A Mother’s Helping Hand Part 1 [MF] [Incest] [Taboo] [Mom/Son]

LMK if u liked it, and if I should continue this story. Enjoy!

Tate felt agitated. He was not looking forward to a conversation with Ma about his grades. Usually, Tate refused help from her when it came to homework, but sometimes when significantly behind in his work, he’d let her. The real reason he fought against her help was that he wanted to impress her. He didn’t want to let her down. Once home, Tate sat down with his mother, and as they looked over his grades and missing assignments, Tate felt hot blood pooling in his forehead and behind his eyes. He would often try and comfort his mother when it came to his grades. He’d say things like, “I got it under control,” or “my teacher hasn’t graded it yet.” He felt bad whenever he’d lie to her, but couldn’t help it. Tate had a problem. He sometimes wondered if he was a pathological liar. It came easy to him, always had. The semester was almost over, so Tate’s mother pushed harder than she usually would have given the time constraint. She pushed and pushed until he gave in. Eventually, Tate agreed to let her help. Finally, she said “I can’t always do this, you know. You’ve got to learn to discipline yourself in your work. I know it’s difficult, but you’ve got to put in the effort. Do you know anything I can do to help you gain motivation so that you can do your work on your own?” Tate didn’t know but said that he’d figure it out. She called BS, and so they brainstormed together. She suggested she could take away his phone and give it back to him once he got caught up. At first, Tate was hesitant about the idea, but gradually, as she does so well, his mother whittled him down until he resisted no longer. Although annoying, Tate knew his mother was right, and that this would ultimately help.

Tate had a masturbation issue. Every day, the minute he got home, he’d lock himself in his bathroom and jack off. Sometimes for as long as two hours. At night before bed, another hour. Sometimes he’d tug one out in the shower before school. Tate calculated all of this in his head and concluded he probably averaged three-to-four times a day because, in the afternoon, he’d often do it back to back. Tate was addicted. He didn’t know how he got like this. Thought it was probably repetition that created this habit.

Tate had another issue. An obsession with his mother that had grown from an early age. A single mother after his father died somewhere along the Iraq-Kuwait border invaded Iraq in 2003. He was too young to know, but his mother often felt alone. She tried not to let Tate see when she felt this way, so she avoided speaking about his father. Tate idolized her. To him, she was the perfect woman. She was kind, and gentle, but also strong, and smart, and funny, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Tate never did anything weird to make her uncomfortable. He never stole any panties or anything like that, but a couple of times, he’d seen her in various states of undress coming out of the shower or getting dressed in the morning. Purely coincidental events, although whenever these moments arose, he wouldn’t look away.

Maeve was beautiful, and Tate knew it. Although in her mid-forties, she had the most striking face he had ever seen. She was tall and fit. Her legs were long. Her skin, which was olive, was spotless. Her curves, Tate thought, were perfectly proportioned to her body. An issue he had encountered when his friends joked to him about it, but he couldn’t deny it. She was drop-dead gorgeous. He lay in bed alone at night, thinking of her breasts. He wanted to touch them. Would kill just to get a look at them. He thought about her thighs, how soft yet firm they must feel. To think below her waist sent him roiling in the sheets.

For a couple of days, having his phone taken away seemed to work. Tates grades went up significantly, but then, after a while, he couldn’t take it. He had stopped masturbating, which helped for a while, but going from three to four times a day to cold turkey was too much for him. Without his phone, he had to find another way. He had never done it before but was brought to the edge. With no other source of stimulation, Tate stepped downstairs into the laundry room while his mother was at work, and stole a used pair of her panties. What Tate did next, no son should ever do. In fact, no son should ever think about doing. Tate knew this, of course, he wasn’t dumb, but his hunger for release was greater than his conscience.

Tate’s new routine continued for a week or two. At night, he’d grab a new, used pair of his mother’s panties from that day, then he’d use them. Later, he would discard them, hiding them back in the dirty wash, hoping his mom wouldn’t notice. His mom did notice. She was looking for a pair of panties she could have sworn she’d washed the night before, which would’ve been true if not for her son sneaking in and taking them before the wash was run. She couldn’t find them in the dirty hamper, so she checked the wash again. In it, she found a pair of blue panties. Pieces of fabric seemed to stick to others. ‘It couldn’t be him, could it?’ she thought. ‘He wouldn’t do that. Her baby boy was sweet, he’d never even think of it.’ She needed to test her theory. That night she stood outside her son’s room, her ear to the door. After waiting for what seemed like forever, Maeve could hear faint grunts from just beyond the wall. “Ma… oh……ma…Fuuuuck…” “I need you.” She thought she had misheard him for sure. Her eyes were wide as saucers, her chest turned hot as her face went beet red. She cracked the door ever so slightly, slowly, to not make a sound. Her son was on top of his sheets. His left hand held her panties to his nose, his eyes closed. His right hand gripped his cock. What caught her eye first was the sheer distance it took his hand to move from tip to base. Also, the fact that he was so damn hard. His cock stood straight and tall. She couldn’t help but feel a little proud. ‘Just like his old man’ she thought. Thoughts of his father flooded her mind. Their sex life, when he wasn’t off on deployment, was fulfilling, to say the least. Every time they fucked, she came. In bed, she was submissive to Tate’s father. He fucked her silly, and she loved it. Maeve had told her friends about her husband’s size. Some of them tried flirting with him, but her husband never cheated. Not once. He really did love her. Wanted to stay home, but he had already signed a contract. He had a country to serve. Since then, Meave hadn’t touched a dick. It somehow felt wrong. Her body still felt like it was his. Before Tate’s father left on tour, he gave Maeve a gift. He had molded a 1:1 replica of his cock in silicon so she could relieve stress while he was away. Maeve used it to this day. Tate jumped and covered himself with his sheets, still holding her panties. This transported her back to reality, and she yelped, shutting her son’s door. She ran to her room, locked it, and lay in bed. They didn’t speak for the rest of the night, but Tate still finished. His mom, half thinking of her husband, the other half, her son, used the dildo her husband had given her and fucked herself to the most intense orgasm she had since Tates father left. She lay sprawled on her bed, the sheets drenched, her, a sweaty mess. A sense of fulfillment, then shame, and finally regret.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/uuy9t5/a_mothers_helping_hand_part_1_mf_incest_taboo