A Real Secret

When my mother tried to earn our meager bread somehow in the surrounding houses, I stayed at home and did what all boys do at that age. And I savored that as often as I could. Once she came home earlier than usual and caught me masturbating. Only when it was over and I was wiping myself to clean I looked up and realized that she had been standing under the door watching the whole time. I got a little embarrassed and red–faced despite our familiarity, though she nodded at me with a loving smile before heading into the kitchen.

Incessantly, the wheel of fate continued to turn. The further development of things was only possible because it was slow and gradual, and because my mother was fundamentally kind. She loved me more than anything in this world and could not deny me any wish. I suspected that my mother — who was in fact my grandmother — looked forward to the further development with mixed feelings and would have liked to put a stop to it if she had seen a way out of the dilemma; and her dilemma was all the more complicated because she had to visit Uncle Frieder again and again when we were out of money. Probably the fact that all the other family members had already died and I was the last one still alive was the reason for her loneliness, which made her love me so idolatrously. And even if she had been aware of the slippery slope we were sliding down, it would not have helped, because she loved me deeply and with all devotion. She would have done and has done everything for me. Only good that I was not so clearly aware of this, otherwise we would not have slid slowly, but in frantic speed into disaster.

We still slept naked, even though I was no longer a baby and because I had raved to her over and over again about how beautiful it was when our bare skin touched. She wasn't particularly convinced at first of that skin thing, but we had slept all the time naked since the beginning. She sometimes half–heartedly whispered that I was old enough to sleep alone after all, because by now she seemed embarrassed when we cuddled naked in bed. But she, too, had grown accustomed to the touch of our naked bodies. I was a dear little boy who led his mother step by step down a devilish path.

When I was younger, she simply held out her hand as a warm shell in which I tossed and turned and blissfully poured myself out. Sometimes I did try to press myself against her and my cock into her frizzy hair, but since I could squirt, she was on guard and careful that I did not turn around to face her. She pressed my back against her as much as I struggled. Because I was so hasty and demanding, she reached around my waist with a sigh and held my abdomen. That was absolutely fine with her, she said, and every night she held my hard–on firmly in her hand as I excitedly squirmed back and forth in the warm tunnel in her palm. When it squirted, she held her breath.

As I got older and masturbated quite often, she lay quietly next to me and tolerated my nightly shenanigans in the dark, with which I was also satisfied for a while. Initially she was a little bit surprised that I masturbated two or three times in a row, but she soon realized that I was very excited when I touched her. I felt her beautiful, round breasts more and more often and pressed my hard–on against her body, squeezing it everywhere and only giving a rest when she repelled me while I was poking her frizzy hair. Surrendered I rolled to the side, because after this excitement I wanted nothing rather than immediately jerk off again.

Once we both could not fall asleep, so she asked me about Willi and there I told her everything little by little. Maybe she liked me even better after this confession, because she caressed me shyly and carefully while I jerked off again. I knew now that I had to tell something, that I had to reveal something sexual to get more. But when I told, I couldn't jerk off at the same time, I said as much after a few days, begging her to jerk me off, to which she shook her head violently. She couldn't suppress her curiosity for long, though, because I stopped jerking off and didn't continue telling until she pressed me against her chest and reached down with her hand down to my cock. She slowly and deliberately slid the foreskin up and down as I whispered the secrets. As my confession neared its end and I stopped, she waited, perplexed. I whispered impatiently that she must continue, but she shook her head at first. Only after an infinitely long time did she give in to my begging, sighed deeply and shook the cock very quickly from the wrist that it only splashed magnificently! Then she immediately turned to the wall as if she was ashamed. But from now on I wanted nothing else and tried to tell her something as often as something happened or I invented something.

Slowly her shyness faded, at least a little. My God, was she good at it! I became almost addicted to getting the cock shaken out of her wrist, to get shaken! Unfortunately, I too often lacked the narrative material, and once, when I was too impatient, she sat up cross–legged and pulled me energetically to her, then she held her hand over it so that I did not squirt all over. Anyway, I immediately shared the stories about Hildegard, Willi and Anni into small portions, so that she did it to me quite often. That all this had to remain a secret, I instinctively suspected, because she never talked about these things during the day.

Since the summer at Willi's, at the latest, I looked at her with different eyes. As curiously as I watched her, however, I never found out when she did it either and why she hid it so carefully from me. I often thought of Anni or Hildegard, but my mother seemed different from them, was busy and industrious during the day, but quiet and secretive at night; but I could only imagine quite well in my fantasies that she did it. I really wanted to watch her do it, but at night, after she had masturbated me two or three times properly, I regularly slept away.

As time passed, I crawled onto her belly, nestled my feverish face on her neck, and placed my hands delicately on her large breasts, her wonderful breasts, feeling pleasurable shivers as I touched her wet slit with my cock. She rocked me back and forth, humming softly, my little one pressed against her thigh, pushing up into her frizzy hair, heart pounding. I lay on top of her longer and longer, crawling back and forth like a little seal baby on its mommy and stroking her, feeling her body become softer and softer. As long as it went she tolerated me on her belly and allowed me to caress her breasts and suck her nipples, that my little hard–on pressed into her pubic hair and also touched her slit. Only I was not allowed to become overconfident and advance too far.

But of course I tried again and again, because I only needed to cuddle her long enough and knead her nipples, then she became soft and pliable, but she actually didn't like it at all that I penetrated deeper. But I did. As I slid deeper into her vagina, she held me for a few moments and whispered that we weren't supposed to do that, that fucking was a great sin and gently but forcefully pushed me back. I mewled defiantly that we didn't go to church at all and therefore the sin didn't apply to us, but still she insisted that we weren't allowed to do that, the fucking (I didn't like that word, because Willi and Anni said screwing or hagging, but never fuck, because we thought it was a mean word).

I feared the darkness, but it was also my ally. More and more often the baby seal lay down on its mama's belly and crawled up and down. More and more often she gave up the defense, because she also liked this crawling around very much, but especially when the seal baby gently caressed and sucked her nipples. When I was gentle and careful she became very soft and tilted her thighs relaxed to the side. Sometimes I managed to push the cock a very tiny bit into the vagina, but only a very tiny bit. The subsequent careful wiggling around excited me immensely, but she was usually on guard and took him out before he could squirt; rubbed him quickly out of the wrist and muttered that we must not fuck each other.

Once, as we cuddled for quite a long time, she lay there quite relaxed, enjoying me teasing her nipples with my fingertips, and she became increasingly softer when I sucked the teats. She spread her legs wide and seemed to be just waiting for it. Still, she gave a startled sigh when I tentatively pushed in a tiny bit further than usual. She held me tightly for a few moments while I was inside her, heart pounding, and whispered reproachfully that I was not allowed to fuck her. Carefully she pushed me back a little, but I persisted and she was also already very soft and yielding, so I continued to grind around in the vaginal entrance. She mewed and growled like a big cuddly bear and squirmed, apparently because it was so fine for her too. I whispered how much I needed it now and now she reached down and rubbed me even though half of my cock was still in her hole. Only when she realized that it was about to come, she pulled it all the way out and let it squirt onto her thigh.

I whispered in her ear how nice that had been. She smiled and stroked my hair, then whispered what a tease I was, and that yes, it was almost like fucking, but when I said that, however, fucking was quite different I felt her laugh softly. So it happened that from now on we always did it that way. She liked the cuddling and grinding very much, but mostly she kept me at a distance and made sure that I did not penetrate too deeply. Mostly before she masturbated me, she pushed me into a kneeling position and made it so that I would I splashed on the sheet. Sometimes it happened that she became very soft and yielding and growled with pleasure like a humming bear, mostly because I worked on her nipples. Then she spread her legs as wide as never before, wiggled her ass with pleasure and rubbed my cock against her pubic. I loved this intense feeling when she rubbed her labia with the tip of my cock, which gave her obvious pleasure, or brushed the cleft with the glans for minutes before she remembered me and quickly masturbated me. Sometimes she was so amused that after masturbating she continued to brush the clit with her cock, even though he was already squirting. Or she was so amused, that she didn't seem to notice that it was already squirting a bit before she had it out. I was surprised that she didn't always notice, because she usually pressed the tip of the glans between the labia only until it squirted, and had an almost unmistakable feeling for how long she could rub and when it would squirt. She always pulled it out only at the last moment out, so that it squirted only in the pubic hair or outside on the gap. But I often had squirted long before that.

Before I fell asleep from fatigue, I usually put one hand awkwardly around her body and listened to her for a long time. Now, when I dozed off, I imagined, half asleep, that she was moving and wiggling violently, like Hildegard or Anni, and that she was doing it now. But I always fell asleep, so I didn't find out if it was just in my imagination or if it was actually happening.

During the day we never talked about these things, because I had learned very well that it was all taboo.