Endurance Cocksucking with Mom

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Present Day: The Interview

On this early morning we’re having coffee at her home and it’s our third meeting. The room is adorned with chic furniture, an unused fireplace, and lavish artwork. My laptop is open. Nothing is written yet beyond some bland notes. My job is to turn Andrea’s life story into a luminous memoir.

When we first met, she told me, ‘I either write the book or sell the jewels. I’m sentimental about the jewels.’ She was quoting legendary actress Ava Gardner, by the way. This is about money for her. Nothing else. She’s reached the point in her career where the big roles come less often while her spending habits remain the same.

This is my first time being a ghostwriter for a celebrity’s memoir. I expected to have a lot of notes by now, but so far we’ve been having too much fun talking and getting to know each other. I’m struck by her charm. She’s 51 years old and she looks her age, without all the Hollywood makeup, and she’s content being barefoot and wearing a robe.

“So is this what you wanted to do with your life?” she asks. “Hang around with celebrities, get all the gossip and write on their behalf?”

Andrea sits back and sips her coffee. It’s a genuine question. I appreciate that she wants to know me better. She’s beautiful and her eyes sparkle like jewels.

“I actually write for a living, or at least I try. I wrote a novel a few years ago, which hardly anyone read. And I have a few tv credits for lesser known shows.”

“Ah, right. My agent mentioned something about that. Guess I forgot.”

“That’s okay. Most people have.”

“Looking to get back into writing your own stuff?”

“I’m always working on more novels. Hopefully I’ll get a tv gig as well, which is stable income.”

“How does it feel being a ghostwriter?” she asks. “Writing my book, which will have my name on it, and no one will know who you are. Be honest.”

“It pays the bills. That’s my honest answer.”

She nods. “It’ll pay my bills, too. My accountants think this is a great idea, so do my agents. I should add that my agents are looking to secure a mini-series on Netflix for me. They always overpay.”

“We should start there. Your spending habits. Was there something in your childhood that made you a lavish spender as an adult? Did you grow up poor?”

“Now you’re getting boring,” she says.

“We have a book to write. Remember? Bills to pay.”

Andrea takes a sip of coffee and then gives me a long stare. It’s a strangely intimidating stare, she’s in deep thought, and she doesn’t mind making me wait. She takes a big gulp of coffee and puts the coffee down after getting the caffeine she needs.

“If I tell you a different story, will you promise to write about it?”

“That’s what we’re doing right now,” I say.

“No, no, I’m not talking about my memoir. I’m talking about a side project for you. Something for you to write, publish in a magazine, or some erotic website online, or make a book about it. I really don’t care. I just want a certain story told. Change the names, of course. I don’t ever want this traced back to me.”

This grabs my attention like nothing else, especially since she mentioned erotic websites. In all our time together, she had always presented herself as a carefree spirit, wearing little makeup. Wearing little around the house. Often barefoot. Often braless. Now she looks serious.

“Sure, I can do that. What’s on your mind?”

“First of all, don’t type this. Don’t write it down. Just remember it. I don’t want this coming back to me. Above all else, never mention my name associated with this. Strictly anonymous. Are we clear?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Repeat that back to me.”

“This won’t be included in your memoir. If it’s good I’ll write it and post it somewhere. And don’t forget, I’ve already signed a bunch of non-disclosure agreements.”

She nods. “Fair enough.”

“What’s the story about?”

“Something that happened over a year ago. I’d been a vegan for a long while, for spiritual and ethical reasons. It felt amazing at first, but as I started training for another marathon, I noticed some problems. I looked older, with more lines around my eyes and mouth. My workouts weren’t as good. I didn’t recover as fast. I started to fatigue when going long distances.”

“You want me to write a story about a vegan diet and marathon running?”

“That’s the pretext,” she says. “But trust me, you’ll want to hear this. Shall I have the maid bring you some wine?”

“I don’t drink this early. Why? Is this story so compelling that I’ll need wine?”

“Maybe. Do you find mothers who suck their sons to be a good story?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Never at this hour.”

I look into her eyes and she’s serious. “Tell me everything.”

The Story of Andrea

The marathon is days away and I’m staying in the city’s finest hotel. It’s morning and I’m in my room. My sons are somewhere, probably looking for attractive women and they’re old enough to take care of themselves. My top priority is having Çeşme Escort a respectable result in the race. The world is watching. Plus I want to be an inspiration to my boys.

I’m naked when I pull the curtains open. The sun shines across my figure. Anyone outside can see a nude celebrity if they’d look in my direction.

On the bed is my close friend Nandini who’s a retired supermodel. She’s also naked, playing on her phone. We’re around the same age, same slender figure, but she’s a dark skinned Indian woman who was raised in London and educated around the world. We’ve been friends for close to 20 years, but it’s the last 10 years that we’ve been eating each other out.

I’ve already brushed my teeth but the taste of her pussy still lingers in my mouth. I walk to the bed and poke between her butt cheeks with my finger, grazing her anus.

“Room service? Or do you feel like going downstairs?”

Nandini is still on her phone. “I can barely walk after your tongue trick. Order something. I’ll have the usual.”

I pick up the phone and order room service. Tofu scramble with sauteed vegetables, a side of tempeh bacon, seasonal fruit salad, and a smoothie with plant-based milk. Of course, we put on robes when the service comes. We work hard to keep our secret. You never know if someone will report this to the tabloids.

When the room service guy leaves with a generous tip, we ditch the robes. I’m always in awe of Nandini’s sculpted figure. A lifetime of yoga and pilates will do that, plus she has great genetics, all models do. Her black nipples are divine and I’d rather have that than my breakfast, but nipples won’t fuel a marathon.

It feels like sorority as we’re sitting naked on the bed, eating and watching the big screen tv. The food is delicious but I feel the stress weighing on me.

“I’m going to make a fool of myself. I know it.”

“The marathon? Why?” she asks.

“My training sucked. I’m always strong at the start, especially with whole foods and coffee, but my energy has been fading toward the end. It was never like that before. I get that I’m getting older, but this is ridiculous. I’m legit terrified of not being able to finish and people taking my picture of my worst moment.”

“Did you get a blood test?”

“Yep, the results are balanced.”

“What does your trainer say?”

“He thinks it’s my diet, but my blood test is normal. I don’t know. I’m thinking about going back to eating meat. That’s what my trainer suggests.”

“Do you supplement at all?” she asks.

“Vitamins, juices, stuff my trainer gives me.”

“No, I mean other supplements.”

“Are you secretly injecting stuff? Or do you secretly eat meat?”

Nandini squints her eyes. “No one explained this to you?”

“Apparently not.”

She takes our plates of half-eaten food and puts them on the table, then she comes back to the bed. We’re sitting so close that our nipples almost touch.

“My dear, a vegan diet only takes you so far,” she says. “Honestly, I still can’t believe that no one in the fitness club explained this to you. It must have been an oversight. Or maybe you’re so famous that they wanted to protect your reputation.”

“It’s steroids, isn’t it?”

“Steroids work, but they’re bad for longevity. Vegan diets can also work, but they’re difficult to fuel a marathon run. Especially at our age. We prefer a holistic and pleasurable approach to endurance.”

“Now you’re getting me all worked up,” I say.

“The secret is between a man’s legs. I’m not saying it’s an absolute medical fact. But that’s what works for me and other ladies in the fitness club.”

“You must be joking. Cum?”

“Nature’s perfect food. Calories, protein, live enzymes, and essential nutrients that are difficult to find in plant based foods. Delicious, too. Though I must admit that it’s an acquired taste. Not anyone can handle it, certainly not a diet for the weak.”

I believe every word that Nandini says because she’s a total liberal hippie and she’s far more holistic than I am. She’s also the most sexually liberated person (man or woman) that I’ve ever met in my life. Mostly our sexual discussions revolve around what pleasures we want from each other. Not from other men.

“And this is better than supplements?” I ask.

“The real thing is often better than supplements.”

“You must be drinking an insane amount of cum to be fueling yourself for a marathon.”

Nandini laughs. “First of all, I don’t drink, I swallow. There’s a difference. Secondly, all that’s needed is one serving a day. And be consistent. The nutrients accumulate over time, which prevents any deficiencies.”

“Too bad I’m single.”

“No you’re not.”

“Eating your pussy doesn’t count.”

She gives a playful sigh. “Okay, now I’ll tell you the real secret.”

“Oh good, there’s more to this madness.”

“It’s best to keep your cum-source within close proximity. You know, in the family. A few of our friends do that at home. The last thing anyone needs Çeşme Escort Bayan is some idiot dude going on social media, telling the world that you’re a daily cum guzzler.”

“Lucky husbands.”

“Not exactly.”

“Then who?”

“Lucky sons,” she says. “Older men don’t produce enough potent semen. As for a son, well that speaks for itself. They’re strong, high testosterone, and very horny. Plus they’ll never tell anyone. Too shameful.”

I think about Nandini’s family, a household of a husband, son, and two daughters. All adults. All living together in a huge Beverly Hills home, because why would any young person ever want to move out of that? I can only imagine what the scene looks like in that household, the depths of their depravity.

“Okay, now you’ve gotten me titillated. But still, I remain skeptical. I mean, come on. A son? The women in our social circle have handsome sons, including yours, but I’m not sure I believe this.”

“Honey, I still get paid top dollar for modeling gigs. And I’m in my 50’s, which is extremely rare in my industry. When it comes to health and fitness and skin care, I know what I’m talking about. The results speak for themselves.”

When she turns around and bends over to grab her phone on the counter, I can see her dark asshole and parts of her labia, then she sits on the bed again. She sifts through her phone and hands it to me.

A video is playing. Nandini is on her knees giving a blowjob to her husband. They’re both naked in the bedroom during daytime and she’s holding the phone like she’s taking a selfie. Even then, it looks like she’s posing for a photoshoot.

“That’s my secret file. Keep swiping for more.”

I swipe for the next video and Nandini is standing in the backyard pool wearing a bikini, while her son is sitting on the edge with his feet in the water, getting blown by mom. Someone else is recording this video from a reasonable distance and I wonder who’s holding the camera. The father?

While I could watch the mom/son bj video all day, I swipe again because I want to know what other secrets my dear friend has. It’s a video of Nandini’s oldest daughter on her knees, giving oral to the father in the living room, while Nandini is beside her, holding her hair. The youngest daughter is nearby, waiting for a turn.

“Yikes, your daughters, too.”

“Once they turned 18 they were allowed into the secret. They’re both vegans by choice, so it was important to get them involved quickly. It’s about having good health and longevity. And I also wanted their taste buds acclimated to cum from male family members.”

I swipe a few more times, giving the videos in her private collection a skim, until I see something that catches my eye. It’s an edited compilation video of Nandini and her daughters taking cum shots in their mouths from the father and son. To the average person, this looks like porn recorded on a phone, but it’s clear that pleasure isn’t the goal.

They aren’t doing it for the sake of being perverts and being titillated. Nandini was being truthful when she said it was about health. The family of women swallow as if going to a spa and downing a fruit/vegetable smoothie. Pleasure is merely a byproduct. I notice their skin. Glowing and beautiful. The daughters are radiant like their mother. And the mother barely has any wrinkles for a woman at that age.

I resist the urge to judge her. Maybe when I’m alone and have time to reflect I’ll have a different opinion, but at the moment, with Nandini looking at me, I keep a composed reaction.

Family members sucking each other off would normally disgust me. It should disgust sane-minded individuals. There’s a reason it’s illegal and morally frowned upon. But she’s my best friend and I try to keep an open mind. After all, this is the woman I get most of my life advice from. Her advice is always golden.

And I must admit, seeing her beautiful daughters swallowing is doing something wicked to me. I realize that I’ll need some serious self-reflection later as to why there’s a stirring feeling between my legs, which threatens to put a stain on the bed where I’m sitting. Nandini closes her phone then looks at me. Her dark nipples have turned erect, which means that revealing her family’s sexual routine has aroused her. She’s always been an exhibitionist at her core.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“My pussy is fucking wet. Though I feel ashamed for admitting that.”


“Because I’ve known them their whole lives. And they’re your son and daughters. I mean, my god. That’s incest. Not that I’m judging you. It’s just shocking to see. They look so much like you, which makes it even more bizarre.”

She laughs. “Of course. They have my genes. But anyway, this is the big secret. It’s how I can compete in endurance competitions as a middle-aged vegan.”

“I could never do something like this.”

“Why not?”

“I’m tabloid fodder. Too much paparazzi around me, which I love. But anytime I’m seen with a guy, it’s news. Escort Çeşme Besides, it’s too late to find a date before the marathon.”

“So you’re just going to risk public humiliation by crawling to the finish line? Worse, maybe you’ll collapse in front of the cameras.”

“My trainer is giving me vitamins and protein shakes,” I say. “Powdered protein from a container, just to clarify. Don’t get any dirty ideas.”

“You have a better alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Jeremy and Matthew.”

A shiver runs down my spine, hardening my nipples, when she mentions my sons. I love them with all my heart, in a maternal way, of course. I had always assumed that most real life incest cases are predatory and between father/daughter. Sure there are mom/son scenarios, but those seemed rare. Just a longstanding opinion that I had.

For context, they’re both young adults and I brought them here because I wanted them to see the race. I’ve run three marathons in my life and they’ve attended each race. Seeing the smiles on their faces as I crossed the finish line is its own reward. That’s one of the fundamental rules of parenting, to lead by example. If you work hard and have discipline, then big dreams are possible.

I can see why Nandini would suggest them. Though the thought is striking.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Hey, do you want a respectable showing for the marathon? Or not?”

“Of course I do. But…”

She stops me. “How about this. We’ll use the gym downstairs for a fitness challenge on the treadmill. Then you can make a serious decision.”

“How so?”

“If I smoke you on a fitness challenge, then you’ll have to give this serious consideration. I’m doing this for your benefit.”

“This is absolutely sick and perverted. You’re on.”

We get dressed at a casual pace to let the food digest. I text my sons, letting them know where I’ll be. They respond and let me know that it’s fine because they’re still busy with their adventures. You know how young men are.

There are several people in the gym, many of whom are participants in the marathon. I can tell by looking at them because marathon runners have a distinct physique.

Nandini demonstrates her fitness as we both step on a treadmill. A five mile run, fast pace, steep incline which makes it grueling. It’s my first time doing an intense run with something so consequential on the line. After 40 minutes we step off the treadmills and she’s proven herself by having a lower heart rate and more energy to spare. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still in top shape compared to the rest of the population, but running a marathon is a different beast.

“Thoughts?” she asks.

“Okay, you win.”

There’s a boastful smile on her face as she stands strong with her hands on her hips, chin held high, sweat pouring down her face and body. Goodness, she looks delicious.

“We basically eat the same diet,” she says. “But I’m using the special sauce. See the difference?”

“Point made.”

“So are you interested? Need help getting started? Let me know and I’ll arrange an excellent program for you.”

“You make it sound effortless.”

“It takes time getting accustomed to. I won’t deny that. But the benefits for everyone involved are priceless. Totally worth the endeavor.”

“We should talk in the sauna,” I say. “There’s more privacy.”


We strip in the locker room, wash our sweat in the shower, then head to the sauna. Nandini looks like a goddess, walking naked with a towel wrapped around the top of her head. I opt for a more conservative approach, keeping the towel wrapped around my body. No one recognizes us without makeup. If they do, they don’t say anything. Though my friend’s godly figure should be a giveaway that she’s someone famous.

There are two older women in the sauna and we sit away from them. I ditch my towel and get naked. The women don’t recognize me. I’ve never done a nude scene before, so no one would recognize my nipples.

After a few minutes of enjoying the heat and steam, the two women leave and we have privacy to speak our minds.

“I’m not interested. I don’t need any family drama. But, you know, just out of curiosity, what if I was? How exactly would it work?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Is it more than just curiosity?”

“I’m making conversation. The process sounds so bizarre that I’m intrigued.”

“First of all, you’d have to get your sons onboard.”

“Which is impossible.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “The mother is the ultimate prize for the majority of young men. Believe it or not. Especially when the mother looks like you.”

“That would be a strange and painfully awkward conversation. ‘Can I give you a blowjob? I need it for the marathon.’ How humiliating, but also hilarious.”

She laughs. “That’ll work. Seriously. Your sons are literally scouring this city for women as we speak. Why not their mother? One of the biggest movie stars around.”

“Because I’m their mother.”

“Your philosophy is wrong. You being their mother is precisely why it’ll work. Think about it. They’ll never get their hearts broken at this tender age. I believe it’s a mother’s duty to guide their offspring into loving relationships. Let them learn about love and intimacy the right way. Help them become men.”

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