PANDORA’S BOX GOT ME MOM’S BOX

PANDORA’S BOX GOT ME MOM’S BOX
By Oediplex



Onward and upward; on you know who (mom), up you know where, wish I were there!


I walked into my apartment and found my mother crying in my living room. Now, mom has a key to my place and sometimes she lets herself in to surprise her divorced son with a dinner, which I always was grateful for; though I would have eaten another sort of ‘dish’ of my mother’s if my fantasies ever came true.

So I wasn’t too surprised by her being there, but I was most concerned by her tears. I thought my father had upset her. I sat next to her on the arm of the easy-chair and went to hug her. But before my action was completed, mom slapped me, hard. Then burst into more weeping, with her hands in her face. I stood and put my hand to my face speechless. Mother mumbled something. “What?” I asked.

“How dare you! You have no right to have invaded my privacy that way! You should be ashamed of yourself! What do you have to say for yourself?”

I was now an adult and didn’t rise to the mother/son conflict of power and judgment; so I calmly said, “Mother, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

“You HACKED my computer, to looked into my personal files. Then you down-loaded them to your computer. Don’t deny it!”

“Mom, I didn’t hack your computer. What the hell are you talking about?” To maintain my ‘not your kid to boss around anymore’ position I added a laugh the end of my reply.

“I went on your computer to check on a recipe for the dinner I was going to cook for you, and I found a picture that I know you got from my computer. It was on a imaging program which you left open and when the screen-saver disappeared, there it was, there we were, I mean the image looks like . . . You know the one I mean! How could you do that to your own mother?”

Now, things started to be come clear and more confused. I knew the picture she was referring to. I had masturbated looking at it last night and must have forgotten to clear the file, not expecting company. But it was not something I had copped off my mom’s Dell PC, it was a drawing that I had discovered by myself, well, with a little help from Joss.

It was of us, that is the lady and kid looked like my mom and I, of say ten or so years ago, when I was in seventh grade and Mom was a housewife with an comfortable life. Indeed I knew the picture well. It was by my favorite erotic painter, Pandora’s Box. I have never seen more realistic illustrations (or should I better say il-lust-ration) of sex. But not just sex, mother/son sex. Youths and women; mothers with moist yearning pussies open to the touching tip of their son’s horny hard-on. Pandora always made me cum.

The picture my mother was in tears about; the one of us (almost), on the very verge of my virginity’s lost and her sanctity violated; was my favorite portrait by Pandora’s Box, the world’s finest incest artist. That painting, was the picture that she admitted was on her computer. So I knew what she had thought I had snitched off her computer files. What was confusing was why my mother would have a picture of a mom and son, who looked liked us, and about to commit incest, who were close to full penetration - which was but moments away in the drawing. Why would she have that same image?

Unless of course, she had interests the same as I, interest in incest, mother/son incest, fucking me??? incest. Too good to be true. I decided to try to defuse the anger before exploring this revelation to a possible new facet of our relationship. “Mom, you’re not the only one who knows about the beautiful il-lust-rations which Pandora’s Box produces. I found that picture on my own. It is pure coincidence.”

Mom looked up from her quiet weeping, anger flared anew. “There is nothing pure or coincidental about it. You can’t deny the stories I found under folder name of ‘Mother’s Lover’. Once I discovered your perversion, I used the find-file function. How do you explain all the stories by Oediplex? Is he so well known? He writes some good stories, God knows he’s made me cum, but he’s rare enough that it can’t be coincidence. You have every one of his stories as I do, even the funny poetry he writes. You had to take that from my PC!”

Now I laugh for real, (you know why). “Mom, his stories turn you on; make you cum? You have a picture of Pandora’s that shows us fucking . . .”

“Not us, close, but not us, we never did anything like that. But it is uncanny.”

“You read pornography by a guy that obviously is into mother/son incest, and admit to having an orgasm masturbating while reading it. Are you really bothered by the thought I got those files from you, which honestly I did not, and I will prove that to you; or are you more bothered by something else?”

“Like what,” Mom’s face trying to a simple sniffle.

“Like now you know my secret. My secret Oedipus Complex.”

“Oh God! Sweetie, I’ve known about your fetish for years. You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice all the Beeline and Greenleaf books about motherfucking, conveniently tucked under your mattress for masturbation? I changed your cum stained sheets several times a week, after all. That’s why it’s your fault.”

Now I was confused again.

Mom explained, seeing my expression. “It’s not coincidence that I came to enjoy mother/son incest stories too. I read the books, well . . . the dirty parts you had the pages marked for, and I got turned on by your thinking about screwing me. I got turned on then also, thinking about me fucking you, and I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about it ever since. So it’s your fault.”

She continued, “It’s not my finding out that my son has the hots for me that got me angry, because I’ve known since way back that the thought of doing your mother had energized your libido. Nor that you copied private stuff from my computer, though that was not nice. But what upsets me the most is that now you know my secret, from your sneaky snooping and underhanded theft of files. Now you know that your old lady is Jocasta to your Oedipus.”

“Oediplex.”

“Yes! What about him, huh? How do you explain that?!”

“I am Oediplex. Mother, I . .AM - Oediplex, I write those stories.”

“You can’t be! He’s good! You failed Senior English in High School, you can’t spell worth a damn. I’ve read Oediplex for years, he’s my favorite author [note to reader: don’t you cringe when authors do this?] just as Pandora’s Box is my favorite erotic artist. The two always make me peak every time. That would mean that I . . . - ”, her voice trailed off.

She drew out her conclusions in pronounced phrases. “That I have been turned-on to incest with my son . . . by reading my son’s pornography, . . . and then, I have been turned on by my son’s own pornography that he wrote . . . I have cum imagining have sex with my son while reading his fantasies of having sex with me.” She tood a deep breath. “So you see that you can’t be Oediplex. That would be too ironic, like some plot twist in one of your stories, I mean his stories.”

“I can prove it to you, and I have a surprise for my number one fan too!” I knew that my proof would give her a thrill. I hoped it would lead to me giving her a thrill in a very special way as well. “Here, let me show you,” I went and sat the computer, which was over on the other side of the room, “Look at this.” Mom rose and came over to look over my shoulder. I brought up the rough drafts of three of my major stories. Then I showed her the Hotmail email responses which had sent in (praise mostly, some complained about my grammar and punctuation, mother was right).

“O God! My son is Oediplex!” she looked a little shaky so I got up and drew mom over onto the desk chair. When she as seated, I turned her back to the monitor.

“And now for your surprise!” I clicked on the link to my website and went to the pictures section. There my collaborative story, il-lust-rated by scores of Pandora’s Box drawings and paintings was on view to be read. I clicked on the title page: ‘Slipping Into My Sleeping Mom’ by Oediplex, il-lust-rated by Pandora’s Box, layout by Joss; the words and art had the desired and expected effect on mom. She sat perfectly still, like she did every time something stunned her.

“You . . you know Pandora? Your working with Pandora’s Box? You and Pandora wrote a story together? Shit! Is that a hot ticket. That’s a ticket I gotta ride. I can wait to read this when I get home!”

“Why wait? Read it now and tell me what you think, mom.”

“No, silly, I want to read it in private so I can . . . enjoy . . . it . . . thoroughly. You know what I mean.” She actually blushed.

“So you can masturbate, I understand. But mom, think how much more you would ‘enjoy’ the story if I, your own son, played with you as you became aroused, and who better to masturbate you to an orgasm as you read a story by both your favorite erotic author and favorite erotic artist, about the subject of mother/son incest? Who better to get you off than the author himself? Why not have some fun right here, right now, with me?”

“God! No! Sweetie, I’d be much too embarrassed!”

“Well, I would never want you to do something you didn’t want to do. But how about just looking at the first few pages and telling me what you think.” {‘Tell me if it makes you hot mom’, I thought to myself.} “We put a lot of work into the project.”

“Okay, baby, that’s fine, you can show me the first pages.” I clicked the mouse. As she started to read I put my hands on her shoulders and started to rub slowly. Mom had one hand on the mouse and her left reached up and patted my hand. She flipped through the first to pages, then slowed as she got into the action. My hands slipped down her front and my fingers encompassed her breasts tenderly with a light stroking.

Mom made no objection to this and I could feel her nipples harden beneath the blouse and bra. I took the next step and began to unbutton her shirt. Her bosom heaved with a deep sigh as the parting of the material exposed mom’s lovely mammillae. I gave a cursory caress to her pillows through the white harness that contained them, then undid the front hook to release them. The pale pink skin was capped with strawberry nipples that pointed slightly upwards in their erect state.

Mother’s eyes were locked onto the pictures and words before her as she went from page to page, the words giving the feelings and emotions which the il-lust-rations depicted. She had to stop when I began to remove both upper garments from her, leaving her bare to the waist. She gazed into my eyes for a moment, then her lids closed and her head dropped back as she saw I was about to kiss her ruddy ripe points. I gave each a little suck and kiss to sensitize them even more.

She turned back to the naughty scene shining out of the screen. I knelt at her side and began to rub her legs, pushing her skirt high on her thighs. The pages progressed, as did my seduction, my hands went higher and rubbed her thighs, her legs opened another ten degrees. I felt her crotch through the thin cotton panties and confirmed she was seeping. I waited until she reached the part where the mother is discovered sleeping.

I undid the snap and zipper at the side of her skirt. She knew what I wanted and stood briefly as I exposed her beautiful derriere and curly brown pussy. She returned to the seat and began to read again as I removed her shoes and the clothes puddled at her feet. She made her legs at a right angle and scrunched forward giving me better access to her pleasure center. My playground was open.

My fingers rode the slide of her slick gash and dribbled her rosy nub. I explored the opening of the tunnel of love, it was awash in juice. Now she was where the youth in the story entered his mother’s hot hole. I gave the desk chair a slight turn so that I had an angle of attack at her crotch. Mr. Milf Muff Diver, I, as I put my tongue in her twat to taste my mother’s elixir. My lips nibbled the labia, my oral digit sought her entrance, my nose Eskimo’d her clit; baby needed a bib!

The furious assault with my mouth on mother’s muff made it happen. She orgasmed at the perfect point of cumming with the characters in the il-lust-rated story. The desk chair got soaked, as her nectar spilled out. Mom’s head was thrown all the way back and her beautiful breasts heaved in ragged gasps and her limbs went rigid as the ecstasy hit. Her thighs clamped on my ears, the hips thrusting, seeking to be filled. She shuddered, then let out a long moan.

With perspiration still on her face, I lead mom back to the easy chair in the corner. I sat her down and then stripped myself. I paused for a moment to let mother take in her grown son’s naked body, including ...


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