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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 16 Apr 2005 16:43:40 -0500
From: NANCY MORE <nancymore@lycose.com>
Newsgroups: alt.incest,alt.sex.erotica.stories,alt.sex.stories.cuckold,alt.sex.stories.cuckoldb,alt.sex.stories.incest,alt.sex.stories.incesti,alt.stories.incest
Subject: NANCY MORE 2
Date: Sat, 16 Apr 2005 17:43:38 -0400
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===================
NANCY MORE 2
I am a 48 year old single mom of two adult boys.
One son is half black , the other is all white but bisex.
I am hucked on incest.
I love reading mother son stories.
cuckold stories
interracial stories
wifes who have there husband SUCK OFF black mem
Thy reAly turn me on.
PLEAS, PLEAS NO CHILD, RAPE, S&M, JUST LOVING STORIES
I love seeing my bi son suck off his half brother
while I suck him off.
my half black son loves fucking his white mother.
I do NOT write the stories I just REWEIGH them
to my liking.
SO SEND ME YOUR STORIES AND I WILL ADD SOME SPICE TO THEM.
THAN SEND THEM BACK TO YOU 100% FREE.
thank you
NANCY MORE
nancymore@lycos.com
P.s put story in subject if not i will NOT answer
I am having troubel finding mother son free movies
avi, dirty talk, short clips, u get the idear.
HELP
MEMORY'S OF AN LONEY OLD WOMAN OF HER LOVING SON
I am in the kitchen washing dishes. Your father is resting up in our room. i
feel Your fingers sliding over my shoulders; it always started the same.
Your heat, reassuring at my back as I reclined against you. My eyes slipping
from the sink to the ceiling as I let you touch my brest. I always knew when
your touch had intent to say, I LOVE YOU MOM..
My breasts, rising to meet your touch. Your palms always light, always
teasing over the lace-covered nipples. You would pause there for a time,
knowing what even the most delicate touch would do to me. More, knowing that
the most delicate touch you could give was the very same that would send me
writhing against your young 17 year old large hard cock.
Soft gasps from my lips and a growing hardness against the small of my back.
At some point you would grab the towel from my hand, letting it fall to the
floor . flickering light from the Tv in the next room a backdrop to the
rising tension and warmth between us.
My nipples a growing ache, making my thighs restless. You would reach in
between and grab the two front bits of my bra through my shirt and release
me to ache even more. You knew I loved touching through clothes most of all.
Something about the not-quite-full touching, the friction and rasping. You
knew what just five minutes of attention on my cloth-covered nipples would
bring: me, wild and stripped clean of the reserve I sometimes held about me
like a shroud.
The tips of your fingers just brushing me lightly as soft gasps turn to
small sounds in the base of my throat. I am aching, pushing my head
helplessly against your shoulder. Arching my back to bring you closer and
rub against the hardness I find beneath me.
You would lift me up slightly to drag at last the cloth from my upper body
and settle me once again to lie against your chest while your fingers played
melodies at once familiar and arousing against my skin.
Finally, finally, when my legs moved restlessly, ceaselessly against the end
of the sink you let your fingers explore lower. They slid lightly down my
belly and beneath the waistband of the shorts you so charmingly called
"Daisy Dukes". I would smile when I heard it (and do today, as I think of
it).
Already an ache and a pulse between my thighs, even before your first touch.
You would loosen the zipper and give yourself room to stroke the soft skin,
teasing against me and denying me your touch where I wanted it most.
Breath held and endlessly waiting. I couldn't make a sound, so afraid your
dad would hear and you would withhold that touch from me to make my wanting
even bigger. Between the wet crease a single finger would slip, run small
circles at the entrance and slide just inside. There would be moans. They
were always mine. Your breath, hot against my ear, told me how much you
enjoyed this too.
The softest touch in the world. Slipping higher, my hips rising to meet it,
waitingwaitingwaiting. Your fingers were here and beside that and inside for
another moment and then suddenly they would slide higher and they were
there.
Another moan this time, usually broken because it was such a sweet ache and
such a blessed relief and it only increased my wanting all the more.
Barely touching me, like butterfly kisses. Circling and tapping ever so
slightly, listening to my breathing and my moaning and feeling against you
the tension as my body stretched and tensed and waited for the next touch.
Rising higher.
GodIamsoclose. You can feel it and hear it and smell it. You chuckle dark
humour in my ear as you pull your fingers away, just a small fraction. I can
still feel your warmth but not your touch and my belly is cramping and this
orgasm is something my entire body wants and needs and cannot turn away from
now, even a slight breeze could take me over the edge but you hold me there
dangling on a precipice of pleasure and I am begging you now like I have
never begged before or since and I can feel the pulse in my thighs move up
to my buttocks and in between and moving higher and I need your touch I am
laughing and crying and begging you to please
Touch me one more time. You would, and I splinter apart, an earthshaking
rumble that starts in one spot and moves outward down my trembling thighs
and up through my belly that aches from the wanting and there is a cry and
it is mine but I don't even know as I ride the wave.
I would be trembling in the aftermath but wild to feel you and I turned in
your arms and slid those same Daisy Dukes down my thighs and straddled you,
ripping your shirt from your body and rubbing against you and telling you
with my lips and my tongue against yours what my heart could not say, that
you knew my body as no other ever has.
You push me to my knees, I open my mouth to recive you.
LOVE YOU MY SON