel! Immediately, my hand slipped inside my
pyjama trousers, and I began jacking off.

"What...what are you doing there?" my dumbfounded mother asked. The whole
action was talking place underneath my pyjamas, but it was still blinding
obvious what I was doing.

There was no answer. I was in my own world, completely mesmerized. I
couldn't hear a thing. I was masturbating, staring at her, my eyes and mouth
wide open, probably drooling too!

"Oh my God... stop that!" she said. Poor mom! She was so shocked that didn't
know how to react. "Stop that... stop it right now!" she said a couple more
times. But I didn't and she finally made a mad dash for the exit! Can you
blame her? I remained there, gazing into space but her image was permanently
burned on my retinas. I could still see her standing in front of me, naked
above the waist, with her king-size globes in full view. I continued beating
my meat faster and faster, till I finally shot my load, making a mess of
myself.

End of part 1...
-----------------------------------------
Comments are always welcomed and appreciated.
NC

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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