[MF] My short sexcapade with a woman who has a Mommy fetish [Only slightly crazy but still kind of crazy]

I’ve stumbled upon a wide variety of fetishes during my history of fucking. I’ve played both the dominant and the submissive role. I’ve degraded women with horrendous insults when they’ve asked me to. I’ve had more than a finger in my ass. I once pretended I was Batman and it wasn’t *my* idea to do so.

I’m saying I’ve had some interesting sex, basically.

Generally speaking, I don’t feel a lot of shame for trying new stuff. I might think it’s sort of funny sometimes, and I might decide afterwards that it isn’t my proverbial *jam*, but overall I’m not going to shit on somebody’s sex parade. If you like it when I call you a kitty princess and stroke your fake cat ears while you blow me – well, that’s fucking weird, but it’s not like it hurts me to entertain the thing that helps get you off. Call me a pathetic loser with a tiny dick and laugh at me while you put your feet up on me like an ottoman – whatever, as long as we both orgasm at some point in this process. This ain’t my first rodeo…I’ve been tied up before.

Which is why it will probably seem tame and especially bizarre that the one sexual encounter I had that haunted my memories for weeks afterwards and still resides somewhere in my subconscious was one in which a woman just wanted to be referred to as “mommy” during sex.

I’m not kidding – she didn’t do anything else weird. At no point did I don a diaper or insist for a pacifier while she spanked my ass. That was it. Just wanted to be called Mommy.

There were no vibes that hinted at this proclivity when I was getting to know her. Like [Bittersweet](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/6ewq8v/mf_the_first_woman_to_ever_deepthroat_me/), I met Mommy Dearest at the club with my friend Clubby. She lived close enough that after we exchanged information we were able to get together a few times, and before we became close enough for actual sex she seemed like a very sweet, ordinary girl. She worked a retail job and went to school. She told me she wanted to be a lawyer. She was smart and she kissed like a fucking wildcat so I was really looking forward to taking things to the next level with her.

It was maybe a couple weeks after I first met her that the first inkling that she may have something hidden up her sleeve started to come out. We were watching TV at her place, which is to say, we were making out while TV was on in the background. She came up for air at one point and sighed and said, with a smile on her face. “Oh, thank you. Mommy’s had a real rough day today and this is just what I needed.”

I laughed. I assumed she was being cute. I offered to give her a massage and she happily took me up on it. She laid down on her sofa and I straddled her back and hovered over her while massaging her back and shoulders, to which she appropriately “ooh”d and “aah”d depending on which spots I was hitting. I’d all but forgotten the amusing mommy comment from earlier when she suddenly did it again, saying, “That’s perfect, sweetie. I love that. Work mommy’s muscles *out*.”

So at this point the commentary garnered an eyebrow raise, and I casually asked her if she ever thought about the future. I tried to keep things as low key as I could but I essentially attempted to figure out if she wanted kids someday, or more appropriately, if she maybe already had kids and had been keeping this fact on the down low. It wouldn’t be the first time for me. She assured me she had no kids, but that someday she would like to have some. Before she wanted to be a lawyer, she told me she had considered going into a career that allowed her to work with kids, like a kindergarten teacher or managing a daycare or something of that sort. Okay, I accept this. She loves kids, I’d already seen that about her, so maybe she just has this little idiosyncrasy when she gets really relaxed. I can live with it.

I let it go, and promptly forget about it. It wasn’t weird enough to be an issue for me at the time. In the scheme of red flags I’d encountered with previous partners, self-referencing as “mommy” is so tame as to be virtually nothing.

Fast forward another week or so, and things are heating up. A lot. I had taken her to dinner and we watched a scary movie together. When the movie was over, she asked if we could watch something else to get all the “scares” out of her. She chose The Little Mermaid. I’m not one to hate on a Disney classic, so I buckle up for a magical adventure while also hoping for a magical *sexventure*.

Fortunately, I got my Disney Wish Upon a Star. Mommy Dearest spent the majority of our scary movie glued to me and she did not change her posture for the second film of the evening. Clinging to me quickly turned into cuddling which quickly turned into tender kissing which quickly turned into mad groping, fondling, and making out. As is the natural order of things.

Somewhere in the course of these events I get her shirt off and my shorts off. She’s straddling me, her long dark hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, and looking completely gorgeous. Her tits aren’t exceptionally large, maybe C cups, but sitting high in her bra they look amazing. She reached into the pocket of her jean shorts and pulled out a scrunchy for her hair. I distinctly remember thinking, “What year is this?” because no girls I hooked up with used those old-as-hell scrunchies to tie their hair back. But I also knew that hair tied back almost certainly equaled blowjob so I wasn’t about to say anything. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and smiled, looking down at me. She was pausing.

At the time, I assumed she was deciding whether or not she wanted to have sex with me. I am used to the pause and I know better than to say anything or push in any way. Better to let her make up her own mind. I just traced my hands up her sides slowly, letting her think.

In hindsight, I now realize she had probably already made up her mind about the sex. She was pausing to think about whether to introduce her *fetish* into the sex.

The fetish won out.

She leaned over on top of me and began kissing my neck. I was on board for this as my hands immediately grabbed onto her hips, causing her to grind against me. Her lips found my ear and she whispered, “Are you going to be a good boy for mommy tonight?”

I paused a second in my response, processing that ‘mommy’ thing again, but grinding hips are more than enough to make everything sexy so I managed to whisper back, “The best. Are you ready to get fucked, baby?”

I felt her tense up and I instantly sensed that I’d made a mistake. She pulled back slightly and cupped my cheek and, to her credit, was very upfront about what she wanted. “I don’t want bad language,” she said. “Please don’t say bad words right now. And don’t call me baby.”

I never know the full history of a partner before we hook up so for all I know these demands are coming from a background of something awful. I’m not going to make an issue out of it, so I immediately acquiesce and say, “Of course. No problem. Do you just want me to call you your name tonight?”

She hesitated again, and then, in a voice I will never forget because of how small and unsure it was, she leaned over me and asked, “Can you please call me mommy?”

I freeze up dead at this point. It’s obvious this isn’t some cute little idiosyncrasy. I recognize the voice of pleading shame in trying to get somebody to engage in a weird fetish when you don’t know if they are going to be into it. And as I said before, I am nothing if not accommodating of weird fetishes if they don’t seem like they are going to hurt anybody. This one seems harmless. But, at the same time, I feel painfully weird about it. Mamacita, hot mama…I can potentially get behind these names. Somehow they are less personal. But “mommy” immediately pulls out a feeling of almost discomfort that makes me want to refuse.

I write this feeling off because my rational side says that it’s completely silly. And I still maintain that it’s a bit silly. But I guess I can’t control how I feel about things because that unease never fully dissipated from that point forward.

With a slight chuckle I say, “Sure, mommy,” and she gives me a look that tells me she wants me to take this seriously. I’m still coming to terms with it so I opt to just remain silent and let her do the work for now.

She leans back into me and continues kissing my neck, grabbing my arms and pinning them above my head. This maneuver causes her to have to lean even further forward, putting her bra right in my face, which she then proceeds to push into me, saying, “Do you like mommy’s big breasts, baby?”

I am nothing if not pleased to have tits in my face, so naturally I mumble an affirmative around the bra smothering me slowly. She holds herself on me for a period of time and then lifts up, allowing me to breathe again. She kisses down my body, urging me to lift up my hips so she can slide my boxer briefs down my legs. She then smiles up at me and wraps a hand around my dick, slowly jerking me off in a smooth, methodical fashion. No joke: Weird mommy fetish aside, this woman clearly dumped all her skill points into hand jobs. I find a handy pretty boring most of the time, and rarely up to the level I can achieve under my own steam, but she elevated the whole thing into an art form. I was never totally sure what she was going to do, but she definitely knew exactly when to apply pressure in the right areas, how to move her thumb independently of the rest of her hand, and what pace to set in order to edge the absolute shit out of me. Mommy Dearest remains a hand job goddess the likes of which I have rarely encountered. I am not exaggerating when I say she had me literally writhing in less than ten minutes.

“Does mommy’s hand feel good?” she asked me sweetly, and I had to nod.

“Do you think about mommy jerking you off when you masturbate?” she asked, biting her lip.

I can’t say that I’d ever thought about her specifically giving me a hand job, but she had certainly crossed my mind during a few bouts of self pleasure so I grit my teeth around a “yes” response.

“Yes, who?” she asked, and started to slow down. Fuck. No. The betrayal I felt in that moment was palatable. I didn’t want to say it, but my mind was going to sink into an abyss of eternal torment if she stopped working me with her hand. I decided to try something I was more comfortable with.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, putting emphasis on the second word out of deference and respect, and turning on my southern accent while hoping that would be more than enough for her. It was not.

“Yes, who?” she asked again, and this time she took her hand off me entirely, just allowing a single finger to run around the head of my cock, tickling me from how sensitive I was.

I mentally kicked myself for being ridiculous. So it was weird – who gives a shit? Nothing is weird when you’re two seconds from blowing a load. I decided to just go with it.

“Yes, mommy,” I said, and I’m not going to lie, it felt incredibly strange coming out of my mouth. But it was the right response, because I heard her sudden intake of breath as she suddenly started climbing on top of me, straddling me and kissing me on my face.

“Mommy’s going to take such good care of you,” she whispered into my ear, and I could feel her guiding my cock inside her. She was tight. Very tight. I could actually feel her stretching around me, which had the bonus effect of rubbing all the right areas on me. She was barely grinding her hips against me but it felt like I was deep thrusting into her. Her pussy was like a vice. Beyond this, she didn’t have an exceptional sense of rhythm with her hips so I’m eternally grateful for how tightly she was able to grip me because otherwise I’m not sure I would have ever cum.

About halfway through her fucking me something in my brain switched on. This might be due to how close I was to cumming so many times, but suddenly I began really enjoying the bizarre mommy play. Every time she referred to herself as mommy was working for me, and I managed to utter it a few times as well without feeling quite as strange.

And I’m not kidding when I indicate she was into this fetish. She was *very* into this fetish. She could not go one single sentence of dirty talk without referring to herself as “mommy” in the third person. Some samples:

“Is this what you dream about? Do you dream about being inside your mommy like this?”

“Mommy loves it when you fill her up, baby. Mommy is so nice and warm and tight for you.”

“Will you cum in your mommy? Mommy’s so beautiful she’s going to make her baby cum so hard.”

“Mommy loves you. Mommy loves her baby. Mommy will take care of you if you just stay under me. Ooohh, so sweet, so helpless, such a good boy.”

I like dirty talk, but this was bizarre dirty talk by even my standards so the most I was ever able to muster was “Yes, mommy” and one time, “It feels so good, mommy.” I was getting into it, but not enough to abandon all my inhibitions about this fetish and beg her for “nap-naps” or whatever.

To her credit, it actually didn’t seem like she was very into the concept of adult babies. She just really liked the idea of herself as a sexual mommy. But perhaps a bit too much.

See, there is where the scenario grows just a shade dark. I was *close*. I mean, clenching the sheets, gritting my teeth, trying to let my mind escape my own body to try and prolong the orgasm close. I felt certain if a stiff breeze blew between our bodies I was going to unleash, and I told her so. She then did something terrifying.

She pulled off of me, reached between our bodies, and with a lightning-fast snap, she ripped my condom off. I was so stunned and worked up that I completely froze. I did not at all handle the situation. I just laid there, shocked, as she dropped back down on me and simply said, curtly, “It’s okay, I’m on the pill.”

“Whoa, wha-“ I managed to get out but then shut my mouth because now her every movement felt even *better* and I was petrified of cumming.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered to me. “Mommy wants you to fill her up. Cum inside mommy. Cum inside.”

And god help me, I did. But not with some earth-shattering roar or a masculine slap of this crazed woman’s ass…no, more like a frightened squeak, a pathetic noise that basically said, “I don’t think I should be doing this but I can’t help it, whoops.”

Silver lining – that orgasm blew my mind. Probably due to the adrenaline surge. But I came so hard I nearly passed out, and my partner spent the whole time slowly squeezing my cock with her pussy, just milking me for everything I was worth while she cooed, “Good boy…good boy…good boy…”

Hindsight? That’s obviously pretty hot. In the moment? I couldn’t decide if I should throw that woman off of me and run away, or fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion from that roller coaster ride of emotion.

I did neither, just laying still for an exceptionally long time, before I finally found my voice and asked, in the steadiest tone I could, “Are you really on the pill?”

I think she heard from my tone of voice how much I was trying to control my temperament, because she jumped off of me quickly and fished around in her overnight bag to pull them out, showing me very specifically where she had already taken the one for that day.

I breathed the biggest sigh of relief of my entire life, and then laid into her for how irresponsible that was and how upset it made me. She listened to me quietly and apologized, and then told me I was the first guy that actually did what *she* wanted to do for sex, and she got carried away because she loves the way it feels when a guy cums inside her.

“Look,” I said. “I know you want kids. And maybe someday I’d like kids, too. But not *now*. And, no offense, but I don’t know if it’ll be with you. This is literally the first time we’re having sex.”

We had a long conversation after that.

As a bonus fact, please engage your minds around this tidbit: The whole time this mommy circus was going on, The Little Mermaid was playing in the background. So try to imagine me focusing on a woman calling herself “mommy” in my ear, a fast-paced freakout over potentially getting a woman pregnant that I barely know, and Ariel going on romantic adventures with Prince Eric all across his beautiful beach kingdom.

Shit was bananas.

I’d be lying if I said I pursued a relationship with Mommy Dearest after that. If the mommy fetish was it, I might have invited her over a few times, but the gigantic breach of trust with the condom made me say in that exact moment, “No more. No way. Never again.”

So naturally I did hook up with her once more, which is a separate story I’ll tell in the future because it’s just as weird as this one.

The mommy fetish has rooted itself into my subconscious in a way that no other fetish I’ve encountered has managed to do, and I can only assume it’s because of the rich mesh of uncomfortableness, amazing sex, and outright fear that this one specific hook-up managed to yield. I can’t bring myself to say the word “mommy” in any sexual scenario, and sometimes, no lie, the thought of doing so is an immediate boner-killer. *BUT* Mommy Dearest was so fucking good at her fetish that now the idea of women engaging in that mommy play gets me hard as a fucking slab of granite, while also making me want to turn away from it. I write a lot of scripts for r/gonewildaudio and as such I do a lot of fetishy biz. The mommy stuff I write *often* has that unwilling aspect to it. I can’t escape that. I now love and hate it.

I have no idea what Mommy Dearest is up to anymore. I have not followed her in any form or fashion and she’s one of those rare folks that have shunned any and all social media so the odds of my ever running into her again are almost zero, I think. I suspect if she knew I had any of the above-mentioned feelings about our time together she would probably feel bad for confusing me, but also be turned on *because* she confused me, if that makes any sense.

Long story short, I’m pretty okay with not meeting her again.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/715iq2/mf_my_short_sexcapade_with_a_woman_who_has_a