14 comments/ 127287 views/ 91 favorites Mom is an Incestuous Slut Ch. 01 By: SusanJillParker There are no underage characters in this story. All characters portrayed in this story are over the age of 18-year-old and are consenting adults. * Totally honest, open, and naked, Susan tells all about her past with her mother and brothers. Knowing that I had to write this story for myself but being that this is Literotica, the site of the erotic and pornographic story, I took a chance in writing this as a non-erotic story with an incestuous title. I don't write very many non-erotic stories and especially not a non-erotic incestuous story. Yet, when I do write a non-erotic story, my stories manage to make the list of the most read Non-Erotic stories. I must be doing something right, even if this is just a non-erotic story. No doubt, had I written this story as an incest story, I would have received tens of thousands of hits and hundreds of votes and e-mails. Yet, rather than posting this story for my fans, this was a story that I needed to write for myself. Writing this non-erotic story was my way of alleviating my mind of all these disturbing incestuous, sexual thoughts that I've had for years. I know that not many readers will take the time to read a non-erotic story but I didn't care. If only for the sanity and salvation of myself and if nothing more than my peace of mind, hoping to clear my consciousness of all things incestuous, this story needed to be written. I needed to purge myself of incest so that I could be true to myself and not hide behind the facade that I'm just a writer of erotica and not a participant, a player, and survivor of incest. Knowing full well that no one wants to read a non-erotic story, a story that's devoid of sex, a story that's filled with narrative, and a story without character development, tension, plot, dialogue, description, and imagery, I wrote the story anyway. For a story to be widely read on Literotica, the story must be either pornographic or erotica in theme and must have asses, tits, pussies and cocks. Taking the gamble that my story would either be well received or totally ignored, I risked losing some of my fans by writing this non-erotic story. Just as a comedian is only as good as his last joke, sadly, I'm only as good as my last story. Actually, being that I just wrote asses, tits, pussies, and cocks twice within the story, perhaps this story isn't so non-erotic after all. Especially since this is such a disturbing story for me to write, not sharing so many of the details of my life with anyone before, I've always tried to remain a mystery and an enigma. I could have just written the story and then ripped it to shreds after reading it without posting it to Literotica. Perhaps that would have served the same purpose in cleansing my troubled mind. Perhaps in hindsight, after posting it, I may have wished I had destroyed the story instead of posting it to Literotica. Without doubt, very easily and with little effort, I could have written this as an incest story. Being that this is actually an incestuous story, if I were to write it in that way, I may write it as such later. Yet, before writing the incestuous part of the story, I needed to flush out the back story and get that off of my chest first. If there was to be a chapter two and an incestuous chapter three, I needed to show the reader what happened to have created such a need in me to write chapter one as non-erotic story. Otherwise too disturbing for me to write, by writing this as a non-erotic story first before throwing myself into the incestuous part of the story, I needed to distance myself enough from the back story to write the real story. Relieving the balled up anxiety and knotted up consternation from my mind, I needed to remove the pent up incestuous thoughts and sexual frustration that personally relate to myself before I could write this story as the mother and her four sons incest story that it is. Being that I was too much part of this story and still having so much guilt and shame, I thought if I wrote the first part of this longer story as a non-erotic story that I'd be safe from being fully immersed in the incestuous part of the story. It made sense to me when I was writing this story at the time. A mother and her four sons, every incest lover's dream story, if I didn't witness the way my mother inappropriately acted around my four brothers with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed my whore of a mother invited her four sons into her bed to have sex. Granted at the time of their incestuous affair, a sexual affair that lasted for nearly twenty years, with my four brothers all over the age of 18-years-old, they were all consenting adult. Still not one of them had the decency to say no to having incestuous sex, not my mother and not any of my brothers. Not able to wrap my mind around how something so perversely forbidden could happen, that was their mother that they were sleeping with and not some prostitute they found on the street. Not surprisingly, yet not seeing it when it's blatantly pranced around in front of my face, I found out later that she was a prostitute. My mother the whore, was a hooker. Nonetheless, when my life was turned so upside down with my four, horny brothers having sex with my mother, I knew that I'd be next on their list. With all the inappropriate feels, touches, gropes, and incestuous, sexual suggestions already there daily, I had to leave. Easier said than done and with the lack of money being a continuing thread in my life, before I was immersed in their incestuous debauchery and forced to do what my uncle and cousin forced me to do to them when I was an 18-year-old virgin, I had to find a way to leave them behind. I needed to get the Hell away from all of them as fast as I could. Instead of wondering and speculating why I am the way that I am, even though I now know all that happened to me, it's still disturbingly difficult for me to believe that, born from incest, incest is my life and that incest is my story. Something I've only seen and heard in horror on Jerry Springer, had I not lived through it, experienced it, and survived it myself, I never would have believed such a story if someone else told this story, my story, to me. I would have thought they were lying. I would have thought they were making it all up. At the very least, peppering their story with exaggeration to spice up their tall tale, I would have thought that they were embellishing their incestuous story by the use of liberal doses of creative autobiography. Especially if it was a man telling me this story, I would have thought that this story was their sexual fantasy and not something that really happened to them. Before I even realized that this was my story, I never would have believed that this was my story but it was. I lived it, I survived it, and now I write it here for you. Now that I know that incest is so widespread, I wonder what the real statistics of incestuous sex are. Does anyone know? Being that so many readers of incest on Literotica are incest experts, can anyone hazard a guess? Unless there was an official incest survey taken, how would we know? Besides, afraid they'd be exposed as incest perverts, how many would answer such a survey on incest? Is incestuous sex something that we tabulate or is incestuous sex something that we continue to sweep beneath the carpet? Seriously, how many mothers actually have had sex with their sons? How many fathers have had sex with their daughters? How many brothers have taken advantage of their sisters? How many sisters have seduced their brothers? Being that they're once removed, is having sex with aunts or uncles not as frowned upon as having sex with mothers or fathers? Tell me because I need to know why my mother had sex with her four sons. What about cousins? In the way they've always been with royalty, are cousins incestuous fair game? Surely, having sex with your cousin isn't as incestuously depraved as having sex with your brother or sister. Right? Just as there are plenty of royalty throughout history who have had sex with their mothers, sisters, and daughters, there are plenty of Kings and Emperors who have not only had sex with their cousins but also who have married them too. Just between me and you, just for giggle sake, let's see a show of hands. C'mon, don't be shy. No one will ever know that you've dipped your toe, immersed your foot, or dove in the deep end of the incest pool. How many of you have had sex with your mothers? How many of you have had sex with your fathers? How many of you have had sex with your sisters? How many of you have had sex with your brothers? How many of you have had sex with your aunts, your uncles, and/or your cousins? Now for those of you who haven't had incestuous sex, just because you don't actually do it doesn't mean that you're innocent of having incestuous thoughts and without sin. How many of you fantasize over having incestuous sex while masturbating over the thought of seeing your mother, your father, your sister, your brother, your aunt, your uncle, or your cousin naked? Wow! There's quite a lot of hands and I see my mother right there in the front row sitting in the middle of my four brothers. Look at her. She's such an incestuous slut and she doesn't even care if everyone knows that she's sleeping with her sons. What about having sex with your grandmother? With women getting pregnant earlier and older people staying healthy and in good shape longer, there's lots of hot grandmothers and hot grandfathers out there. Having sex with your grandmother is a real definition of having sex with a cougar. What about having sex with your grandfather? Now, there's the real definition of having sex with a dirty, old man. Be honest, if you could, if you were invited to their bed, especially if they promised to remember you in their will, would you have sex with your grandmother or grandfather? Then, in addition to all those who are related to us by blood, there are all of those non-incestuous but forbidden sexual relationships of mothers, father-in-laws, brothers-in-laws, and sisters-in-laws. Being that they're not blood related, having sex with in-laws is not really considered incest, is it? That's more taboo and forbidden sex than it is considered incestuous sex. Having sex with your in-laws is a walk in the park compared to having sex with your mother, father, sister, and/or brother. After having sex with your blood relatives, I imagine that anything goes, even participating in the swinging lifestyle. Moreover, normally with the son seducing his mother, how many lonely, sexually depraved mothers actually seduce their sons? Being that this is Literotica, the home of the incestuous, sexual fantasy, how many stories are fact rather than fiction? Based on fact instead of fiction, how many stories are truer than not? Does it all start out with an innocent foot massage, a back rub, or accidentally seeing Mommy or Daddy naked? Maybe all it takes for a son to get his mother incestuously, sexually aroused is flashing her his cock. Maybe all it takes for a daughter to get her father incestuously, sexually aroused is to flash him her tits. Maybe all it takes for a son to want to bed his mother is to see an up skirt of her panty, an up nightgown view of her pussy, a down blouse of her bra, or a down nightgown view of her breast. Maybe all it takes for a daughter to bed her father is to see his engorged prick. We'll never know what goes on behind closed, bedroom doors. Other than what I've read about the Sophocles' Oedipus Rex play in literature and Sigmund Freud's Oedipus complex in psychology, how many sons lusts over their mothers and how many mothers long to be sexually intimate with their sons? If what we believe is what we read on Literotica, then every son wants to make love to his mother and every mother wants to suck and fuck her son. Yet, in the real world, do all men lust over their mothers? If their mothers offered to have sex with them, is there a son out there who would not have sex with his mother? Maybe if your mother was fat and ugly, you'd turn her down. Yet, what if your mom was a real MILF, would you, could you, say no to her? Just imagine all the fun you could have without even leaving home. For those of you who shake their heads and remain steadfast that you'd never have sex with your mothers, what if you and your mother were both lonely, needy, and horny? What if you were trapped in a cabin with your mother after an avalanche buried your only way out? Imagine your clothes are soaking wet from unsuccessfully trying to dig your way out through the snow and you had to remove your clothes. There you are mother and son both naked. To keep warm, you had to sleep together while cuddling up against one another and holding one another. Answer me honestly, would you do more than just sleep together? With your cock growing hard against her ass or her soft belly, would you comfort your mother while feeling her ass, fondling her big tits, fingering her nipples, and rubbing her clit before fingering her pussy? Being that she was out of cigarettes, would she find solace in sucking your cock? What if you both thought you were going to die and this was your last night on Earth? Would you want your last memory of your mother to be of you making love to her and/or of her sucking you? Yet, now that I know that I'm a product of incestuous sex, I wonder if what happened to me, happened to someone else too. Being that incestuous sex is all around us and being that mother and son incest stories are so very popular on Literotica, the phenomena of incest makes me wonder how many others share my sad story. Moreover, it makes me wonder how someone else deals with such a true and tragic tale as I've had to endure as part of my reality. Even after years of therapy, unable to break the incestuous the ties that bind me, here I am writing erotica on a porn board. Go figure. Not really expecting an answer, if only for therapeutic reasons that I inquire, I still must pose the questions. Will I ever be normal, whatever normal is? Will I ever be sane, not that I'm certifiably crazy but I've had my moments of rage and depression? Will I ever live a well adjusted life where I no longer have lustful, sexual thoughts about men who are my blood relatives? Or will I always be tortured by sexual perversity by all that I want to do whenever I see a sexy man who's a blood relative? Compelled to write incestuous erotica and sexual stories of incest on Literotica, I don't think that I can stop allowing my sexual fantasies to get the better of me. Is writing erotica the byproduct of the incest that I was forced to experience and thought that I survived? Will I always be plagued with the side effects and by the perverse ramifications of being so incestuously abused and sexual used in the way that I was by my uncle, my cousin, and my brothers? Not an easy story to write, but therapeutic for me to write it, it's still much easier for me to write this as a non-erotic story while pretending that it's a work of fiction than it is to write it as a true, non-fictional account of my life. While writing this story, with misery loving company, it helps when I'm able to pretend that all of what happened to me happened to someone else too. When I imagine others in my same, sad situation, I feel better. Moreover, I can deal better with my reality if I pretend that what happened to me was all fiction and never really happened to me at all. Yet, having had to live through it, I never realized how horrible my life was until now that I'm away from my mother and brothers and am writing about it. Able to look back at my life with calm detachment while writing about my life, I'm more able to understand why I am the way that I am. Yet, I can't help but wonder how different my life would have been had I been put up for adoption instead of having to live with such a dysfunctional, incestuous family. Glad that I wasn't aborted, yet maybe had I been adopted, I would have been deemed normal. I don't know. How normal can I expect to be when my mother was a prostitute, when my four brothers all had incestuous sex with my mother, and one of my brothers was my father? There I wrote it. It's out there now for public consumption. What do you think of that? What do you think of me now? Fuck up, huh? Now we all know why I'm so depressed. Now we all know why I'm so deemed and so doomed to write incestuous erotic. More fact than fiction, I was born to write incest stories. Maybe if someone else has a similar background, they can help me to deal with mine. Are you a product of incest too? Do you still experience the emotional side effects from what happened to you from the aftermath of an incestuous relationship? That's what I am, an aftermath. I'm collateral damage. I'm a total accident of birth. I'm someone that neither my father nor mother wanted. I'm a product of incestuous lust. Truly glad that I wasn't aborted, I'm just glad that I wasn't born with four arms, three legs, and two heads. Maybe had I been deemed normal, whatever normal is, and not diagnosed with post traumatic stress from being incestuously abused and sexually used by my uncle, my cousin, and by my brothers too, when I was an impressionable, 18-year-old virgin, I never would have written all that I must write. Too busy living a quiet life in suburbia, maybe I would have been married with children and happy living a life as a soccer mom and driving my children in a minivan. Oblivious to incest and all things incestuous, maybe I would have read this story with shocked disbelief that something like this really happens in middleclass America and in not some trailer park in West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee or in a tent in the middle of the desert in Afghanistan. Maybe that if I was normal and living in suburbia, I never would have even been interested enough to read such a disturbing, incestuous story as a mother having sex with her four sons. Yet, being that all of this happened more than forty years ago in Boston, Massachusetts, before I was born, instead of in West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, or Afghanistan here I am as proof positive that incest is alive, well, and thriving in America. The perfect incestuous storm, conceived from my brothers' lust for my mother and my mother's perverse depravity for her four sons, just as they can't change what happened that fateful night, I can't either. Maybe they were snowed in after an avalanche. Maybe they all thought they were going to die and needed to cuddle. For whatever their reasons why my mother felt the perverse need to have sex with her four sons and my brothers took their incestuous turn having gangbanged sex with my mother, one of them impregnated her with me. Understanding now that I'm nothing more than a victim, we all have had to make the best of an incestuous situation. Only, as if it's all my fault, the black sheep of the family, I'm the outcast. With my brothers only acknowledging one another, my brothers have nothing to do with me in the way that I have nothing to do with my mother. With no one talking to one another, we are the perfect dysfunctional family. Never having had a DNA test, none of them know who my father is. Perhaps their guilt and shame is lessened by not knowing. Maybe I should have written this story as an incest story instead of a non-erotic one. Shocked and surprised the first time that it happened, every time I post an incest story, I receive tens of thousands of hits to my story, more hits than any other category of story that I write on Literotica. Every time I post an incestuous story, especially a mother and son incestuous story, for the first two days that my story appears on the new story board, I receive 300-500 e-mails. Being that my fans took the time to write me, I feel compelled to answer them all and I do, so long as their e-mails aren't disrespectful, disgusting, nasty, and attached to a photo of their cock. Sometimes, I spend as much time answering e-mails as I do writing stories but it's satisfying to read the feedback and it's therapeutic for me to read their stories of incest too. Mom is an Incestuous Slut Ch. 01 Over and again, my fans of incestuous erotica tell me their sad stories of how they were incestuously used and sexually abused too. Traumatized and stigmatized by the experience, they tell me that they too were so incestuously used and sexually abused by their mother, their father, their sister, their brother, their cousin, their uncle, their aunt, their grandmother, and/or their grandfather. They tell me that what happened to them left an indelible mark on their personalities and that they'll never been the same person they were before having the incestuous sexual experience. As survivors of incest and as if we're all members of an incest survivor club, is incest something we're all doomed to repeat? Vicariously reading while being stuck in the Twilight Zone and sexually fantasizing about having sex with our blood relatives, are those who were victims of incest drawn to read incestuous erotica in the way that I'm doomed to write incestuous erotica? Thinking that I understood why I am who I am, incest is something I can't always compute. I don't fully understand why I have the need and the urge to write such incestuous mother and son erotica. Is it because of my mother having sex with my brothers that I feel so compelled to write and rewrite the mother and son incestuous experiences as stories that never end? Being that I'm one of my brother's daughters, is incest in my DNA? Is incest my Hell on Earth and I'm doom to repeat it by writing it? Not having a son to lust over, I don't even have any children. I wanted children but my ex didn't. He had a vasectomy without telling me. How about that? Can you imagine doing that to your wife while knowing that she wants a child? Yet, there was an ulterior motive to him having a vasectomy. Instead of having children and raising a family, he pressured me to participate in the swinging lifestyle. Then, suddenly jealously possessive over me and who I slept with, when I received more attention from men than he received from women, he was done swinging. We spent two years trying to have a child before he confessed and told me that he had a vasectomy. I was devastated. I was done with him. Our marriage was over. Notwithstanding my longstanding puzzled confusion, my having such incestuous, sexual thoughts all makes sense to me now. Those tortured people who write me that they're incest survivors too, just as I was, were bitten by a vampire too. Controlled by incest, we're all incestuous zombies. Those of us who have been so incestuously abused and sexually used, those of us who think that we've survived the incestuous, sexual abuse, think that they're healed but we're not. We're not healed. We're broken. We're not normal. We're abnormal. We're all twisted in such a way that we continue to embrace incest in our lives by reading it and, in my case, by writing it. Instead of recoiling from incest and rejecting such perversely sexual thoughts, after doing the dirty deeds we were forced to do, incestuous sex is as normal to us in the way that incestuous sex is as abnormal to those who have escaped being forced and/or coerced to have sex with a blood relative. God help us because only he can. Unfortunately, unable to stop from reading incestuous stories, those of us who have had incestuous sex are all doomed to relive the experience again through the eyes of someone else while reading their incestuous stories. As if waiting to die on death row, we're all waiting to read our next, best incestuous story or, in my case, to write my next, best incestuous story. Condemned to Hell by our attraction to incest and to all things that are incestuous, newly deemed disciples of the Devil, when once we were all so innocent, we're all playing with fire in the Devil's playground now. Just as the women think about sleeping with their sons, brothers, fathers, uncles, cousins, and grandfathers, the men fantasize of bedding their daughters, sisters, mothers, aunts, cousins, and grandmothers. Where does it end? Is it all an unending and an unbreakable incestuous cycle of abuse. So many fans have asked me why I write incestuous erotica and why I write so many mother and son stories. Thinking that I knew the reason and had the answer, I smugly told them all the same thing. I told them to read my story, Why I Write Incestuous Erotica. I told them that just as they were, I was bitten by a vampire too. I always believed the answers were there in that incestuously disturbing story but they're not. Damaged long before that even happened to me with my uncle and cousin incestuously abusing me and sexually using me and my brothers continuing where my uncle and cousin left off, I was wrong. I always thought the reason why I write incestuous erotica was because, bitten by a vampire, my uncle and cousin incestuously abused me and sexually used me. After having been forced to have sex with my uncle and cousin, I thought the reason why I'm so twisted today is because my brothers had their wicked way with my naked body. Fucking me and forcing me to suck them, six men who were supposed to love, honor, and protect me, I thought they all were the reason why I write incestuous erotica today but I was wrong. After thinking long and hard about all that happened to me so long ago, I think the reason why I write incestuous erotica and especially mother and son incest stories stems from growing up with my whore of a mother and my perversely perverted four, much older brothers. An innocent victim, I was forced to concede that I'm a product of my environment. My family life is what has shaped and molded me. My prostitute of a mother and perverted brothers are the reason why I'm the woman I am today. To be continued... Mom is an Incestuous Slut Ch. 02 There are no underage characters in this story. All characters portrayed in this story are over the age of 18-year-old and are consenting adults. * A product of incest, Susan now knows why she is the way that she is. Easier to blame myself than to blame someone else, sadly confused, deeply troubled, and blaming my desperate situation on myself, I always wondered why my life is such shit and why I'm the way that I am. Unemployed, homeless, and broke, I'm unable to maintain a relationship with a man. As with most women, a man would be my saving grace by putting a roof over my head and paying for all the other necessities of life, so long as I gave him a warm meal, a clean house, and a hot bed. Don't get me wrong. I love men and I'm not lesbian but sometimes antagonistic, I'm too combative and too angry in the way that Susan is, my character is my story the Bag Lady and the Retired Marine. I was much like Rachel in my story, Born Beautiful, Rachel's Story, when I was her age, 19-years-old. Being that I can only write what I know, sharing more than a piece of me, my characters are all about me. For sure, I'm not the helplessly submissive, busty, pretty, blue-eyed blonde that most men think that I am on the surface and want. Having survived living on the streets, I'm no Angel. Yet, having lived my life caring for myself and now deeming myself as an equal, I don't want a man who will belittle me and not appreciate me. Having been held down and back for so long by men, now that I know that I'm able to take care of myself, I resent a man bossing me around and telling me what to do, especially when I have a mind of my own and can make my own decisions for myself. Moreover, in many regards, other than being a city girl instead of a country girl, especially in physical appearance and abilities, I'm a modern day version of Elly Mae Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies fame. Feeling that I'm just as good if not better than any man, I'm smarter than most of the men who've been attracted to me and who I've ended up dating. I'm not sure what dating a dumber man and a dumber man being attracted to me says about me and about them but it suggests enough for me to question why I don't have a man in my life. Maybe if I played more the role of the cutesy dimwitted, big breasted blonde, I'd have men fawning all over me but, having more self-respect than that, I don't and I won't. I don't want that type of shallow man who'd fall for me just because I'm blonde, busty, and beautiful. I'd rather have a man who appreciates me for the woman that I am inside instead of only seeing me from the outside. As does everything else, I suspect my personal problems with men all stem from growing up without a father, from not having much of a relationship with my mother, and from being alienated from my brothers. I suspect my personal problems with men all stem from being raped not once but numerous times, first by my uncle, then by my cousins, then by my brothers, and last by my mother's boyfriends. I probably would have had a better life had I been left on a doorstep and raised as an orphan. It would have been nice if a rich family had adopted me and given me a privileged life of excesses. It would have been nice to have grown up in a loving family instead of in a dysfunctional one. It would have been nice, an understatement, not to have been incestuously abused and sexually used in my life over and again. When I do have any kind of relationship with my mother, it's always a love/hate relationship. Always butting heads with what each of us wants getting in the way, instead of one relenting to the will of the other, we're always at one another. Every conversation turns into a confrontation and an argument. Just by the look on her face, as if my physical presence is her constant reminder that I'm the accidental and frightful product of her giving birth to me in an incestuous relationship, she more hates me than loves me. Truth be told, I never got along with my mother. We were never close in the way that mothers and daughters should be with a mother buying her daughter pretty dresses and doing her hair and a daughter asking her mother questions and sharing secrets. When growing up, I never even felt comfortable enough to dress up in my mother's clothes. Not wanting to emulate her, I didn't want to dress in the way my mother dressed with much of her body exposed. In the way that I perceived her, cold, distant, selfish, and self-centered, I didn't want to be anything like my mother and now, the self-righteous one, here I am alone while she's living with yet another man. Always too sparkly in her low cut tops and too short skirts, and always too phony in her bubbly personality, especially whenever men were around, there was no room in my mother's mirror than that of her own self image. She was always acting for the sake of men's sexual attention. With her shine overpowering me, her bright light only glowed enough to encompass herself. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she never saw me and/or acknowledged my presence standing there in the background watching her get dressed to go out yet again. She was always going out on a date with yet another man. There was always some party with a man taking her there and another man bringing her home. Too popular, she had so many boyfriends and too many boyfriends to count. When I lived with her before I was married, we argued every day. An understatement, she liked men better than she did me. Her life was all about men and she loved my ex-husband which now makes me wonder if they ever had sex. If she had sex with her own sons, why wouldn't she have sex with her son? Spraying hairspray and perfume, she was always primping in front of the bathroom mirror for a date. If she spent as much time on cleaning the house, cooking, and taking care of her five children as she did on her hair, nails, and shopping for clothes, I wouldn't be writing this story today. Always too busy with trying to get ready to go out and too late and too tired when she returned home to interact with any of us, as if she didn't even have children and a daughter, she preferred having casual, albeit sexual relationships with her many boyfriends instead of having a mother/daughter relationship with me. Never without a man in her bed and without a drink in her hand, she always had a man sniffing around her. She was such a sexual flirt and tease. If my mother could have devised a way to put a pole in her bedroom, she would have but the ceiling was too low. I could see my mother stripping off her clothes while dancing to music and doing stretching, spread legged, aerobic, acrobatics with the help of a pole. Like mother like daughter, she's always been physically strong and coordinated. My mother's behavior got worse once my brothers left. With just me there, she started bringing her work home with her. Every time I came home from college or, later, from work, there'd be another new man in her bed and they'd both be drunk and naked. Humping, banging, fucking, sucking, and screaming with orgasms as is they were alone and I wasn't even there, they'd be having sex in her room while I tried to study and sleep behind my locked bedroom door. If my brothers were there, they never would have allowed her to bring her men in the house never mind to have sex with them in front of me. My only way to keep myself safe, I had to keep my bedroom door closed and locked, otherwise her men would try to get in bed with me. With neither of them having any decency and shame, I was embarrassed enough for the both of them. Even when I was older, 18-years-old, forget about inviting one of my friends for a sleepover, never could I invite my friends to my house for fear that my Mom would be entertaining one of her many boyfriends and publically having sex. Because her many boyfriends were so openly and brazenly sexual with my mother, they thought it was okay for them to be naked around me too. After having sex with my mother and with her still sleeping or drunk in bed, I'd be getting ready for work in the bathroom or having my breakfast in the kitchen before heading off to work. When her bedroom door finally opened, thinking that it was my Mom finally emerging from her room alone, it was the man who spent the night. After my brothers left for Ohio and Michigan to work out of state at one of the automotive plants, we always had a man in my house but none of them was my father. All of them were my mother's one night stands. Strange men would routinely walk around my house naked with their dangling or hardened cocks. Not wanting to be raped by them or forced to service them while on my knees, I'd hide in my room behind my locked bedroom door until they left. As if I was living in a whorehouse, because of my mother, I can't tell you how many men's cocks I've seen, quite a lot, but much less than my mother has had in her mouth and pussy, I'm sure. Like mother like daughter, apparently most men thought I was part of the dirty, sexual deal too of mother and daughter sex but I wasn't. Just as I was no one's fool, I was nobody's bitch. In the way that Elly Mae Clampett would, I cold cocked more than one drunken man for dare groping me and trying to have his wicked way with me. Catching me by surprised outside of my locked bedroom door, more than one man tried kissing me while pushing me up against the wall and holding my hand on his cock. While reaching up my short skirt between my legs to cup my pussy through my panty, he'd feel my ass or stick his hand down my top to cup my breasts and finger my nipples inside my bra while I struggled to get away. Maybe because I was genetically predisposed to do so, or maybe from learned behavior from watching my mother's interaction with men, or maybe because I envied my mother and was jealous of the attention she received from so many men, I allowed the cuter men to have more of a feel of my body. As my way to tease them and as my way to emerge from an ignored moth to a beautiful butterfly, I allowed the sexier men to keep my hand in contact with their cocks longer. Allowing them to wrap my fingers around their stiff pricks and stroke them by moving their hand with mine, with the shapely body that I had, I realized early the sexual power that I possessed over men. Finally, I was getting something out of my mother being a whore too. Finally, I was having some fun too. Only fearing that I was becoming just like my mother, I didn't want to be like her. Moreover, fearing that I was going too far and that one of these men would rape me and/or force me to suck them, I was always careful and on guard. Sometimes, when my mother was having sex, especially in the way that I was so sexually taken advantage of and abused by some of her boyfriends, I sometimes felt that I was having sex too. Sometimes wishing it was me sucking and fucking, more than once I masturbated to their sounds of their sexual passion. Most times they made me angry that they disrespected me by having sex in my presence but sometimes I felt horny from hearing them pleasuring one another that I wished I could have sex too. My sexy game to play, no doubt a side effect from the incestuous sexual abuse that I was forced to endure, it was around that time that I started flashing my body to her men. It was fun sexually teasing a man I didn't know and probably would never see again. It sexually excited me to know that a man wanted me in the way that he wanted my mother. While my mother still slept and with her man walking around naked or in his underwear in my house, I took advantage of the situation as much as they did. Being that men always stared at my big breasts whether if I was wearing a blouse, sweater, or a coat, just as my mother had done with her sons and their friends, I knew that the impressions that my big nipples made in my nightgown would surely get the sexual attention of any man. Walking around in a short, low cut, sheer nightgown, it excited me to see their eyes staring at me when they saw my big tits in a down nightgown or my blonde, trimmed pussy in an up nightgown. When wearing my short skirts and low cut tops, like mother like daughter, it was easy for me to flash them my panties and bra. Yet, not wanting to be deemed the slut that my mother was, the trick was to make my flashing appear accidental and their sexual advances unwanted. Making my flashes appear accidental was my way out should my flashing get out of hand and someone tried to force me to have sex with them. Yet, with most of her men drunk or hung over, most of her boyfriends did little than stare and leer at my impromptu, sexy show. Even though some managed to touch me, feel me, and grope me while forcing me to feel their cocks, I was always able to get away from them, run to my room, and lock my door. In hindsight, I suspect that flashing my body was because I wanted some of the sexual attention from men that my mother was getting. Yet, unbeknownst to me then, the flashing would later become an integral part of my life. There wasn't a man that I knew that I didn't flash him some part of my lingerie clad or naked body. I had fun giving every man a sexy show, so long as my flashing appeared accidental. Never setting an example for me to model myself after, she wasn't a good mother. Never cooking or cleaning, leaving that all up to me, even though I was going to college and working, she'd never win the coveted title of the mother of the year award. I couldn't wait to leave her to live on my own with a boyfriend or a roommate. Anything was better than this. A chain smoker, slowing killing herself with cigarettes and alcohol, but not fast enough as far as I was concerned, she was a hard liquor drinker. Having never smoked and drinking only an occasional glass of wine with dinner, I'm not much of a drinker. With nothing in common, unless I was smoking, drinking, sucking, and fucking along with her, we had nothing to discuss. Her life was men, smoking, and drinking and my life was trying to improve myself to be a better person. Oblivious to her attention and to my needs, virtually invisible unless she needed something from me to personally benefit her, I was just there living in the background. I really didn't want to know what gutter or bar she dragged home that man the last time, this man this time or the next man the next time. Not knowing their names and not wanting to get attached to them by knowing anything about them, knowing they wouldn't be around very long, I didn't want to know who they were. Just an anonymous face and another cock, should I bump into them on the street, it was better than way. I gave them all numbers and before I was able to leave her, I was up to number 54 and that was just the men she brought home. Before my brothers left her to her bad self, I don't know how many men she did outside in a parking lot, on a bedbug infested bed in a cheap motel room, or in their cars or trucks. Who cares? She had sex with so many men that I don't know how she didn't catch a sexually transmitted disease. Who knows? Maybe she did. It's funny how, despite her bad behavior and our deplorable living conditions, I still thought of her as my mother, even when she was rolling around on the floor drunk and naked, laughing, crying, or screaming in front of my four brothers and/or their friends. With all of us accustomed to her outrageous, drunken an naked behavior, as if we were all tired of seeing the same, sad, old show, her own sons and their friends routinely saw every part of her naked body. Walking around naked, she was always flashing my brothers and their friends her tits with her low cut nightgown or her pussy when sitting like a guy with her legs spread. Having no modesty, no shame, and no decorum, standing there topless with her arms over her head, she always did her hair in the bathroom with the door wide open while just wearing sheer panties, sheer enough to see every strand of her black bush. With her hogging the bathroom, my brothers would just whip out their cocks and pee in front of her. If she didn't care, they didn't care either. I was appalled by their inappropriate behavior. Only, I didn't know the half of it. I didn't know my mother had been sexually servicing my brothers for years. Maybe they paid their own mother to have sex with them. Who knows? Accustomed to having her parade around like that in front of my brothers and their friends, it never occurred to me that my mother might be a prostitute. I mean, I always knew she was an incestuous whore, but I never thought my Mom was having sex for money. Duh? Go figure. Why wouldn't I think that? Maybe because she was my mother that I gave her the benefit of the doubt and just thought that she was popular with men. She did have an outgoing personality and, quick with a joke, was very funny. I don't know. Yet, when I now think back now that she was a prostitute, it makes sense to me now that she was a prostitute. She didn't have a job. She didn't work. Yet, she always had enough money to pay for rent, booze, cigarettes, lottery tickets, gas for her car, and food, not that she ate very much food. Always there was money and always it was cash. The woman didn't even have a checking or a savings account. Her bank was her bra with a wad of hundreds in one bra cup and a wad of fifties and twenties in the other. Duh, never putting two and two together, perhaps because before my brothers left, she did all of her tricks outside. Maybe the men in her bed now is how she supports us with all that money. Maybe the men in her bed was the reason why she drank. Maybe she'd rather be numb while having sex with a stranger than being lucid enough for her to realize what she was doing in front of her young, impressionable, 18-year-old daughter was wrong. Now that I've been away from her, able to give her some credit, prostituting herself for the sake of her five children, as if going to work to an office every day, was the only way she knew how to support all of us. Yet, still, prostituting herself was no excuse for her to sleep with her sons. She needed to draw the line right there but she didn't. She could blame her low morals or the alcohol but the fact remains is that she crossed a line she never should have crossed. She sucked and fucked her four sons, not once or twice and not one over the other, she fucked and sucked all four of her sons over a 20 year period. She'd be a shining star on Jerry Springer. I can just see her and my four brothers on stage with her as the camera pans the audience full of her boyfriends. She was drunk all the time and I wasn't. She was a whore and I was a virgin. With each of us on the opposite ends of the spectrum, we had nothing of interest to discuss. I couldn't wait to get my own apartment, get away from her, and live my own life. In the way she had no respect for herself, I had no respect for her. Any time there was a man around, it was as if she was an actress on stage, she changed to play her sexual role. She loved the attention of a man looking at her, kissing her, touching her, feeling her, and having sex with her. Finally I did leave to get my own apartment when she packed up and left me to move to Pennsylvania for, yet, another man that she met online. With the advent of the Internet helping her to find her man, rather than hanging around a bar or standing on a street corner, she had been exchanging naked photos of herself and finally found her dream man, a man who had a job and who could afford to pay for her to move in with him. Only, as did all of her other relationships with men and mine as well, that relationship didn't last very long and she was alone again while begging me to come live with her. Fearing she'd die alone, now that she didn't have a man in her life, she didn't want to be alone, that is, until she recently found another man to support her. Then, suddenly, she didn't need me to live with her anymore. Mom is an Incestuous Slut Ch. 02 Forgetting that they were backed up on her flash drive, I recently found more than four dozen of her naked photos when she gave me her removable disc drive to use for my backups when saving my stories. Seeing her naked, especially in the way that she looked ten years ago, I can see why so many men wanted her. Tall at 5'10" and shapely with big breasts, she truly was a beautiful woman. I was going delete the photos but even if she's topless and naked in them, they're the only photos that I have of her. Besides, looking at her old, nude photos now makes me realize how far I've come after starting out with nothing and how low I'd have to go to be anything like her. I'm no whore. Even after being broke, hungry, and homeless, I'd never prostitute myself in the way my mother did. Yet, if I had children to feed, maybe I'd have sex for money. I don't know. Yet, if I had a son, I'd never sleep with him in the way my mother did with her all of her four sons. Even though I'm unemployed, homeless, and weighed down in student loan debt, I still have my college education. The best thing I ever did for myself was to graduate from college, along with breaking up with my Ex. Just as no one can take away my self-respect and self-righteousness, no one can take my college education away from me. College enlightened me to not how much I know but how much I don't know and have yet to learn. I have so much to learn that I'll never learn all the knowledge that I yearn to have. The funny thing is that I used to blame myself for my failed relationships with my ex-boyfriends, but parading me around as if I was their trophy girlfriend, they were only using me for sex. In the way that I blamed myself for the failed relationships with my boyfriends, I blamed myself for the failed relationship with my ex-husband. Pushing all of my buttons, my ex-husband was the one who pushed me away by forcing me to participate in the swinging lifestyle. I didn't want to play but once I did, I enjoyed myself. I met some of the nicest people in the swinging lifestyle while knowing that no always with no and if I didn't want to be with someone, nothing personal, I just had to say no. It was obvious to me why my ex-husband wanted to be a swinger. Having his cake and eating it too, he no longer wanted me and the swinging lifestyle was his way to have sex with someone else while still pretending to be happily married. Then, when I received more attention from the men than he did from the woman, he didn't want to swing anymore. He was done. In a lifestyle where jealousy and possessiveness has no place, he was possessively jealous of me, especially whenever I was with another man. Yet, it wasn't the alternative lifestyle that ended our romantic relationship, not that it was ever romantic. The thing that ended our marriage was when he told me that he had a vasectomy two years earlier and behind my back. Can you imagine a husband doing that to his wife? How could he do that to me? How dare he! He knew I wanted children. Only, he didn't care. Only caring about himself, in the way that my mother only cared about herself, he didn't want kids and he made sure that he'd never have any with me or with anyone. In the total lack of caring and of love on her part, what I experienced with my mother, I experienced with my husband. Because of my mother, was I doomed to repeat this one-sided love relationship with men over and again? To be continued... Mom is an Incestuous Slut Ch. 03 All characters in this story is over the age of 18-years-old. There are no underage characters. Susan witnesses her mother being gangbanged by her four sons. * I never knew my father. I didn't even know who in the Hell he was. There's something hollow and empty inside of me when not knowing one or both of my parents and even though my mother was there, for all the love and attention she gave me, she may as well have been absent too. I always felt a restlessness deep inside of me not knowing my father. Not knowing who I truly was, I felt sadly incomplete and lost. Being that I was the youngest of the family and so much younger than my youngest brother, I figured my father was one of the men my Mom had invited to her bed. There were so very many men in my mother's life after all. In my innocence and naiveté, I never suspected that my father was one of my brothers until much later. Duh, I was so dumb not to know. Now that I look back at my mother's incestuous relationship with her sons, how could I not have known that my one of my brothers was my father? Not having very many friends, never being invited to someone's house because of the reputation my mother had in the neighborhood, I was the one ostracized for her sins of morality or lack thereof. Unable to invite a friend to my house, no one would come even if I could have a friend over. Thinking that my family was like everyone else's family, I had no other family to compare my family to for me to see what was normal. Other than those goodie-too-shoe families on TV, Happy Days, The Brady Bunch, and the Cosby Show, wishing my family was somewhere in the middle, my family was just as extreme as were those TV fantasy families. Compared to those situation comedy families, a gross understatement, my family life wasn't normal. My life wasn't normal. Because I was living in a crazy house, I feared that I wasn't normal either. With me flashing my panties, my bra, and my topless and naked body to men, an abnormal effect of being sexually abused, indeed, I wasn't normal either. Every day one of my brothers would do something sexual to my mother and every day my mother would parade around nearly naked or naked in front of her sons. With me off limits, that is, until I turned 18-years-old, my life was a sexual free-for-all. After a while, as disturbingly ludicrous as it sounds, I thought it normal for a son to fuck his mother and a mother to suck her son. With all the teasing, flirting, vulgar suggestions, and walking around without her clothes in front of my brothers, I should have known that my mother had and was having sex with her sons, but I didn't. With all the grabbing, feeling, touching, and groping, I should have known that my brothers had and were still having their wicked, incestuous way with their mother, but I didn't know that either. She always had a man over when I was in school and my brothers were working or when they were out on the town and whooping it up drinking. Not wanting to rile them by making them jealous, she never invited men home when my brothers were there, only when I was there. With everyone knowing how big and strong my brothers were, men born from good Czechoslovakian stock, as thick in muscles as they were thick in skulls, no one wanted to tangle with them. Because I was nearly as tall as she was, she was 5'10" and I was a shade under 5'9" tall, I was just as angry as she was. Maybe she thought that I was all the protection she needed should something go wrong. Had my mother not smoked and drank through her entire pregnancy, no doubt, I would have been taller and healthier than I am. Because she was blonde and busty and was once married to a man from Czechoslovakia, even though her side of the family were English, the men called her Zsa Zsa. If the real Zsa Zsa Gabor was taller and younger, with my mother looking enough like her, they could have been sisters. Just as men are today, men back then were blinded by my mother's natural blonde hair, big blue eyes, and D cup breasts. Moreover, born in the 30's, 40's, and 50's, women back then didn't suck cock in the way that women who were born in the 60's, 70's, and 80's do today. My mother not only sucked cock but she allowed her men to cum in her mouth rather than on her tits and she'd swallow too. I know this because she told me how to please a man when I was old enough to date. Indeed, because of her proclivity to willingly give oral sex, she was very popular with men. My brothers were all big, angry men and if they knew my mother was entertaining men in the house, they'd have a fit. She trusted me not to tell. Our dirty, little secret to share, being that I was the good daughter that I was and as if they didn't know that already, I never told them that their mother was a whore. As if it was my percentage cut for keeping quiet, she always gave me a few dollars, when her dates left. Even then, still in denial because she was my mother, I didn't think my mother was a prostitute, just popular with generous men who gave her gifts. Always going out on a date, is what she called them, with a different man each night, she had so many boyfriends. Leaving with one man and coming home with another, she made the excuse that the one she left with was too drunk to drive and his friend offered to drive her home. A matter of trust, being that we all trusted our mother at the time, it made sense enough for me not to question her. My brothers were too dumb to know the truth about their mother. They more cared about her giving them sex than having a hot meal and a clean house. With all of the household chores left up to me, the cooking and the cleaning fell on my shoulders. Yet, careful not to rub her private, sexual escapades in the faces of her sons, knowing they were all there waiting for her to arrive home from her dates, she never invited any of her boyfriends up for a drink. Rarely, unless we bumped into them together on the street, did we ever meet any of my mother's men friends. I didn't think much of my mom having so many boyfriends, why wouldn't she have a lot of boyfriends. She was beautiful and an ex-model, so she said. Now that I think more about it, I suspect that the only modeling she ever did was modeling her nude body around a stripper's pole. Every man's dream woman, she was a tall, beautiful, busty, and a natural blonde with big, blue eyes. Later, after my brother's left, as if her personal symbolism of mourning, she died her hair black. Just as she was beautiful as a blonde, she looked beautiful with black hair too. Only, maybe because I was so used to seeing her with blonde hair, her black hair looked too much like a wig and I always had the desire to pull her black hair from her head. On second thought, with my self-esteem issues getting in the way of my commonsense, maybe she was jealous of me. Maybe she felt that she looked too much like me. Maybe because she looked too much like me, she didn't want to look anything like me, ergo the reason why she died her hair black. I never considered that one of my brothers could be my father, until much later when I saw my four brothers naked and in my mother's bedroom. Then, as if a Polaroid camera flashed the real picture through my mind, it all made sense then that one of them could be my Dad but which one? Now with the knowledge that I may be a baby born from incestuous lust, just as I was condemned by incest, I'd be forever consumed by the word incest. Not a husband's love for his wife but a son's lust for his mother and a mother's lust for her son, I was an accident and a tragic mistake. A terrible inconvenience, my mother wasn't happy bringing home a new daughter from the hospital. Incest defined me. Incest troubled my thoughts. Incest ruined my life. Incest was all that I was about. Incest, incest, and incest, everything I saw, read, and thought about twisted my mind to wonder if everyone in the world was having incestuous sex. Then, when I read that incestuous sex was even happening on my beloved Brady Bunch show with mother fucking and sucking son, brother licking and fucking sister, and sister sucking and fucking brother, my life was turned upside down. I couldn't help but wonder did President Johnson have sex with his daughters, Luci and Lynda? Did President Nixon have sex with his daughters, Julie and Tricia, in the White House? Did Jimmy Carter lust over his daughter, Amy, in the way that he lusted over the naked photos of women in Playboy. In the way that he did with Monica Lewinski, did President Clinton have cigar sex with Chelsea before she sucked Daddy's cock in the Oval Office? What about President Bush, being that he's from Texas, they all have incestuous sex down there, don't they? Surely, every man's dream, I wonder if he had incestuous sex with identical twins, albeit his daughters, Barbara and Jenna. I find it strangely bazaar that our last several presidents but for President Reagan who had a gay son, all had daughters instead of sons. Oh dear God in Heaven say that it's not true but is the reason why the Osmond's look so very much alike is because of incestuous sex? Now I wonder the same about the Jackson family. Is the reason why Michael was so fucked up because he was having sex with his mother or sisters Latoya and Janet? Is Marie Osmond her brother Alan's daughter? Is Janet Jackson her brother Jackie's daughter? Is no family in America safe from the shame and the dirty little secret of incest? Are we all doomed to dance with the Devil in our incestuous ways? Once I suspected that one of my brothers was my father, every time I saw a mother with her son, I wondered if they were having incestuous sex too. Every time I saw a father being affectionate with his daughter, I wondered if she was sucking his cock when they were home alone. Every time I saw a family at the beach or having a picnic, I wondered if they had an incestuous, sexual orgy behind closed bedroom doors. Does everyone have incestuous sex or was it just my brothers having incestuous sex with their mother before having incestuous sex with me? Only, instead of being revolted and filled with anger that I was born out of incest and that one of my brothers was my father, a strange reaction, I was relieved. Now I knew why I felt the incestuous feelings that I felt towards my brothers. Ready to have incestuous sex with one of them or all of them, my DNA was already genetically, incestuously coded and preprogrammed. Internally wired just like them, I was no better than my mother and my brothers. Like mother like daughter, an exhibitionist who enjoyed showing her body to men, ready to suck and fuck my brothers, I was an incestuous slut just like her. * * * * * My freshman year at college, my mother and brothers thought I was at class but I came home unexpectedly early when my class was cancelled. It was a time when my brothers' company was on strike and they were supposed to be out with their unionized working brothers picketing the company after management threaten to cut their medical and reduce their retirement benefits. They all worked for the same place, General Electric in Lynn Massachusetts, and doing different jobs from welding, to machining, to pipefitting, and steel working. They were supposed to be on the picket line, instead they were home drinking and having a good old time by having sex with their mother. Being that our apartment was so small, especially for six people, four grown, oversized men and my Mom and me, I heard them all partying in my mother's bedroom as soon as I opened the back door. They were all laughing except for my mother as her mouth was full with my eldest brother's cock. The sight of seeing my mother sucking my big brother was my epiphany. It was then I suspected that one of them was my Dad. Too drunk, too loud, and too noisy to hear me come in the house, I was shocked by all that I saw. Hiding while positioned behind the side of the refrigerator to peep out on them, they were all too drunk and too preoccupied to notice that I was there watching them from the kitchen. Shaking with shocked horror, I couldn't believe my eyes. At first I thought that my four drunken brothers had forced themselves on my mother but when seeing her laughing and having a good time too, she was no unwilling victim. If anything, in the way she walked around my brothers without her clothes all the time, she was the instigator. There was my incestuous slut of a mother having sex with my four brothers. As if her having sex with one son wasn't enough, she had to have sex with all four sons at the same time. I never knew what a gangbang was, until I witnessed my brothers gangbanging my mother. How dare she! When she already had the sexual attention of so very many men, why would she have sex with her sons? How could she? My mother was blowing her son, Jack, the oldest, while Ritchie, the youngest was sucking one of her big tits and fondling the other. Billie was standing by her bed drinking from a bottle. His big, stiff cock was sticking straight out and glistening, as if he just dipped his prick in my mother's cunt and had sexual intercourse with her. With his naked ass turned to me, Tommy was sitting at the end of the bed and stroking his cock while watching his mother blow his brother and, no doubt, waiting his turn. With none of them were wearing condoms and in the way they've always sexually and inappropriately acted, it wasn't a stretch for me to believe that incestuous sex between them had been going on for years. Knowing that it wasn't the first time and seeing that my mother wasn't a reluctant victim but a willing participant, it was then that I wondered how long had this been going on with my mother sexually servicing her sons. To finally have the proof that my mother and brothers were incestuously intimate was as disturbing as it was sexually exciting. Being that I endured and somehow survived an abnormal family and an incestuous slut of a mother, it's understandable that I didn't have a normal reaction to seeing them having sex. Having lived with my brothers and mother, nothing shocked me anymore, especially once I turned 18-years-old. Once I was of age, it was a free-for-all with my brothers always trying to get me drunk to seduce me. They were always trying to kiss me, touch me, grope me, and feel me. I'm not going to lie and write that I didn't enjoy their sexual attention when I did. I viewed it all as a sexy game to play. No doubt, hoping to catch me topless or naked by barging in my room while I dressed and undressed, after a while I allowed them their cheap feels and furtive looks of my ass, tits, and pussy. Feeling as if I was watching a porn movie in watching my mother with my brothers, watching them having sex was all so surreal. She was my mother and they were my brothers and not some actors in a porn film. With us not living in the back hills of Tennessee, Kentucky, or West Virginia, and with more than 50 institutions of higher learning in the city, incestuous sex like this shouldn't happen in Boston, a city so culturally advanced but, obviously, it did. The sickening part about watching my brothers doing my mother, as bazaar as it sounds, is that I was jealous. I wished they were doing me. Instead of making me sick to my stomach, they made me horny. With hands touching and feeling me everywhere and with four cocks filling my every hole and satisfying all of my incestuous urges, wants, and desires, I wondered what it would be like to have my four brothers pay me that kind of sexual attention. Always having been close to my brothers before and growing up without a Dad, it was understandable that I'd be sexually attracted to my four brothers in the way that my mother obviously was. Not wanting to be left out of their sexy, albeit incestuous fun, it was after I caught them all together naked that I started flashing and teasing my brothers. By having watched my mother flirting with men all of these years, it was then that I learned how to play the part of a sexy woman having her way with a horny man. With sexual arousal replacing my shock, I tiptoed to my room, quietly closed my bedroom door, and got in bed. Too busy having incestuous sex, they never saw or heard me. Had they not be so preoccupied having sex with my drunken mother, they would have heard me crawl into my squeaky bed and I was glad that they didn't. Still being a somewhat innocently virginal woman, had it not been for my uncle and cousin forcing me to have sex with them last year, I didn't know how to handle this strangely wicked, sexual situation of catching my brothers having sex with my mother. Maybe I should have went back outside. Maybe I should have stayed outside and waited until they were finished and pretended that I hadn't witness all that I did. Only, too late now, I was already in the house, in my room, and in my bed. No doubt, when they saw my bedroom door closed and discovered I was home, I figured they'd think I was sleeping and didn't hear them having their incestuous orgy while gangbanging my mother. Yet, with the walls paper thin, no matter if I was in the next apartment, I could hear them just as our neighbors could hear us. Nonetheless, being that I was in my room with the door closed, I figured they'd leave me alone and not disturb me. I could have locked my door but I didn't. Maybe I hoped they'd come in my room. Maybe I wished they'd give me incestuous sex in the way they gave my mother. After witnessing their gangbanging orgy, maybe I was just too horny and too sexually excited to think straight. With them still having sex in the next room making me so sexually aroused and with my mother having orgasms and my brothers cumming, I reached beneath my short skirt and removed my panties to pleasure myself with my finger. Seeing my mother servicing my naked brothers made me horny with incestuous desire for my brothers. I imagined my brothers were with me and inside of me instead of with my mother and inside of her. I imagined sucking Jack's big cock instead of my mother sucking her son's erect prick. I imagined Ritchie fondling and sucking my big tits while fingering my nipples. I imagined Billie having just fucked me and Tommy sitting at the end of my bed waiting for his turn to be with his 19-year-old sister. With my Mom still lounging in bed drunk, no doubt, my four horny brothers suddenly piled in my room while still naked. Even though I've seen their cocks plenty of times, I've never seen all four of their erect pricks all at once. A sexually overwhelming sight to see for a woman who was as incestuously horny as her four brothers, I pretended that I was sleeping but my eyes were slightly cracked open just enough to see their cocks just above eye level. Only, in my sexual excitement, I forgot that my panties were on the floor beside my bed. I should have been embarrassed but I was sexually excited. Maybe I wanted them to know that I was naked below the waist beneath the covers. I wondered if they'd think that I had just masturbated after overhearing them having their incestuously sexual way with my mother. Instead, I watched my brother Tommy pick up my panties and sniff them before passing them around to my other three brothers. As if it was yesterday, I remember it all so well. I was wearing a white button blouse and a short flared skirt as if I was still attending a parochial high school, instead of being a 19-year-old Freshmen enrolled at Northeastern University in Boston. No doubt knowing that I was bottomless and sleeping, my brothers thought it was funny to slowly slide the sheet off of me. In the way that I was pretending to be sleeping on my side with my knees bent a little, I knew if they continued pulling the sheet off of me that they'd see my trimmed, blonde pussy and my naked ass but I didn't care. I wanted them to see my wet pussy and my round, firm ass. No doubt, even hard for them to swallow that, I just didn't want them to know that I saw them having sex with mother. Mom is an Incestuous Slut Ch. 03 With my short skirt bunched up around my waist, knowing they would, my brothers removed the sheet from me while giggling like school girls when they saw my naked ass and pussy. Yet, it wasn't enough that they ogled my ass and pussy, I was waiting for them to feel me, touch me, fondle me, and finger me but they didn't. Instead, Tommy kneeled down in front of me and, as if he was cracking a locked safe by listening for the tumbler click combination, he stealthily unbuttoned my blouse. Being that I wasn't really sleeping, if I didn't know he was unbuttoning my blouse, I never would have felt him unbuttoning my blouse. He could have been a pickpocket, his touch was so delicate. With his fingers so skillfully dexterous, he had my blouse unbuttoned and my bra exposed to the eight horny eyes of my brothers. Still sexually excited and still horny, even after having masturbated myself, curious what they'd do next, I allowed my brothers to have their wicked way with me. I was already wet with the thoughts that I was wearing a front snapping bra, not an easy bra to find when I take a 36 D cup and when front snapping bras are more made for women who have a B or a C cup. I wear the bra because, making me feel sexy, with the cups scooped lower, it lifts and supports my big tits as if I'm wearing a supersized Wonderbra. An easy bra to unsnap, it's the perfect bra to wear when on a date and hoping for some hot sexual action, especially when wanting my tits felt and my nipples fingered and sucked. While holding the top of the other bra cup in place with his fingertips, with just a gentle lift, Tommy would have my big tits exposed. Not moving a hand to stop him, if only he would, I'd let him see, feel, finger, and suck my big tits before displaying my feigned self-righteous anger by being so incestuously, sexually abused by my own brother. If he could unbutton my blouse without disturbing me, I knew he could unsnap my front snapping bra without awakening me and I allowed him to do just that. With just a delicate lift and a gentle pull, as soon as he unsnapped my bra, my big breast tumbled out to join the other one. Sexually excited, wanting them to fondle and caress my big tits, my nipples were already erect and hard. I wanted them to feel my tits and finger and suck my nipples in the way that Ritchie was doing to my mother. Releasing and exposing my breasts for all four of my brothers to see, I felt Tommy gently move my bras cup out of the way to expose more of my breasts. Only before they could feel, fondle, and caress my big boobs and finger and suck my nipples, my mother came in my bedroom. "What the Hell do you think you're doing? Get out," she said slapping whichever one of my brothers were in reach in the back of the head with her hand. "Get out of her room now!" My mother stood in my doorway naked staring at me as if wondering about me. She looked jealous that I was stealing some of her sexual attention. Being that I had a much better body than she did and was prettier, maybe she viewed me as sexual competition instead of viewing me as her daughter raised to be an incestuous slut just like her. I don't think she was buying that I was sleeping while my brothers had their sexy fun with my tits. "Perverts!" I yelled after them. "Filthy pigs," I said pretending that my mother had just awakened me by my rubbing my eyes. "Get dressed," she said as if what had just happened was all my fault, even though my bedroom door was closed. She gave me a stern look as if she was jealous that I had a better body than she did and my brothers would, no doubt, rather be with me than with her. Pretending that what happened never happened, we never discussed incest. Now that I was of age, I was the target of my brothers' incestuous lust and they wouldn't stop until they had stripped me naked and had their way with my body. Even now, instead of looking back at how they sexually abused me, I look back at what happened with sexual excitement that four men wanted me more than they wanted my mother. To be continued...