The cheap hotel bathroom wasn’t exactly a spa, you know? But after a long day of driving, the chipped tiles and slightly mildewed grout were practically heaven. Steam billowed around me as I cranked the shower as hot as I could stand it. Felt good on my tired muscles, did you ever just crave that feeling, you know? Like the water could just melt away all the tension?
I let the water cascade over my head, soaking my hair first. Then I reached for the generic hotel body wash – smelled vaguely of fake citrus, but hey, it was soap. Squeezing a generous dollop into my hand, I started at my neck, lathering up in slow circles. My skin’s still pretty good for 53 if I do say so myself. I’ve always taken care of it. And genetics, let’s be honest, genetics play a big part, don’t they?
The soapy water slid down my chest, and I cupped my breasts in my hands, feeling the weight of them. Still full, after all these years, after Darren. They’ve definitely seen better days, gravity’s a bitch, isn’t it? But still, they were mine, and in the steamy mirror, reflecting back at me, they still looked pretty damn good. I massaged the soap in, feeling the familiar contours, and the slight sensitivity around the nipples. Do you ever just appreciate your body in the shower? Just take a moment to really feel it, without all the clothes and expectations.
Lower down, I washed my stomach, still relatively flat, thank goodness. Years of yoga and trying to eat somewhat healthy paid off, I guess. And then, my hands moved lower, slipping between my legs. The water was hitting just right, warm and pulsating, and the soap was slick and fragrant. I gently washed myself, feeling the folds of my vulva, the clitoris, so sensitive even now. It was a simple, private act, but there was something inherently sensual about it, wasn’t there? Just the feel of water and soap on your own skin in your most intimate places.
Rinsing off, I let the hot water run over me again, washing away the soap and the day’s grime, both physical and mental. The steam swirled around me, making the small bathroom feel like a secret world. I stayed under the spray a little longer, just letting the warmth soak in. Who doesn’t love a long, hot shower? It’s one of life’s little pleasures, right?
Finally, reluctantly, I turned off the water. The silence rushed in, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of the showerhead. I stepped onto the bathmat, a thin, scratchy thing that did little to absorb the water. Whatever. Grabbing a towel, I started to dry myself, slowly, and deliberately. Starting with my hair, then working my way down. Arms, shoulders, back. I took my time, enjoying the rough texture of the towel against my wet skin.
When I got to my breasts, I paused again, the towel soft against my nipples. I patted them gently, still a little sensitive from the warm water. Then moved down my torso, drying my stomach, my sides, and finally, between my legs. I made sure to get everywhere, all the little creases and folds, you know how it is.
Finished drying, I stood in front of the steamy mirror again, taking another look at myself. Not bad, for 53, I decided. A little softer around the edges than I used to be, sure. But still… me. And that was okay. Actually, more than okay. It was good. I was good.
I rummaged in my bag for my nightie. It was old, comfortable, soft cotton. Knee-length, sleeveless, and a little bit see-through if you held it up to the light. Not something I’d wear if I was trying to impress anyone. But it was perfect for sleeping in. And in this cramped hotel room, sharing with Darren, comfort was the priority. Wasn’t it always?
Slipping it over my head, the soft cotton slid down my body. No bra tonight, definitely no panties. Just the nightie, loose and airy. It felt good against my skin, light and free. I stretched, feeling the nightie shift and sway around me. Looking in the mirror one last time, I smoothed my hair back with my fingers, then opened the bathroom door.
The main room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. Darren was already in bed, or at least, under the covers. Laying on his side fidgeting under the blankets, I thought nothing of it.
I padded over to my side of the bed, the one furthest from the door. The sheets were thin and slightly scratchy, just like the bathmat. Sighing softly, I slid under the covers, pulling them up to my chin. The room was quiet, except for the low hum of the air conditioning. And… was that… rhythmic breathing? Deep, slow breaths coming from Darren’s side of the bed.
I lay there for a few minutes, just listening to the quiet sounds of the room and the even quieter sounds of my own body. My heartbeat slowing, my breath evening out. It was… peaceful, in a weird way. Even sharing a bed with my son, in a cheap hotel, miles from home. Life was strange sometimes, wasn’t it?
And then, I heard it. A slightly faster, shallower breath. And then… a rustle of sheets. A shift in the bed beside me. And… oh god. I knew that sound. I’d heard it before, countless times over the years. Teenage boy, alone in his room, late at night. Except… he wasn’t alone. Was he really going to…?
I rolled my head slowly over my shoulder, keeping my voice low, firm but not accusatory. “Behave, Darren. Put it away, young man. I’m not stupid.”
There was a sharp intake of breath behind me, followed by a much louder rustle of sheets. “Mom! I… I wasn’t… I mean…” His voice was a mortified whisper, cracking with teenage awkwardness. “I wasn’t doing anything. I… I thought you were asleep.”
The bedding was moving as he continued messing with himself, as he got a bit closer to me, practically spooning me.
Did he really think I was born yesterday? “Darren,” I sighed, a mix of exasperation and something else, maybe a little… pity? “Honey, I’ve been a mother for eighteen years. And a woman for… well, a lot longer than that. I know what that sound is. And fidgeting that much in the dark? Come on. Just don’t get too close.”
Remembering I don’t wear underwear for bed and my nightie was short enough. I wasn’t expecting to be sharing a bed with a horny son. But then again, I should have worn underwear under the circumstances. He was getting too close to now, I ignored it.
“Oh yeah,” he whispered, a little moan escaping his lips. I felt… tingles? No, no, no way. Not now. Not right here, practically spooning my own son who was, let’s be honest, very clearly taking care of business. Did my body really have to react now at all times? Seriously? Is this some kind of cosmic joke?
Not knowingly with my own hand resting between my legs, and I definitely wasn’t thinking about what he was doing. Was I? Okay, maybe a tiny part of my brain was aware. How could it not be? He was practically breathing down my neck, for crying out loud. And the bed was moving just a little with each… movement. You know what I mean.
My hand. Between my legs. Seriously? I shifted slightly, trying to subtly move my hand away, as it had just… wandered there on its own, feeling my labia oh god and then I was rubbing my clit. That was believable. But even as I tried to pull it back, my fingers brushed against myself down there, and a little jolt went through me. Damn it. This was ridiculous. Mortifying. And… and something else. Something I hadn’t felt in a while. A long while.
I snatched my hand away like it had been burned, tucking it awkwardly under my thigh. “Darren,” I said again, my voice a little breathier than I intended. “Seriously. Stop it. You’re making me uncomfortable.” Lame, I know. Uncomfortable? That understatement of the century. More like battling a full-blown internal tsunami of inappropriate urges.
But did he stop? Of course not. Teenage boys and subtlety, they’re not exactly a match made in heaven, are they? Instead of stopping, the fidgeting behind me seemed to… intensify? The bed shifted again, closer this time. And then, oh god, and then I felt it. A pressure against my backside. Firm. Definitely not accidental.
His… you know… was pressed right against my ass. Through the flimsy nightie, through the thin sheets. I could feel the heat of him, the insistent nudge. Was he really…? He couldn’t be that brazen, could he? Was he completely oblivious to how wrong this was?
“Mom?” he whispered again, voice thick with… something. Desire? Nerves? Probably both. “Are you… are you awake?”
Awake? Was I awake? I felt more awake than I had in years. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to be screaming, buzzing with awareness. And not just any awareness. Sexual awareness. Oh, this was bad. Really, really bad. But… a tiny, traitorous voice in the back of my head whispered, was it really all bad?
Before I could even process that thought, his hand slid around my waist. Just a light touch at first. Then, bolder, stronger, his fingers splayed out, pressing into my hip. And then… lower. His hand cupped my buttock. Squeezed, just a little. And a bolt of pure, unadulterated sensation shot straight through me. Whoa.
My breath hitched. “Darren,” I said, my voice barely a whisper this time. “What… what are you doing?” Stupid question, right? I knew exactly what he was doing. And deep down, a part of me, a shameful, forbidden part, was screaming, don’t stop him.
“Mom,” he murmured, his voice lower now, huskier. His breath was warm on the back of my neck. “You feel… really good.” Seriously? That was the best he could come up with? But even as a wave of oh my god, he said washed over me, another wave, stronger, hotter, followed right behind. He thinks I feel good. And suddenly, I wanted to feel good. Really good.
His hand moved again, this time slipping under the hem of my nightie. Cold fingers on warm skin. He splayed his hand against my bare ass, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. I gasped a tiny, involuntary sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room.
And then, he pushed. Just a little. But enough. Enough to slide his erection against me again, harder this time. And… was he trying to…? Oh. Oh, he was. He was trying to get inside me. Right here. Right now. My son.
Panic flared. This was insane. This was wrong. This was…
And then, he nudged again, and again, and something shifted. Something gave. And suddenly, impossibly, shockingly, he was inside. Just the tip at first, a thick, hot intrusion. And then deeper. Slowly, relentlessly, he pushed, until he was buried inside me, all the way to the hilt.
The air rushed out of my lungs in a whoosh. My eyes flew open, staring wide into the darkness. This can’t be happening. But it was. He was inside me. My son was inside me. And… and it felt…
My mind was a whirlwind of shock, disbelief, and something else. Something hot, something… needy. He stayed still for a moment, just inside me, as if waiting for… for permission. For me to scream? To push him away?
My body thrummed with a strange, unfamiliar tension. My pussy felt stretched, full, incredibly sensitive. And then, he moved. Just a small movement at first, a slight shift of his hips. Testing. Tentative.
And then, another movement. A little deeper this time. A little harder. And then, he started to pump. Slow, deliberate thrusts at first. His cock sliding in and out, filling me, stretching me, igniting nerves I hadn’t even known I had.
My breath came in ragged gasps. “Darren…” I managed to choke out, my voice trembling. It was meant to be a protest, a demand to stop. But it came out sounding… breathless. Like a plea.
He didn’t stop. His thrusts grew stronger, deeper. Faster. My ass slapped against his stomach with each thrust, a loud, rhythmic sound that filled the small room. Slap. Slap. Slap.
And with each slap, with each deep thrust, the shock began to recede. Replaced by something else. Something powerful. Something… pleasure. Oh god, was this pleasure? It felt… intense. Too intense. And yet… I couldn’t deny it. My body was responding. Responding fiercely.
My hands clutched at the sheets, bunching them up in my fists. My head was spinning. This was insane. This was wrong. This was… feeling so incredibly, shockingly good.
He was really going at it now, hammering into me, his teenage energy unleashed. My hips started to move, involuntarily, meeting his thrusts. Matching his rhythm. And then, a moan escaped my lips. A low, guttural sound that rumbled in my chest.
“Ohh,” I moaned again, louder this time. “Darren…” It wasn’t a protest anymore. It was… something else. Something closer to encouragement. To begging.
“Mommy…” he gasped, his voice thick with exertion. “Is this… is this okay?”
Okay? Was this okay? No, of course, it wasn’t okay. It was completely, utterly, irrevocably wrong. But… did I want him to stop? Could I make him stop? Honestly? No. Not right now. Not when my body was singing with sensations I hadn’t felt… in forever.
“Ahhh,” I moaned again, louder still. “Baby… what are you doing to mommy?” The words tumbled out of my mouth, shocking even me. Mommy? Had I really just said that?
But he didn’t seem fazed. He just thrust harder, deeper. His breath coming in ragged pants. “This is…” he gasped between thrusts. “Ummm… god… yes…”
“Harder,” I moaned, my head thrown back against the pillow. “Please… harder.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. And with that, any pretence of resistance, of shock, of horror, completely dissolved. All that was left was a raw sensation. Raw desire. And the wild, forbidden rhythm of his body slamming into mine. “This is so wrong…” I whispered, but there was no conviction in my voice. It was a plea, not a condemnation.
“Does it feel wrong, Mom?” he groaned, his voice rough, urgent. He gripped my hips tighter, holding me in place as he pounded into me. “Does it feel… bad Shall I stop, ah yeah you feel so good. God I want to flip you onto your back and fuck the shit out of this pussy.”
“Noo baby… ahh fuck it… it feels good honey, d-don’t stop. Do you want me on my back,” I said as he slowed his thrusts down.
Darren’s thrusts slowed, his breath hot and heavy against the back of my neck. “Yeah, Mom,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “I wanna see you. Wanna fuck you proper.” His hands tightened on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh like he couldn’t let go.
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loud I swore he could hear it. “Okay, baby,” I whispered, barely recognizing my voice. “Let’s do it.” What was I even saying? This was crazy, but my body was screaming for more, aching for him to keep going.
He pulled out slowly, and I felt the slick glide of his cock leaving me, the sudden emptiness making me shiver. The sheets rustled as he shifted, giving me room. I rolled onto my back, my nightie bunching up around my waist, exposing me completely. The cool air hit my wet pussy, making my swollen lips throb even more. Could he see how much I wanted this? How dripping wet I was for him?
Darren propped himself up on his elbows, hovering over me. His eyes—dark and wild—locked onto mine for a split second before dropping lower. “Fuck, Mom,” he groaned, staring at my breasts through the thin cotton, my nipples hard and poking against the fabric. “You’re so hot.” His gaze slid down to my spread thighs, to my slick slit glistening in the dim light. “Look at that pussy… dripping for me.”
My cheeks burned, but my legs parted wider on their own like they had a mind of their own. “Darren…” I breathed, my voice shaky. “You shouldn’t say that.” But oh god, it felt good to hear. Too good.
He grinned, a little cocky, a little sweet—like the Darren I knew, but twisted up in this forbidden heat. “Why not? It’s true.” He shifted closer, his rock-hard cock brushing against my inner thigh, leaving a smear of precum on my skin. “You want me, don’t you?”
I bit my lip, nodding before I could stop myself. “Yeah, honey. I do.” Was I admitting that? Out loud? To my son? But the truth was pulsing between my legs, undeniable and needy.
He didn’t waste time. His hands grabbed my thighs, spreading me open wider, and he lined himself up. The swollen head of his cock nudged my soaked entrance, teasing my quivering folds. “Gonna fuck you so good, Mom,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. Then he pushed in, slow and deliberate, stretching me inch by inch. I gasped, my back arching off the bed as he filled me again, deeper this time, his thick shaft throbbing inside my tight channel.
“Ohhh, baby,” I moaned, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in. “That’s… that’s so good.” The sensation was overwhelming—hot, full, intense. His cock was buried deep, pulsing against my walls, and I could feel every veiny ridge as he started to move.
He groaned a sexy, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he panted, his hips rocking slow and steady. “So wet… so fuckin’ perfect.” His hands slid up to my breasts, shoving the nightie higher until they spilt free. He cupped them, squeezing the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over my stiff nipples. “These tits… goddamn.”
I whimpered, the pleasure spiking as he pinched my nipples, rolling them between his fingers. “Darren… oh god, don’t stop,” I begged, my voice breaking. My hips bucked up to meet his thrusts, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Could anything feel this good? This wrong? This right?
He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “You like it, huh? Like your boy fuckin’ you?” His breath was hot, his words filthy and tender all at once. Then he picked up the pace, slamming into me harder, his cock driving deep into my aching gash. My pussy clenched around him, slick and desperate, dripping juices down my thighs.
“Yes… yes, baby!” I cried out, my head tossing back against the pillow. “Fuck me… fuck mommy harder. Ahhh baby, your fucking mommy’s pussy, oh you naughty boy.” The words poured out, raw and unfiltered, and every thrust pushed me closer to the edge. His groans mixed with my moans, loud and shameless, echoing in the cramped hotel room. The headboard really banging loudly and the springs squeaking.
Darren’s thrusts became more urgent, his breathing ragged as he chased his release. “Fuck, Mom,” he panted, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum.”The words sent a jolt of excitement through me.
“Yes, baby,” I urged my own climax building rapidly. “Cum inside me. Fill mommy’s pussy up with your hot cum.”
His rhythm faltered, his cock pulsing inside me as he neared the edge.”Oh fuck, Mom,” he groaned, his face contorting with pleasure. “I’m… I’m cumming!”With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let out a guttural moan as he started to cum. I could feel his hot seed shooting deep inside me, filling me up. The sensation pushed me over the edge, and I cried out as my own orgasm crashed over me in waves of intense pleasure.
We stayed like that for a moment, him on top of me, our bodies still joined as we rode out the aftershocks of our orgasms. Finally, he rolled off me, panting heavily. I turned to look at him, my heart still racing.
“That was… intense,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn’t believe what we’d just done. The taboo nature of it all still hung heavily in the air. My pussy leaking with my son’s semen.
He turned to face me, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light. “Yeah, it was,” he agreed, a small smile playing on his lips. “But… I don’t regret it. Do you?”
I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head. “No, I don’t regret it either,” I admitted. “But we can’t… we can’t do this again, Darren. It’s too risky.”
He nodded, his expression sobering. “I know. But… I’ll always remember this. Always remember how good it felt to be with you like that.”
I reached out and cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing over his lips. “Me too, baby. Me too.”And with that, we lay back down, our bodies pressed close together, the weight of what we’d done hanging heavily between us. But for now, at this moment, we were both content to just bask in the afterglow of our forbidden tryst.