Pictures and Memories

Photographs and Memories
by N.B.

Her mom’s forgetfulness had become a running family joke. It wasn’t a sad sort of thing as was normally associated with the perils of growing older, but rather just a scatter-brained reality that sometimes when she didn’t stop and really focus on what she was thinking about, well, Mom forgot.

And she had obviously forgotten this time. Nothing else would explain the contents of the old shoe box sitting on Rachael’s lap.

Rachael had called her mom earlier in the day to remind her that the kids’ school was having a rummage sale tomorrow and to ask if she had anything to contribute. Mom had told her there were two or three pairs of brand new shoes in boxes under the bed that she was never going to wear, which would be perfect for the sale.

Rachael had decided to swing by while she knew her parents were out to Friday night dinner with friends, and was just going to grab the shoes and head home so she could get an early start for the sale on Saturday morning.

She had found the promised footwear — a pair of gaudy mules in a vile ugly color of pink that not even rummage sale patrons were likely to want, and a strappy pair of black heels that Rachael knew at a glance were at least a full size too small for her mom.

There was another dusty shoe box pushed up under the bed as well, and thinking it might contain another contribution to the fundraiser, Rachael had lain flat and nudged it out from underneath.

Turning to sit with her back against the side of her parents’ bed, she opened the box only to find no shoes inside. Instead, she found an old cheap journal, half a bottle of Astroglide, and what was unmistakably identifiable from its shape as a dildo, completely wrapped in a flowery dish towel.

Rachael knew her parents would be returning soon from their night out, but curiosity demanded she at least take a little peek at what she most obviously was never meant to see. Flipping through the journal front to back she saw page after page of her mother’s feminine handwriting, though the book wasn’t completely full and the final 20 pages or so were blank.

She opened it to the first page, noted it was dated just a little less than a year from the day Rachael was born, and started to read:

We made a baby last night. I know we did, though it will be a while before the doctor can tell us for sure. But I’m certain. I never knew for sure when I became pregnant with the little man, but there’s no doubt in my mind it happened again last night.

It all started when he came into the room a little earlier than usual. I had just finished my bath, tossed on a gown, brushed my hair and stretched out on the bed when he came into the room, that unmistakable look on his face letting me know he had plans for something.

After undressing he came and stood by the head of the bed, as he often does, presenting himself to my mouth as his hand reached down to play under the hem of my gown. I hear other wives complain about using their mouths, but I always enjoy it. Somehow it makes things seem more intimate and personal, and God knows I do like feeling his fingers caressing my lady parts.

I assumed things would continue as they usually did until he unloaded and I swallowed, but that was not to be the case. After working up a froth of juices at the juncture of my thighs, he pulled me to the very edge of the bed, my bottom actually hanging off, then pressed my knees back up against my chest. It seemed natural for me to grab behind my knees and pull back and out, though I have to admit it felt a little naughty realizing how fully I was exposing myself to him with the lamp still on.

Before I knew it, that fat mushroomed head of his was buried deep inside me, the position we were in making it possible for him to enter deeper than ever before, and he was pounding away, his bloated cod sack slapping against my ass and his hands squeezing my nipples. Leaning against me he rubbed perfectly against that tender little clit atop my slit, and before long it was all I could do not to let fly with a scream of pleasure that surely would have awoken the little one had I done so.

As I felt my own body trembling, I became aware of his seed shooting inside me, deeper than it ever had before, as though straight into my womb. And I knew right then we had made a baby.

I sure hope this one is a little girl.

Rachael couldn’t believe what she was reading. Not only had she found a terribly naughty sex journal kept by her mother, but judging from the date on the first page she was reading about her own conception. And while mattresses and springs obviously had been replaced through the years, she was leaning against the very bed frame over which her mother’s bottom had been hanging as her knees were pulled up and out to accept her father on the night of her conception.

Aware of the erect state of her nipples beneath the thin bra and T-shirt she wore, and feeling the juices lubricating her own swollen slit, Rachael had to read more. With her folks expected soon she couldn’t possibly read it all, so she flipped ahead several pages and began again:

I don’t begin to understand what is going on with my body these days, but this pregnancy has me a walking mess of sensitive skin in search of any excuse for arousal. It wasn’t like this the first time, but this little girl growing in her mommy’s belly has turned me into a sexual animal. Seven months into it my belly is huge, along with my breasts. I just can’t seem to get naked and laid nearly as much as I need to, though it certainly is no fault of his.

Every afternoon when I put the little man down for his nap I find myself diddling away, either stark naked in the bed, spread-eagled and moaning, or sitting somewhere else in the house fully clothed with my hands down in the stretchy waist band of my maternity pants.

And that’s just to take the edge off until he gets home from work. The little one will be down for the night and we’ll be half way through watching an episode of Dallas, and next thing I know I’m bent over an arm of the couch with my big belly on one side and my bottom on the other, begging him to do it harder and deeper.

But he is so good to me. Knowing I need relief while he’s not home, yesterday he brought me my first ever sex toy. It’s about the same length as what I’m used to, but not nearly as thick. We gave it a good workout last night and I think he enjoyed watching as much as I enjoyed doing.

Rachael realized that sex toy dad had brought home had to be the one in the box. She unwrapped it to find a very detailed plastic penis, about 7 inches long with a flat base at the bottom to make it easier to hold.

“Not nearly as thick as I’m used to?” she thought, as she tried, unsuccessfully, to reach around the lifelike toy with forefinger and thumb. Damn, Dad, how thick is it?

Without thinking, Rachael raised the dildo to her nose, imagining that it retained just a whiff of her mother’s scent. Before she knew it, she had slid her stretchy yoga pants and panties to her ankles, and with both feet flat on the floor, leaning against her parents’ bed, she slowly stroked her own swollen, slick clit with her mom’s store-bought lover as she flipped ahead in the journal to pages closer to the back:

Rachael is such a wonderful baby. We all three love her so much. Since she came along things have changed a little, but that incredible hungering for sex that existed while I was pregnant hasn’t gone away.

My belly is a lot smaller than it was, but my breasts are still the biggest they’ve ever been. And my nipples are so incredibly sensitive it’s like an electrical wire runs from my areola to my bottom. Nursing Rachael drives me crazy, and I have to admit there have been a few times when, after she nursed and went to sleep, I moved her aside and immediately let my hands find their way to that hot, hairy hole that seems to be the center of my attention these days.

I worry sometimes that I masturbated so much while she was inside me that it’s been imprinted on her brain somehow, and one day she will find the need to “scratch that itch” several times a day will be an overpowering trait she inherited from her horny mom.

Thank goodness I don’t just have to depend on my fingers, or my perfect little toy. Last night after I fed her we both fell asleep, her on my chest, still mouthing my milky nipple. He came in and moved her to her bed, then, standing on the side of the bed, he took her place, his mouth teasing milk from my big tits while his fingers played choo-choo train on a track circling my clit.

I used my hand to stroke him while he nursed until he had to stand up straight and start thrusting his hips. He’s not as young as he once was, but he still sprays cum by the gallon when he covers my boobs with his load. And I love it.

Rachael was in full blown masturbation mode now, shoving the dildo in and out of her rapidly lubricating pussy, pinching her nipples through the bra, knowing she wanted to read more but had to quit soon.

Then she noticed, built into the inside back cover of the journal, a little pocket for keeping papers and such. Inside the pocket were four Polaroid pictures.

She vaguely remembered once upon a time that the family had a Polaroid camera, but had no idea what had happened to it. Probably ended up in another rummage sale.

She knew these photos had come from that camera, which had provided a way to safely enjoy some homemade porn long before digital cameras and the internet.

The first photo was a close-up of a woman’s vulva, the lips long, swollen and full, the pubic hair covering it abundant. At the top of the photo was just the hint of a hugely swollen pregnant belly, while the focus of the shot was on a woman’s hand slowly removing a glistening dildo from inside a gaping pussy hole.

Oh, Jeezzzus.

The second photo also had no face. The belly was smaller, stretch marks obvious, the breasts were huge, nipples hard and dark, surrounded by little bumps. A man’s hand pulled on one nipple, and a glistening drop of milk was evident as it oozed from the opening.

Oh Jeezzuss…Oh…

The third photo was exceptionally sharp with surprisingly good contrast. Again, no face, but this time big heavy milk-filled breasts, just a hint of belly, and an unmistakable pattern of white wet spots that could be nothing other than a stream of ejaculation, covering nipples and breast in copious quantity.

Oh my God…Jeez

The last photo was taken from a different angle, awkwardly as though with an outstretched arm slightly off to the side. It presented a profile shot of the back of a man’s head, easily identifiable as her father from the color and texture of his hair. He was sucking at a nipple, nursing from a breast that was covered in ejaculation.

Rachael had always had a fertile imagination. After admiring the photo for a minute, her hand driving the dildo in and out between her legs, she closed her eyes and replaced the man’s head there with her own, knowing that were it her she would be tasting both the mother’s milk that sustained life and the man seed that created life.

With that image in her head, she exploded in orgasm: feet flat on the floor, body bridging upward, neck braced against her parents’ bed, the dildo between her legs shoved completely inside her, nothing visible but the flat base she gripped with her right hand. She trembled and shook and oozed quantities of pussy juice onto her parents’ floor in a rolling, continuing tidal wave of wet bliss that twice seemed to wane only to start anew, more powerful than before.

Minutes later, she slid the old shoe box back under the bed, retrieved the contributions for the rummage sale, and, on weak legs, prepared to leave her parent’s bedroom, wondering as she did how long it would be before she could find an excuse to return and borrow her mother’s journal long enough to make a copy of all the pages, and pictures, it contained.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rachael’s Response

Holy fuck monkeys, how I would so dearly love to find a secret box like that of my mother’s! As a teen, I would often snoop in my parents’ bedroom. When I was younger, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for, but in time I came to understand I was seeking something to do with sex. I never found anything like what I was hoping for: pictures, devices, photos, manuals, or anything that provided some kind of physical clue about what my parents did in the privacy of their bedroom. The closest I came was the one item of lingerie my mother owned that could be considered sexy (a sheer black teddy with matching lace panties), and the bottle of baby oil that would sometimes be on mom’s nightstand. It may have been there for a perfectly innocent reason, but I wanted to believe it was for when my mom gave my father a handjob, or to lubricate her pussy. Back then I never considered the possibility that she may be using it to oil up her asshole for some naughty backdoor action.

This story gives me everything I always hoped for and more! I would be so thrilled if I could get the kind of insight into my mother’s sexuality that an explicit journal like this would provide. Finding out specific details about what kind of lover my father is would fuel my fantasies for a lifetime of kinky masturbation. If I could then have the undreamed of pleasure of filling my pussy with the same sex toy that had been inside my mother and provided her with countless orgasms, that would be an experience I would treasure. My imagination reels at the thought of finding graphic pictures of my parents’ bedroom activities. To see my mother’s aroused pussy, and more significantly my father’s engorged cock or spent cum, might be more than I could handle. I would be very hard pressed not to immediately do what story-Rachael had in mind and run home to get my scanner so I could “steal” copies of those Polaroids and journal pages to enjoy as much and as often as I wanted.

My mom is a pretty perceptive lady, however, and I strongly suspect that the next time she pulls her shoe box out to have a little fun with her store-bought lover, she will likely detect the scent of a pussy that is not her own lingering there. It won’t take much effort to deduce whose essence it might be. Knowing her, she wouldn’t dare confront me about my intrusion, but instead simply enjoy the enhanced pleasure of knowing I had indeed inherited her horny need to masturbate as often as possible.

I know this one will push as many buttons for other readers as it did for me. On behalf of us all, thank you N.B. for that engaging depiction of one of my fondest secret yearnings.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3 thoughts on “Pictures and Memories

  1. This was one of my favorite fan-submitted ones.. builds perfectly, totally conceivable, and sooooooooo many places for this to go. N.B. should definitely do follow-ups.. and if he doesn’t.. maybe DMM should ;)

  2. What an extraordinarily hot and detailed story. Wow. Well done. I have this vision of you, Rachael, reading this and reading this and getting more and more excited with each paragraph, until your hand reaches down to your sopping wet and warm pussy….

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