I leaned against the old station wagon, arms folded beneath my chest, my blouse clinging slightly with the sweat of the long drive. The neckline had dipped a bit, and I didn’t bother adjusting it—no one was around to see. The air smelled of pine resin and hot dust. Above, the trees reached into the sky like ancient witnesses. I was wearing low-rise jeans and a camisole that hugged me in ways I used to feel self-conscious about. Not so much anymore. Not here, not now. My name’s Miranda, forty-three, divorced three years, and dragging my eighteen-year-old son, Kit, into the wilderness for what I’d called “a digital detox,” and what he’d called “a forced exile.”
He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his hair longer than it used to be, chin tilted like I’d accused him of something. I hadn’t. Not yet.
“This is it?” he said. “No Wi-Fi, no signal, just trees and murder vibes?”
I laughed lightly. “It’s not a horror film. It’s a cabin. Come on. Help me with the bags.”
He didn’t move, just kept staring—his expression unreadable. I turned away, annoyed. Or maybe just tired. The cabin sat tucked beneath a thick canopy, shrouded in late-afternoon shadow. It was quiet in a way that made you listen harder, hoping for birdsong or a breeze, anything to break the hush. I unlocked the door and pushed it open with my shoulder. It smelled of cedar and old smoke. One bedroom, a kitchen that pretended to be modern, and a lounge with worn tartan cushions on sagging furniture. We were supposed to be here for three nights.
Inside, Kit dropped his bag with a loud thud and said, “Where do I sleep?”
“There’s a sofa bed. Don’t start with me, please.”
He didn’t reply. Just pulled out his phone, looked at the blank screen, and sighed like someone had just shot his dog.
By nightfall, the cabin had taken on a more intimate kind of silence. I was curled into the armchair in my satin nightie—deep wine-red, low-cut, with lace edging that sat just along the tops of my breasts. It was something I wouldn’t have worn in front of him a year ago. But something had changed. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was everything.
Kit sat cross-legged on the floor, close enough to reach my glass. We’d found a half-drunk bottle of Pinot Noir left by the previous guests, and I’d said, “One glass won’t kill either of us.” He’d raised a brow but didn’t argue.
He poured me another. “You sure?” he said, eyes flicking up. His tone was casual, teasing.
“You trying to get me drunk, Mr?” I said with a little smirk, raising the glass to my lips.
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe you’re already drunk.”
I looked at him closely, not because I was wary, but because I was… confused. There was something coiled tightly in him, something that hadn’t been there before. He’d grown broader in the shoulders, voice deeper, but that wasn’t it. It was how he looked at me, sometimes as if he was trying to read something written on the inside of my skin. It made me uncomfortable. Not afraid. Just… seen, in a way mothers weren’t supposed to be.
He took a long sip of wine. “You always do this,” he said finally.
“Do what?”
“Act like everything’s normal when it isn’t.”
That stunned me. “Is this about your father again?”
He laughed, short and bitter. “No. This is about you. Coming up here, pretending we’re still close. You didn’t even notice I was high half the time last year, did you?”
I set the wine down. “No,” I said, quietly. “I didn’t.”
He looked surprised. “You’re not gonna yell?”
“I’m too tired for yelling, Kit. And besides… I think I knew. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
He rubbed his face with his palms. “Jesus. You used to care. You were everywhere. And then… you weren’t.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s not about fair. It’s about the space you left. And what moved into it when you disappeared.”
His words were cold, but he looked wrecked. Eyes glassy, like something was shaking loose.
I went to him then. Not in pity, but in solidarity. I sat beside him on the floor. Our knees touched. He didn’t pull away.
“You don’t know what it was like, after your Dad left,” I said. “I was… broken in a way I didn’t have language for. I failed you. I know that.”
He didn’t respond for a long while.
Then, “It’s weird seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Beautiful. Alone. Wearing that.”
My heart stilled. The air felt charged now, too warm. I reached for the wine, but thought better of it.
“Kit,” I said, my voice low. “I need you to understand something.”
“Kit,” I said, my voice low. “I need you to understand something. Things are… complicated. I’m trying to figure things out, and maybe I haven’t been the best mother lately, but…” I trailed off, searching for the right words, words that wouldn’t further muddy the increasingly treacherous waters swirling between us.
His gaze was unwavering, fixed on the low-cut neckline of my nightie. I could see the pulse throbbing in his throat. He swallowed hard, the movement amplified in the cabin’s silence. I knew I shouldn’t be wearing this. Not here, not now. But the impulse to shed the skin of the grieving, dutiful mother had been too strong. I had wanted to feel… desirable. And this undeniably desirable young man, barely a man, was looking at me like he wanted me.
He shifted slightly, and that’s when I saw it. The unmistakable bulge pressing against the fabric of his jogging bottoms. A stark, undeniable sign of his arousal. My breath hitched. It was a forbidden landscape, suddenly illuminated.
My own body reacted instantly. A flush bloomed across my chest, and a familiar ache throbbed low in my belly. I hadn’t felt this way in years. Not since… well, certainly not since my divorce. And definitely not with my son.
“But what?” he asked, his voice rougher now, the boyish cadence almost entirely gone.
I looked away, focusing on a knot in the wooden floorboards. “But I’m still your mother, Kit. And that means… There are lines we can’t cross.”
He remained silent for a moment, and the tension in the room grew thicker, almost suffocating. The only sound was the crackling of the fire in the hearth, each pop and hiss a miniature explosion in the charged atmosphere.
Then, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “Are you sure about that?”
I finally looked back at him. His eyes were dark, pleading. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my knee. It was a tentative touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me.
“Kit,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Don’t.”
He didn’t stop. His hand moved higher, slowly, deliberately, until it rested on my thigh, just beneath the hem of my nightie. The heat of his touch seared through the thin fabric.
“Why not, Mom?” he murmured, his gaze locked on mine. The word ‘Mom’ hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desire, twisted into something dangerous and forbidden. “You look like you want me to.”
His words were a match to kindling. My resolve, already weakened by the wine and the charged atmosphere, crumbled completely. Deep down, a reckless, desperate part of me did want him to. The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My mind was a chaotic whirlwind of right and wrong, desire and disgust. His hand tightened on my thigh, and I closed my eyes, trying to regain control. But it was too late. The dam had broken.
He leaned closer, his breath warm on my neck. I shivered, a tremor that had nothing to do with cold. “Please,” he whispered, his voice laced with a raw hunger that mirrored my own.
His hand slid further up my thigh, bunching the satin of my nightie in his fist. I bit my lip, a moan escaping my throat. It was wrong, so wrong. But I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t.
He pushed the nightie higher, exposing the pale skin of my inner thigh. His fingers found the edge of my panties, tracing the lace with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down my spine. I gasped, my body arching towards him involuntarily.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into mine. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
I should have said no. I should have pushed him away, screamed, run. But I didn’t. I wanted him too much.
I nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. It was all the permission he needed.
With a groan, he leaned in and kissed me. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, full of pent-up desire and unspoken longing. His tongue plunged into my mouth, and I met him with equal fervor, all rational thought dissolving in the heat of the moment.
His hands were everywhere now. One hand still gripped my thigh, the other tangled in my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged. “God, Mom,” he whispered against my ear. “You taste so good.”
He moved lower, pressing kisses along my jawline, down my neck, to the hollow of my throat. I moaned again, arching my back to give him better access. He pulled at the strap of my nightie, baring my shoulder to his hungry mouth.
His hand slid beneath my panties, his fingers finding my wetness. I cried out, my body clenching around his hand. He knew exactly what he was doing, how to drive me wild.
With a sudden movement, he pulled my panties to the side, exposing me completely. I gasped, a mixture of shock and pleasure. He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes dark with desire.
Then, he leaned in and kissed me there, his tongue teasing and exploring. I cried out again, my body convulsing with pleasure. It was too much, too intense. I was on the edge, about to lose control.
He moved back up, his eyes blazing. He reached for my nightie’s hem, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside. I was naked now, exposed to his hungry gaze.
He stood up, his own arousal straining against his jogging bottoms. He reached for the drawstring, pulling it loose. He pushed the pants down, revealing his hard, throbbing cock.
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. It was really happening. We were really doing this.
He reached for me, pulling me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I could feel the heat of his body against mine, the hardness of his erection pressing into my belly.
He kissed me again, a long, lingering kiss that left me breathless. Then, he led me to the couch, pushing me down onto the worn tartan cushions.
He knelt between my legs, his eyes locked on mine. He reached down and guided his cock to my entrance. I gasped again, my body tensing.
He pushed inside, slowly, deliberately. I cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure. It had been so long.
He started to move, slowly at first, then faster and harder. I met him thrust for thrust, my body rocking with each stroke. The pleasure was overwhelming, all-consuming.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment. The cabin faded away, the world narrowed to the sensation of his body inside mine. I was lost in him, lost in the moment, lost in the forbidden pleasure. Mu vagina was a no go area, especially to him, hes my son why wasnt I stopping him.
“Ahh yeah,” he moaned as he started to pump his full shaft in and out of my poor, neglected pussy, which hadn’t had a cock in it for a long while.
His thrusts grew harder, faster, each one sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I could feel his balls slapping against my clit with each deep penetration, the sound mixing with our heavy breathing and the creaking of the old couch.
“Fuck, Mom,” he groaned, his voice strained with effort and desire. “You feel so good.”I couldn’t respond, couldn’t form words. All I could do was moan and gasp, my body writhing beneath him as he took me with a ferocity that surprised us both.
I arched my back, pushing my breasts towards him as he pounded into me, his cock stretching me wide, filling me. The feeling of him, so deep inside me, was almost overwhelming. I could feel every vein, every ridge, every inch of his hard length as he moved.
“Kit,” I whimpered, my nails digging into his back. “Oh God, Kit. Why… why are you fucking me.”
“Unngh, take it… why arnt you… stopping me,” he said as he just pounding my cunt harder.
I couldn’t stop now, couldn’t pull away. Not when he was so deep inside me, not when every thrust sent a wave of pleasure crashing over me. I was lost in the sensation, in the forbidden heat of his body against mine. His cock was slick with my arousal, sliding in and out of me with ease.
The wet squelching sounds of his cock plunging into my pussy filled the cabin, the slapping of his balls against my clit with each deep thrust echoing through the small space. I moaned loudly, my body writhing beneath him as he took me with a raw, primal intensity.
“Fuck, Mom,” he groaned, his voice strained with effort and desire. “You’re so tight. So hot and wet for me.”
“We… shouldnt be doing this, ahhh fucking hell my pussy,” I moaned trying to fight back the pleasure he was giving me.
He just kept pounding into me, his cock driving deep, his hips smacking against mine with each thrust. “Shhh, just let it happen,” he panted, his breath hot against my ear. “We both need this.” I couldn’t argue with that, not when his words were backed up by the undeniable evidence of his arousal.
He was hard as steel, throbbing inside me, his every pulse sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. As he continued to fuck me, the cabin around us seemed to fade away, replaced by a haze of lust and desire. All that mattered was the sensation of his cock plunging into my pussy, the way his hips ground against mine, the sound of our heavy breathing and the slapping of skin on skin. I felt my orgasm building, a coiling tension deep in my belly that was rapidly spiraling out of control.
“Oh God, Kit,” I moaned, my body arching up to meet his.
“I want to suck your tits,” he said panting hard as he didnt stop fucking me while he lifted my nightie more.
His words sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of shame and arousal coursing through me. I hesitated for a moment, torn between the desire to push him away and the overwhelming urge to let him do as he pleased. In the end, the latter won out.
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Suck my tits, Kit. Please.” He didn’t need to be told twice. Witha groan, he leaned down, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
I cried out, my hands flying to his head, tangling in his hair. He switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, his teeth grazing the tender flesh.
As I feel him inside me, my body starts to make sloppy, wet sounds – ‘Slurp… squelch’ – and I moan out loud, “Kit ahh, ahh you… you naughty boy,” the words tumbling out of my mouth as his hips keep moving, his cock sliding in and out of me with a crazy, unstoppable energy that’s driving me wild. The sensations are intense, and my body is responding in ways I never thought possible. My pussy is throbbing, and I can feel it clenching and unclenching around him, like it’s trying to milk him for all he’s worth.
As his hot mouth closes around my nipple, I feel a rush of pleasure. His tongue dances and sucks, sending shivers through my body. I gasp, my back lifting off the couch, as he showers my breasts with attention. His hips keep moving, never stopping, and I feel my excitement build. I’m getting hotter and hotter, and I can feel my orgasm building up inside me.
“Kit ahh,” I moan, my fingers digging into his hair. “Yes, just like that,” I pant. “Keep sucking and thrusting, it feels amazing.” His groan against my skin makes the sensation even stronger. With each thrust and suck, my pleasure grows, like a knot in my belly tightening and tightening. I can feel my body responding to him, my pussy getting wetter and wetter, and my nipples hardening into tight little buds.
“Kit, I’m…I’m going to…” I start to say, but my words turn into a moan as the pleasure takes over. It’s like a huge wave crashing over me, making me feel incredibly good. My body clenches around him, pulsing with pleasure as I lose control beneath him. I’m screaming, my voice hoarse from moaning, and my body is shaking and jerking uncontrollably.
I’ll never forget the sensation of his cock deep inside me, making my pussy throb with pleasure. As he moves in and out, I can feel my body building up to something amazing. My breaths are getting shorter and shorter, and I couldn’t help but let out little moans. “Kit ahh, ahh you… you naughty boy,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He seems to know exactly what I need, sucking on my nipple just a little bit harder, his hips moving faster and faster. I can feel his cock pressing deeper into me, making my pussy clench and unclench around him. It’s like he’s speaking directly to my body, telling it to let go and give in to the pleasure.
“Come for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against my breast. “Come all over my cock.” His words send shivers down my spine, and I feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge. My body is trembling, my muscles tensing up, and my pussy is convulsing around his cock.
And then, it happens. I scream as my orgasm crashes through me, wave after wave of pleasure washing over me. My body is shaking and jerking uncontrollably, and I can feel my pussy clamping down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. I’m drowning in ecstasy, unable to think or breathe or do anything except feel.
As I come, I can feel my pussy squirting all over his cock, the liquid pouring out of me like a faucet that won’t turn off. It’s like my body is trying to push him out, to make him pull back and give me a break. But he just keeps going, pounding into me harder and faster, his cock throbbing with pleasure. I can feel his cock swelling inside me, and I know he’s getting close to coming.
And then, he comes. I feel his hot seed spurting inside me, coating my walls and marking me as his. It’s like a dam has burst, and his cum is pouring into me, filling me up and overflowing out of me. I can feel his cock pulsing and twitching, like it’s still trying to come, still trying to give me more pleasure. His cum is warm and sticky, and I can feel it dripping out of me, down my thighs and onto the couch.
As he finally pulls out of me, I’m left feeling dazed and confused. I couldn’t believe what had just happened, couldn’t believe that I had let him do that to me. I look up at him, my eyes wide with shock, and he just smiles and kisses me on the forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”
I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond. All I can do is lie there, feeling his cum dripping out of me, and wonder what I’ve just gotten myself into. I’m still trying to process what happened, still trying to understand how I let things go so far. I look at him, and he’s just standing there, looking at me with a mixture of concern and satisfaction. I feel a blush rising to my cheeks, and I quickly look away, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“Um, I think I need to…uh…clean up,” I stutter, trying to find an excuse to get away from him.
He nods, still smiling, and hands me a towel. “Yeah, okay. I’ll…uh…let you get cleaned up.”
I take the towel and quickly get up, trying to wrap it around me as modestly as possible. I feel like I’m trying to cover up more than just my body, like I’m trying to hide the fact that I just let him do that to me. I glance at him, and he’s still standing there, looking at me with that same smile. I feel a shiver run down my spine, and I quickly turn away, trying to escape the intensity of the moment.
As I walk away, I can feel his eyes on me, and I know that things will never be the same again. I’m not sure what the future holds, but I know that I’ll never forget this moment, this feeling of being completely and utterly consumed by him.