The lockdown days were long, stretching like an endless, smothering fog across our little apartment. I’m Dylan, 18, and I am itching to escape for any reason. I especially miss my girlfriend, Katrina; she is a hot babe. You know what it’s like, a young lad with all my hormones and pent-up frustrations. My mom, Lara, was pretty much the only person I saw day after day. We’d always been close, but being stuck together in the same rooms, hearing the same footsteps on the creaky floors, and the stale air started to mess with us both.
The apartment was a tiny, two-bedroom place with pale yellow walls that I once thought were cheerful. They felt oppressive as if they watched every move we made. The old wooden floorboards creaked underfoot, an ever-present reminder of this space’s size. Even in my room, I could hear Mom in the kitchen, making coffee or humming some old song she liked. Sometimes, I wished for absolute silence.
“Dylan, come help me with these dishes,” she called one afternoon.
I sighed. It was the third time that week she’d asked me to do something like that. I understood she wanted to keep the place clean, but what was the point? It wasn’t like we had company or anything. I dragged my feet to the kitchen, feeling the cold tiles under my socks.
Mom was standing at the sink, her dark hair pulled back, a few strands slipping loose around her face. She wore a faded grey t-shirt and old jeans, rolled at the cuffs. I noticed her shoulders were tense, her back slightly hunched as she scrubbed a plate. She hadn’t put on makeup in days, but her face looked worn and frustrated—like mine, probably.
“Can’t you handle it?” I grumbled, leaning against the counter. The faint scent of dish soap and the leftover aroma of burnt toast from breakfast lingered in the air.
She turned, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying,” I muttered, looking away. “It’s not like we have much stuff to do.”
She let out a long sigh. “Do you think I’m enjoying this? Do you think I wanted to be stuck here, doing dishes and managing everything?”
The tension in her voice made me tense up. I knew she was doing her best to hold everything together. She hadn’t stopped working from home, managing emails and phone calls. Her laptop sat on the counter, screen dark for now, but it seemed to glow in her mind, calling her back constantly.
I shifted uncomfortably. “I know, I just… I miss how things were.”
She softened a little, her eyes meeting mine, a mix of sadness and something deeper that I couldn’t quite place. “We all miss how things were, Dylan. But we’re here now. So help me with the dishes, and maybe we can do something fun later.”
“Like what?” I couldn’t hide the irritation in my voice. Every suggestion of hers felt childish—board games, baking, watching a movie. It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore.
She paused, then shrugged, turning back to the sink. “I don’t know. Something. I’m just trying here, okay?”
I felt a pang of guilt. I knew she was trying, and I felt like a jerk. But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped, stifled, even by her.
After a few moments, I grabbed a dish towel and dried the plates she had washed. We worked silently, the only sounds in the room being running water and rattling dishes. But the silence wasn’t comfortable anymore; it was heavy.
“You know,” she said quietly, after a while, “you’re not the only one having a hard time.”
I clenched my jaw. “I didn’t say I was.”
“You didn’t have to,” she replied, her voice sharper than before. “You’re not the only one whose life is on hold.”
Her words stung. I didn’t want to fight with her, but it felt like that’s all we did these days. Our tempers were short, and everything seemed to set us off.
After finishing the dishes, I returned to my room, hoping for space and escape. But I could still hear her, moving around the kitchen, the faint sounds of her sighs and the rustling of papers. Even in separate rooms, we couldn’t escape each other.
A few hours later, she knocked on my door.
“Dylan, can I come in?”
I hesitated. “Yeah, sure.”
She opened the door and leaned against the frame. “Look, I know we’re both frustrated. But I want us to get through this… without tearing each other apart.”
Her voice was softer now, almost pleading. She looked at me with tired eyes, her face framed by loose strands of hair that she hadn’t bothered to tie back. I suddenly saw how worn-out she looked, the shadows under her eyes, the slump in her shoulders. She wasn’t the same, either. Neither of us was.
“I don’t want to fight,” I said quietly, looking down at my hands. “I’m just… bored, I guess.”
“Bored. I get it.” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “I feel the same way.”
There was a long pause. She sat down on the edge of my bed, not too close, but close enough that I could smell her faint perfume mixed with the slightly stale scent of our apartment. Being so close without the usual noise of our arguments was strange.
“What if we tried to… make the best of it?” she suggested, her eyes hopeful.
I rolled my eyes but felt a hint of guilt. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m just so sick of everything.”
She nodded, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I know, Dylan. I know. So how about you get those grates of beers from downstairs? I will get some snacks from the kitchen and put a DVD on. But let me get my nightie on so I am relaxed, and then I’ll get them.”
“Sure,” I muttered, sounding nonchalant, but she caught my half-smile. I couldn’t help it; even a night of hanging out sounded way better than the usual emptiness.
I headed down to the storage closet at the base of our apartment building. The fluorescent lights flickered as I walked, casting long shadows on the walls. I found the stack of beers Dad had left the last time he visited, over a year ago. The place had a damp, musty smell that lingered on my clothes as I grabbed the pack and hauled it up the stairs.
Back in the apartment, Mom was already in the living room in her short black nightie, surrounded by a pile of snacks—chips, popcorn, and some old peanut butter crackers she found in the back of a cabinet. She’d changed into a worn sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair messily tied in a bun. The way she sat there, I tried not to look too much at her cleavage; as I said, my hormones were everywhere right now during the lockdown.
“You found snacks?” I joked, setting the beer down with a clink.
“Barely,” she replied with a soft laugh, tearing open a bag of chips. “We’re running low on anything close to ‘fun food.’ But hey, we’ll make it work.”
She popped a DVD into our old player, the hum of it spinning feeling oddly comforting. I sat beside her, cracking open a beer and taking a long sip. The bitter taste filled my mouth, grounding me a little and cutting through the stagnant air of the apartment.
We settled into the movie, a throwback comedy she used to love. The couch was small and worn, with faded cushions that sagged in the middle. Every time she shifted, I could feel her shoulder brushing against mine. At first, it made me uncomfortable. We’d barely been able to stand each other lately, and here we were, sitting side by side, shoulder to shoulder. But somehow, the tension started to fade as the minutes passed, as we both laughed at jokes we’d heard a hundred times before.
She sipped her beer, her laughter fading to a chuckle. “You know, we watched this every Friday when you were little.”
“I remember.” I took another sip, trying not to smile. “You’d let me stay up late and eat junk food until Dad got home.”
She grinned, her eyes crinkling like when she was genuinely happy. “Best Fridays ever, weren’t they?”
“Yeah… they were.”
I didn’t feel the frustration boiling beneath the surface for the first time in months. I felt like… like we were okay. We weren’t great, but we were here together. And maybe that was enough for now.
As the credits rolled, she looked at me, her expression soft but sad. “Thank you, Dylan; you miss Katrina, don’t you, honey? I feel your frustrations. I do,” she said quietly, barely louder than a whisper. “For sticking it out with me. I know this isn’t easy.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… I miss her. And, you know… everything and doing it.” The words felt too simple, but it was all I could manage.
“Too much information, sweetie, if it’s getting hot in here,” she said, flushed; I didn’t mean to embarrass her.
I chuckled awkwardly, realizing I’d probably overshared. But maybe that was what happened when you spent too long cooped up with the same person—you forgot the usual filters. My cheeks felt warm, and I thought about retreating to my room for a second, but Mom just laughed, the tension easing.
“Look, I get it; you have needs; it’s hard for me, too,” she said, waving her hand as if brushing it aside. “We’re human. This whole thing has been hard on everyone.” She took a long sip of her beer, leaning back against the couch. Her nightie ridden up slightly, and I couldn’t stop staring at her cleavage; by the looks of it, she wasn’t wearing a bra, and I started to get hard.
I shifted, trying to adjust myself discreetly without making it too obvious. Mom didn’t seem to notice, continuing to talk about the struggle of cooping up.
I cleared my throat, trying to refocus. “Yeah, it’s been tough. But we have to make the best of it, right?”
Mom nodded a small smile on her lips. “Exactly. And sometimes, that means getting a little… creative.”
An hour later, we were into the 3rd movie and practically drunk; that’s when she teased me and started to tickle me.
“Hehe, you’re so ticklish, Dylan!” she giggled, her fingers dancing over my sides. I squirmed, trying to escape her playful attack, but she was relentless. Her laughter filled the room, and I couldn’t help but join in, my frustrations melting away with each giggle.
As she tickled me, her nightie slid up, revealing more and more of her smooth legs. I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to notice how toned and soft her skin looked. I felt my heartbeat quicken, and my cock stirred in my pants. I tried to shift, hoping she wouldn’t notice, but she did.
She pinned me to the couch as she straddled me, “You give up, you little…” She stopped and blushed. She could feel my strained hard cock against her bottom.
I looked up at her, my breath hitching as I took in the sight of her straddling me, her thighs on either side of my hips, her nightie bunched up around her waist. I could see the outline of her panties through the thin fabric, and my cock twitched at the sight.
“Mom…” I started, but the word caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say—I was shocked, excited, and a little embarrassed.
“Maybe… you should go to the bathroom and you know, deal with it,” she said embarrassed but still sat on it.
“I don’t want to, Mom,” I replied, my voice husky with desire. I reached up and gently placed my hands on her hips. She tensed but didn’t pull away.
“Dylan,” she whispered, but she didn’t move away. She looked awkward.
I slowly lifted her ass to access my pants as I took out my hard cock. She looked at me in shock, “Sweetie, we can’t.”
My hand goes up her nightie I pull her panties to the side and guide my cock at her cunt which is shaven. I pull her down and impale her.
“Ahhh, darling, we….” I cut her off with my hands tightly on her hips, pumping her up and down.
“Dylan, we shouldn’t,” she whispers, but her body betrays her. She digs her nails into my shoulders, pulling me closer as I start to thrust into her.
The sounds of our bodies slapping together fill the room, joined by her moans and my grunts of pleasure. I can feel her pussy tightening around me, her muscles clenching as I slide in and out of her. The wet noises of our sex are almost primal, a reminder of the raw, animalistic desire between us.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this, Dylan,” she muttered, her breath coming in short gasps. I could feel the tension building inside her, a tidal wave of pleasure about to crash over us both.
I ignored her words, focusing only on the way her pussy felt gripping my cock like a velvet vice. She was so fucking wet for me; it made me even harder than I already was. My fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as I pounded into her relentlessly, my body demanding more and more from hers.
I held tightly as I pumped up into her, her tits bouncing to the point one boob fell out of the top of her nightie.
The sight of her boob made me fuck her harder, I rolled us over so I was on top of her. My dick was pumping in and out of her pussy.
I saw moms gaze shift down between us and between her legs as she watched my thick cock pounding her pussy.
I felt her pussy muscles clenching, gripping my cock harder. I knew she was close to coming. That’s when I gave her a smirk. “You like watching?”
“What? No!” she gasped, trying to hide her face with her hands. But I could see the flush of arousal on her cheeks, and I knew she was lying.
“I can stop if you want, Mom,” I said with a grin, my voice thick with lust.
She shook her head quickly, her eyes filled with desire. “No… Please, please don’t stop.”
I grinned and thrust into her again, feeling the walls of her pussy tighten around me as she cried out in pleasure. My cock was sliding in and out of her wet cunt so fast that it sounded like a slippery slide on a water park. The sounds of our bodies slapping together echoed throughout the room, mixing with our ragged breaths and dirty whispers to create an intoxicating symphony of lust and desperation.
“Oh God, Dylan… I’m so fucking close,” she moaned softly as I continued to pump my cock deep inside of her pussy over and over again without any signs of slowing down or stopping anytime soon because, let’s face it: this was just getting good now!
I picked up the pace, and I got a lot more rougher as I started to go full-on hammering her poor pussy. I hadn’t had sex in other than a month, and it made me fuck my mom like a beast.
At this point, our horny brains were buzzing with pleasure and desperation. I could hear Mom’s moans become higher pitched as her arousal grew to a boiling point. “Please, Dylan…please don’t stop! I need it!”
“I’ll never stop fucking you, Mom,” I growled out in response, grabbing her ass tightly while drilling my cock inside her pussy like an animal. My balls were tightening up against my body as the pressure inside of them grew stronger by the second. It felt incredible to be sliding back and forth through Mom’s wet cunt – knowing that she was mine – all mine! All thoughts of Katrina faded away into nothingness now; there was only my mother beneath me right here at this moment and time meant for us to lose ourselves together in lustful abandonment without shame or guilt ever again.
As I thrust myself into her, my mom screamed out in pleasure and lust. “Oh my God, Dylan! I’m cumming.” Her body convulsed beneath me as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. The sight of her climaxing face was too much for me to bear; I lost control and exploded inside of her, filling her up with every last drop of my seed.
We collapsed against each other, our chests heaving with the exertion of our intense fucking. Mom was still trembling from her orgasm, her skin flushed and covered in a thin layer of sweat. I knew she would have bruises on her hips from where I’d grabbed onto them for leverage during our frenzied thrusting, but she didn’t seem to care; all that mattered was the incredible pleasure we had both experienced together.
I eventually pulled out, not that I had cum; I felt guilty. The things lockdown did behind closed doors.
“I… I’m sorry, Mom,” I muttered, embarrassed and ashamed. It was one thing to get carried away in the heat of the moment; it was another entirely to do something so wrong and forbidden.
Mom looked at me, her eyes softening with understanding. “It’s okay, Dylan.” She reached out and stroked my cheek gently, her touch comforting and arousing. “We both needed this.”
“I am knackered, haha,” I said with a chuckle.
“I should think so, the way you went at me like that, fucking hell, I didn’t know you had it in you, son,” she teased, her voice thick with lust.
“Lockdown’s fault. I had it all pent up, and looking at your cleavage,” I muttered, my face flushed. I didn’t want to sound like a total pervert, but the words came out anyway.
“Well, I am flattered I can turn someone on. I never thought it would be you. Yes, lockdown has been hard; I think that is just what I needed. A good seeing to, and boy, you sure did,” she gave me a thorough fucking. I’m not going to lie—it felt amazing. But I also feel guilty and confused. I love Katrina, and I never thought I’d be attracted to my mom like that. But the lockdown has messed with my head, and I can’t help how I feel.
Mom looks at me, her expression softening. “I know this is confusing, Dylan. And I’m not going to pretend that I’m not feeling a little… overwhelmed myself. But we can’t deny what just happened between us.”
“I know,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It was… intense.”
“Yes, it was,” Mom agrees, her voice equally quiet. “But we also can’t let this define our relationship. We’re still mother and son, and that will not change because of one moment of passion.”
“I think we both need some time to process what happened,” Mom says, breaking the silence. “Maybe we should just… try to get back to normal for now?”
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” I agree, feeling sad. I don’t want to ignore what happened between us, but I also don’t want to risk ruining our relationship.
Mom gives me a small smile before getting up and returning to her room. I watch her go, feeling a mix of emotions coursing through me. I’m unsure what the future holds for us, but I know that our relationship will never be the same again.