"mother lover R-18G" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/MJ2pNBxh Created on: Saturday 1st of June 2019 11:02:21 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:10:26 AM UTC Mother, Lover « on: Today at 05:47:17 pm » Quote Mother, Lover 1. I inherited the secrets and lewdness from my mother, as she had inherited these from her own mother years ago. Generations after generations, the darkness and the restlessness in our family’s blood resided within us. This might only affect the attitude and the behavior in a hardly noticeable manner for some. But sometimes, this could lead to a sickness of the mind: promiscuity, incest, a desire to inflict hurt or to be hurt, ending in senseless slaughters or being slain. I knew this even when I was a kid, that my mother and I were made of the same material and would have the same fate. She gave birth to me but her looks were more like a sister than a mother and she was stunningly beautiful. This was also in our blood too: the looks of our women never aged beyond twenty seven or twenty-eight. The price was that our life expectancy was much shorter than the others: hardly ever one could live over fifty. Some said it was because in the distant past, our ancestors had mated with a demoness, a Raksha. Rakshas are extremely beautiful beings, all demented in one way or another and some even man-eating. I was not interested in cannibalism, finding such repulsive but I knew the blood inside my veins carried the seeds of madness and the irresistible desire to mate with other beautiful women, including my own mother. My sexual awakening began when I was in my late-teens. Before that, I learned about the difference between male and female bodies and the various stage of development of the respective organs. I also discovered that by placing my hands under my buttocks and rock would make me very comfortable. But on that particular birthday, my mother had called me into her room,removing all my clothes. My breasts had long since begun growing and my mother just took off the white bra she had bought for me. I did not feel any unease as if all these were so natural. She made me kneel on the huge bed with four poles at the corners, holding up a mosquito net and taught me how to caress my own breasts. Then, she also removed all her clothes and grabbed a hand of mine to cup her ample tits, followed by a demonstration teaching me how to achieve orgasm in masturbation. On that day, I finally understood what a climax, described in those little books that my classmates circulated in secret, meant. The never imagined total loss of self and excitement suddenly ignited another intense emotion within me: I longed to die, on the spot, regardless of how cruel death would be brought around, not because I felt it shameful to masturbate in front of my own mother but I had fallen in love with this enticing taboo relationship: she was my mother and also my lover. 2. That was years ago. I grew up like all the women in the family, stunningly beautiful. And my mother never got any older in appearance apart from becoming even more attractive as if fine wine becoming mellow with aging. During those eight years, we had made love hundreds of times and probably many times over that spent in masturbation in front of the other. Mother never forbade me having other lovers and I knew she had her own lovers too. I did not find that objectionable as long as we both knew who was the love of our lives and we would never betray or leave the other no matter what would happen. My mother was a fiction writer and her work was mostly kinky stuff. Many of these were about mystic religions in the ancient past, describing torture or human sacrifice that involved beautiful maidens. Such gory stuff could hardly find any market locally but they were quite popular in Japan. My mother told me that the income from royalty was our main source of income. She had mastered many tongues, including Japanese and this was the reason why I was given a Japanese name. I was admitted into the Academy of Performing Arts. My looks was so captivating that even before I graduated, I was flooded with offers from producers and directors. I also received envious looks, some malicious/ But soon after, my instructors were astonished by the fact that some of my female classmates who hated me with such intensity became my greatest fans. They never knew I had brought all of them to my bed, of course. There were some who maintained their enmity of course but for various reasons, they had to drop out, some even suffering permanent disability and had to say farewell to the entertainment circle. I was the favorite of many directors but I never picked the roles of the main actresses, leaving them to others. I picked my own roles with a very particular criterion: my role had to die in the play or whatsoever, and not only dying, but dying in a most gruelsome way: being beheaded, executed by a thousand-cuts, killed after being raped or the other way round, being drawn apart by horses, or sprayed by leads turning my body into a bee-hive before collapsing into a pool of blood… At first, the directors found this hard to understand but gradually, they also took it for granted. I acted well and they named me “snuff princess”. Snuff culture had always existed in the entertainment business: there were so many shots of female characters being killed in the films and they were even given close-shots showing their “deaths” and many of these were done most artistically. I knew many directors were snuff-fans but they did not have the guts to admit it and hence used “art” to satiate their hidden desire. I did not mind this at all, even taking those directors who had shot my death-scenes beautifully to my bed as reward. This would not give me high fame or monetary renumeration but I did not mind that too: we were never shot of money. 3. Each time after finishing such kind of performance, I would return home and make love with my mother. Sometimes, I would re-act the whole scene before her and then masturbate. She would also “kill” me, letting me put on m dudou or the belly-dancer’s costume while she would play the part of the executioner and decapitate me. This would give both of us such ecstasy and would be followed by more sex. She was even wilder and more open than I in bed. Sometimes, she would tie my wrists and ankles with ropes onto the poles of the bed, kissing and sucking my tits after I was secured, as if I was not a daughter but a milk-giving mother. Then, with I being made immobile, she would rape me. I would moan shamelessly and when I reached climax, I would brace my body for her to stab with a blunted knife. I would “die” with my eyes wide open, watching her masturbate over my “corpse”before slitting her own throat with the same knife. She even anal-raped me once: it hurt a lot but the orgasm was overwhelming. Drowned in my ecstasy, I begged her to ram a long pole into my ass and had my body exhibited beside our private swimming-pool. She did not actually do that of course but the mere language was suffice to make us masturbate facing each other. I loved most when she had me on my all-fours and penetrated me after she put on her dildo. She would cup my 34C breasts from behind and I, savoring the push and pull from her, would let my hair dance in frenzy, muttering: Kill me! Kill me now! And she would “kill me” driving a pair of sais into my naked breasts or beheading me with a katana. Mother seldom let me die alone. After killing, she would pleasure herself beside my “corpse” and then commit seppuku, falling upon me in her own “deaths”. Dying naked with my mother always moved me to tears. I wished so much that could happen in reality too: dying on the same day and at the same spot. Oour love-making and “killing” were not restricted to the time that I finished another performance or after we watched my part in the cinema. Sometimes, even at home, when we were watching old films of Chinese operas: two warriors, one male and one female, might be engaged in battle in a typical stage play and we would be so excited, putting on stage-armor we kept at home and did our own “battle”in the dance-practicing hall on the second floor of our villa. One of us would be defeated, her weapons snatched, the back-banners which were the symbol of power for the wearer would be pulled out, her armor stripped. Leaving her only a white blouse or red dudou to cover her modesty, or what remained of it. The defeated would kneel, perform the hair-dance and the victor would have her beheaded, her corpse violated. Then, as a routine, the victor would masturbate beside the corpse of the vanquished, before she took her own life. There was one time when I was thus “decapitated. She had me and then masturbated beside me before falling upon my naked body, a hand cupping my breast on the right side. I could no longer hold back my lust and even I was supposed to be a corpse, I reached for her hand and guided it to fondle my tits. The fingers of my other hand were already inside my vagina giving pleasure to me… And then there was another time when I killed her, shot her with a pistol at her sexy belly-button before firing twice at her proud breasts. She staggered back until she hit a wall and then slid down into a sitting position with her legs apart. Her pubic mound and hair could be so visible. I walked up and shot her again in the forehead before I masturbated. Then, I shot myself in the mouth. It was followed by our passionate love-making, naturally. Sex could occur in the bedroom, or the sitting room, or in the shower, even on the roof of the villa. We loved to make love when there was a full moon. I was sure we were somehow mad: the moon was ever-changing and full of secrets. There were not many houses around but even if someone could see us, we would not try to hide and would continue to copulate. 4. I never asked who my father was. Perhaps we could understand each other so well that we both knew it was a taboo to talk about this. I only knew the answer after I turned eighteen. She told me who he was. No! That was only half the truth. She told me who her father was, her own maternal grandfather, my great-grandfather in other words. Any my father was her own father. So, I was not only her daughter, but also her sister! I was not shocked at this revelation which might not be acceptable by others. I took it calmly as if this was what should be and not worthy to make a fuss. I had ever seen my great grandfather or grandfather. My instinct told me that they were both dead, and not dying in a natural manner. My mother had killed them. She did not dispute when I put this to her. Rather, she told me a story about a family from the ancient past whose women were all beautiful while the men were hideously ugly. In this family, incest was a matter-of-course: father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daughter, between siblings. The women were all licentious whereas the men, apart from being ugly-looking, were violent, suspectable to killing those they lovers, including young daughters… I also discovered another one of her secrets: her books did not sell as well as she told me. The royalty could hardly cover our cost of living in such luxurious style. I finally found out the truth: she was a professional hit-woman. Each year, she would disappear for some time to carry out her assigned mission, the targets being politicians, heiress to billions of dollars or gang leaders of the underworld, even corrupted police officers who after being exposed, was marked off by their accomplices for fear of their loose tongues. The average price was two million per mission, American dollars. She never killed two kinds though: children and those who were perfectly innocent. Other than that: cash was God. I asked her once: if someone paid very high price for her to kill me, would she do it? She said she would but added that she probably would kill herself too afterwards. I said: that sounds good. And we both laughed. When I reached twenty-two, I also became a hit-woman. My mother got a task to kill a political figure off but fell sick a few days before this was to be carried out. She never left an accepted mission undone and so, I substituted for her. Perhaps I was also born with the gift for this kind of thing. I accomplished the mission splendidly, putting down that man with his eight body-guards. After that, I took up assassination as a side-job. I killed no less than ten: aged, young, men and women. If condition permitted, I would have sex with a beautiful woman-victim before finishing her life. The most unforgettable mission was when I was paid to kill a rich young girl. I found her near the swimming pool of her villa and pointing the muzzle of my gun to silence her, I made love to her, telling her that I would have to kill her after our copulation. Perhaps she was of our type too and did not put up any resistance throughout. Then, she voluntarily knelt beside the pool and masturbate. I waited till she had her orgasm and shot her at the back of her head. Her body stiffened and then dropped into the water with a splash. When I saw her body floating in the water dyed red, I could not hold back the temptation and after stripping down what was necessary, I also sought my own pleasure. That actually cost the life of her beautiful body-guard who smelled something fishy and came over to have a look. I shot her too. 5. The thing I feared most was I knew my mother would not live forever. Although she remained stunningly beautiful, I was aware the aging could still carry on internally. The women in our family seldom lived beyond fifty. My mother was healthy but she had fallen ill that time before the mission. Was that a sign? She could leave me suddenly and as we both were used to submerging ourselves in our lust plays, I could not imagine how I could live on when she was no longer around. Each time we made love, I felt it might be the last and I had made up my mind that if she died, I would not live on alone. I had prepared a 9mm with an ivory grip for the purpose. But fate did not give me the chance to use it. We were captured during a mission together. Under normal circumstances, we were invincible as a team but this time, we had been set up. When we walked into the trap and sensed something wrong, we were already surrounded by nearly a hundred cops. We tried to shoot our way out and killed a dozen cops in the ensuring fire-fight. When we ran out of ammunition, we fought on with our daggers but the end was inevitable. Mother and daughter, we were locked behind bars. We knew that was it and there was no panic: it would be naïve to think they would not execute us after what we did. As our past missions involved a lot of dirty-deals between political parties, our trial would not be in the open. We knew what the verdict would be even before we faced the panel. Well, c’est la vie! We did not even put up a proper defense. This is my testament and confession. I am Hitomi And the code-name for my mother is Namida. Made and signed on XXXX March XXXX At the XX Prison awaiting execution. Post script. They were executed together, mother and daughter. The day before they were executed, they were allowed to stay in the same cell after giving their words that they would not attempt anything foolish. I ordered their cuffs be removed but to ensure nothing unexpected could happen, I arranged a whole platoon of women-officers, armed to the teeth, standing guard outside the cell. But they kept their words and did not attempt to do anything they should not have done, just making love and masturbate the whole night long. At dawn, we sent in their breakfast. But they only finished the glass of milk and then put on the clothes they had chosen to wear for the execution.: black bras and panties. They were taken to the open ground at the rear of the prison. I asked them if they had any last requests. They both pleaded for the change to masturbate one last time. So, I ordered their cuffs removed again and let them enjoy their last pleasure at the very spot where they were to be shot. When both tasted climax, I pulled out my revolver and shot the daughter whose name was Hitomi at the back of her head. She toppled face down, the pair of hands which she used to masturbate just now fell at her side, palms upward like what the Islamic believers would do in prayers. The dark blood formed a ring round the head. I was sure her face had been shattered would look messy; so, I let her stay in that position and did not turn her over. Her mother had taken that pretty well and only a few drops of tears could be seen sliding down her face. I moved the muzzle of my revolver and shot her too. After finishing all photographing and recording, I order the bras and panties on both of them stripped. Then, their naked bodies were dragged away to be thrown on the waiting truck to head for the incinerator. Then, I went back to my chamber, read Hitomi’s testimony once again before taking off my uniform and masturbated in the small room. Diary of Mandy, the Warden XXXX March, XXXX