Seeing Mom as a Woman
Let me start with a quick intro about myself. I'm a strapping 22-year-old guy who just got discharged from the army as a sergeant two days ago, and now I'm lounging around the house doing jack shit.
Thanks to hitting the gym hard during service, my body had turned into this tight, muscular frame where the muscles subtly showed through my clothes. My parents—especially Mom—loved the change. And yeah, it made sense. Both of them were built like absolute tanks, overflowing with healthy vigor, while I used to be on the slimmer side by comparison. Sure, at 185cm and 72kg, I wasn't scrawny by any means, but sandwiched between Dad at 192cm and 98kg and Mom at 173cm and 62kg, I couldn't help but look a bit puny.
(Dad majored in business but did judo since middle school, and Mom's a PE grad who's currently a gym teacher at a girls' high school.)
So Mom was always nagging me to work out, but up until enlistment, I'd let it go in one ear and out the other. Then COVID hit, I finished my freshman year of college, and boom—straight into the army as artillery with the 155mm towed howitzer unit. My seniors basically forced me into training, but damn if it didn't get addictive. I'd bolt to the gym during personal time and grind away. By discharge, I'd packed on muscle everywhere, hitting 80kg.
Anyway, enough about me. Back to the present: For the four days after getting out, I met up with buddies who'd discharged earlier or hadn't enlisted yet, got plastered, and partied hard. Hungover from last night's binge, my spinning head finally dragged me awake. I checked my phone by the bed—it was almost 6 PM.
Hauling my heavy ass to the bathroom for a shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped out just as Mom walked in the front door from work.
"Honey, Mom's home~"
"Hey! Mom, welcome back."
She had a shopping basket in one hand—dinner stuff, probably. But the sight of her hit me like a truck, and my junior started swelling up. I blurted a reply and bolted to my room.
To any normal eyes, getting hard from seeing your mom would be weird as fuck. But hear me out.
Mom was in her usual gym teacher getup: windbreaker on top, leggings below. Nothing wrong with that on its own—but on her, it was something else. Like I said, both parents are built, but Mom? She's a total glamour bomb. The kind of voluptuous body that'd slap the faces off those "thick" girls blowing up SNS these days.
Years of training meant no flab anywhere—not a single gram on a woman her age. That 62kg? All poured into her massive tits, fat ass, and thick thighs. Her slim waist just amplified the curves. The windbreaker strained against those overflowing breasts, jiggling like they might burst free any second. And those leggings hugged her firm, meaty ass and thighs in the most erotic goddamn lines.
Plus, at 44, Mom still looked mid-30s—wrinkle-free skin, a pretty face blending youthful charm with that ripe, mature sexiness only older women have. It naturally dragged your mind into the gutter.
Truth is, I'm a die-hard MILF fetishist. Back in middle school when I first got into porn, some shady-ass friend roped me into MILF stuff. Watching those curvy mature hotties take huge cocks? Fucking explosive. After that, I chased thick MILF vids to get off.
Pre-army, even seeing Mom like this wouldn't stir my dick or dirty thoughts. But in the barracks, that same bastard friend sent me incest erotica on my phone. Reading about moms and sons fucking? That taboo thrill and depravity hooked me hard.
Trapped in the army at 21, prime horn-dog age, that shit was lethal. It meshed perfectly with my MILF kink, and suddenly Mom's body had me boiling with lust. She started looking like a woman to me.
First time I realized it on leave, I mocked myself and tried ignoring it. Futile. If anything, the added incest guilt-trip made the fantasies hit harder. Now, I busted nuts picturing Mom while jerking off.
Back in my room, I shut the door and dropped the towel. My raging junior sprang up fully hard. Girth so thick one hand barely wrapped it, length where two hands still left the head poking out—this monster cock was one of my few prides. And yet, like every incest story protag cliché, I'm still a virgin... fuck.
Mom's image lingered, keeping my dick rock-hard with no signs of going down. I figured I'd rub one out quick and head back out when her voice came from behind the door.
"Hyeonmin, honey, I got sushi! Come eat~"
"Ahem, got it, Mom. Gimme a sec to get dressed."
I'd been lightly stroking the shaft, but her voice startled me. I cleared my throat, played it cool.
Next problem: my throbbing erection. I killed it by dredging up boring army memories, dressed, and stepped out. Mom was setting the sashimi on the table.
"Huh? Just us for dinner tonight, Mom?"
"Yeah~ Dad's at a company dinner, coming home late."
"Friday night drinks, huh. Dig in, Mom~"
We finished our simple dinner alone, and Mom headed to the master bath for a shower. I rushed in after, hunting for any cracked door or discarded panties—jackpot chance. Nada.
Peeking? Tempting, but if she caught me and told Dad... nah. My balls shrank at the thought.
No matter how horny I get, getting beat to death by Dad ain't an option. Ahem
No dice, so I flopped on the living room couch, flipped on the TV, channel-surfing. That inductive reasoning sparked thoughts of Dad.
Despite his massive build, he's endlessly soft and friendly with family. Even now, if I call him "Father" instead of "Dad," he nags me to say "Dad" like old times and slips me cash.
But I'll stick to "Father" forever. Reason? Middle school year three, after academy, me and friends "tried" booze out of curiosity. Noob at drinking, I blacked out hard, stumbled home late with no call. Parents waited worried—first time seeing me wasted, they flipped.
Mom scolded and smacked my back lightly, but drunk me barely felt it. Then Dad called me over from the sofa. I approached, he stood—arms wide like a hug—then swung at my cheeks.
His thick palms connected—SMACK—stars exploded in my vision. Weirdly, the booze haze vanished instantly with the stars.
After, cheeks puffed like manju buns, I knelt before him for a full hour of lecturing. His stern aura crushed me; since then, I've held him in awe, formal as fuck. Still do.
As Dad thoughts faded, Mom emerged from the shower. Gray tank top up top, short white leggings below. No bra—thick nipples poked through. White T-back panties faintly visible under the thin fabric.
Home workouts meant she rocked leggings year-round, usually light and sheer for indoor wear—unlike outdoor ones. Perks: frequent panty peeks.
She plopped beside me, chatting idly while watching TV. Her hot look got blood rushing south again. I grabbed a cushion to hide, pretended to watch, stole glances at her juicy body.
Every shift, her tank top gaped slightly. Eagle eyes ready, but only teasing underboob and cleavage—no full jackpot.
Fuck, if I could just grope that voluptuous body...
Shifting "for comfort," I snuck rubs on my swollen cock. Time flew—11 PM. We said goodnight and split to our rooms.
I lagged behind on purpose; no way to hide my raging monster standing tall.
In my room, pants and boxers off in one go. Picturing Mom, I yanked my cock furiously. Pre-cum oozed from the tip nonstop, red glans gleaming quick, room filling with lewd slaps.
[Schlick schlick schlick! Squirt! Squirt! Squirt!]
About five minutes in, climax hit—cum erupted like lava from the tip.
Post-nut clarity drained me; wiped up sloppily with tissue, crashed into bed, out cold.
...
[Thwack thwack thwack! Squish squish!]
"Hnng~ Ahhng"
Some noise seeped through the door crack, jolting me awake. Half-asleep, I clocked the lewd sounds quick and hustled out of my room.