My phone buzzed on my desk upstairs. Work messages always seemed to find me even when I was supposedly relaxing. I glanced down, saw Mom’s name, and figured it was just a quick “how’s your day” type of thing.
Mom: Missing you baby, a shame you’re at work. Here is a picture of my tits honey. [Image attached]
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Baby? Tits? Mom? I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and looked again. Yup, definitely Mom. And yup, definitely… her. Holy shit. I quickly tapped the image to open it full screen, then instantly regretted it and wanted to look again at the same time. Damn, she looked… amazing. I mean, Mom, but still. Definitely not something I was expecting to see before getting back to blasting aliens on the Xbox.
My fingers fumbled a bit before I managed to type back a reply.
Me: Mom? Uh… you sent me a picture… I think by accident. I am not dad lol. Damn good pair though.
My heart was pounding a little. Was that too much? Too cheeky? But seriously, ‘damn good pair’ kind of summed it up, even if it was totally inappropriate to say to my mother. I waited, watching the little typing bubbles pop up and disappear.
Mom: OMG, I am SO sorry! Wrong chat! Delete that immediately! Seriously mortified. 🙈 Where are you anyway?
Mortified. Yeah, she should be. But also… kinda hot. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Okay, play it cool, Liam, play it cool.
Me: All good. But… uh… was that… you looked great, by the way. Awkward, sorry! 😅 Upstairs in my room, was on Xbox but that pic wow.
Cringe, Liam, cringe! ‘Wow’?! Smooth. But honestly, my brain was still a bit scrambled. The image was burned into my retinas. Mom. Like that.
Mom: Oh god, stop! You didn’t see anything. Let’s just forget it, okay? Please? 🙏
Forget it? Right. Like I could just un-see that. Fat chance. Still, I knew I should probably drop it. But… something was telling me not to. Maybe it was the little devil on my shoulder, or maybe it was just my own curiosity, but I couldn’t resist a little tease.
Me: Too late! The brain already scrambled eggs. 😉 Just kidding… mostly. But seriously, hope you’re having a good night?
‘Mostly kidding’. Yeah, that was a lie. Not kidding at all. My head was definitely in a weird place. And my… well, down there was starting to take notice too. This was so wrong, but also… kind of exhilarating.
Mom: You are terrible! I am trying to relax after a long day. And now this. You are making it worse! 🤦♀️
Making it worse? Or more interesting? Hah, I had to push it, just a little more.
Me: Making it worse? Or more interesting? 😉 Just saying… you looked amazing. Even accidentally amazing.
I was definitely pushing my luck now. I could feel it. But I also felt a thrill, a rush of something I definitely shouldn’t be feeling towards my mom. But the image… goddamn.
Mom: Okay, you are really pushing it now. Stop it. Seriously. … But thanks, I guess. It was new lingerie, wanted to see how it looked. 😳
Lingerie. New lingerie. Okay, now we were getting somewhere. Accidental lingerie pic? Right. ‘Wanted to see how it looked’. To Dad, sure. But maybe… maybe a tiny, tiny part of her liked that I saw it? Probably just wishful thinking, but the ‘thanks, I guess’ and the blushing emoji… it was something.
Me: Lingerie, huh? Accidental lingerie pic, only thing I saw is you in panties and your tits out… Sounds like my kind of accident. 😉 So, what else are you wearing… accidentally?
Cheeky. Way too cheeky. But I couldn’t stop myself. The banter was… charged. It was dangerous, and I was suddenly all in.
Mom: You are unbelievably cheeky. And I am probably going to regret this… but nothing much else right now. Just comfy pants. Although… 🤔
‘Although…’ Fuck, that ‘although’ was doing things to me. It was like a dare, a little breadcrumb trail leading somewhere seriously forbidden. I typed back instantly, desperate to know.
Me: Although…? Don’t leave me hanging, Mom. Although what?
Come on, come on, tell me. My heart was racing now, anticipation building with each passing second. This felt insane, wrong, but also… intoxicating.
Mom: Although… maybe I could be persuaded to change into something else. If someone… deserved it. 😈 Ignore me, I shouldn’t be texting you like this your my son, my boy.
My breath hitched. ‘Persuaded to change into something else’? ‘If someone deserved it’? And that devil emoji? Holy. Shit. This was… actually happening? She was actually… flirting? With me? The ‘ignore me, I shouldn’t be texting you like this’ felt almost like a cover, a way to take back control, but it was too late. The door was open. Wide open.
My fingers were practically vibrating as I typed, adrenaline pumping through me. I barely even thought before I sent it, the words just exploding out.
Me: Someone like… me? Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Oh, shit can I fuck you, my dick is so damn hard, is Dad out. 😳
I hit send and immediately wanted to take it back. Too much? Way too much? But it was out there now. I stared at my phone screen, waiting, my chest tight with a mix of panic and… and something else. Excitement? Fear? This was insane. Utterly, completely insane. And yet… I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen, waiting for her reply. My cock throbbed in my jeans, a painful ache of desire. Please, please, please reply.
The reply bubbles popped up almost instantly this time, then disappeared just as quickly. Then, silence. A longer silence than before. My stomach clenched. Had I crossed a line? Had I completely and utterly blown it? Maybe she’d just block me now. Delete the chat. Pretend it never happened. Shit, shit, shit.
Then, the bubbles reappeared. Slowly this time. Deliberately? My breath hitched again.
Mom: Liam! 😳 OMG. Wow. Okay, you definitely know how to get my attention. Seriously though… ‘fuck you’? That’s… a lot. Even for this ‘accidental’ chat. 🙈
‘A lot’. Not ‘disgusting’. Not ‘never speak to me again’. ‘A lot’. And another blushing monkey. Hope flared in my chest, hot and insistent. ‘Get my attention’. Did that mean… it worked?
Me: Sorry, sorry! Went too far. Blame the lingerie pic. And… you. Just got carried away. Forget I said that last bit, please? 😬 Seriously though… attention gotten? 😉
I held my breath again, waiting. This was agonizing. But a delicious kind of agonizing. The kind you get when you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something thrilling, something you shouldn’t even be considering.
Mom: ‘Forget you said that last bit’? Liam, you really think I can just ‘forget’ you just asked if you could… you know… with your MOTHER? 🤦♀️ You are something else.
Okay, still not a direct rejection. More playful exasperation than genuine anger. The eye-roll emoji was almost… encouraging.
Me: Nope, not expecting you to forget. Impossible to un-ring that bell, right? But… maybe… just maybe… you’re not entirely horrified? Just… a little bit… intrigued? 🙏
This was a pure gamble now. Pushing all my chips in. If she shut me down now, it would be brutal. But the alternative… the possibility… was too intoxicating to ignore.
Another pause, not as long this time. The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared a couple of times, like she was actually composing and deleting, thinking hard about what to say. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Mom: Intrigued? Liam, seriously… I don’t know what to say. This is so… wrong. So messed up. We shouldn’t even be talking about this.
Yes! ‘We shouldn’t even be talking about this’. Meaning she WAS talking about it. Engaged. Not shutting it down. The ‘wrong’ and ‘messed up’ were expected, almost necessary. But they weren’t a No. Not a real No.
Me: I know, I know. Totally wrong. My brain is fried too. But… are you going to pretend you didn’t send me that picture? That you didn’t kind of… like my reaction? Just a little bit? Be honest. 😉
I added another winky face, pushing the cheekiness, testing the boundaries again. The silence stretched out, longer this time. I could practically feel the internal battle she was having, the conflict between what she knew she should say, and whatever else was swirling around in her head after sending that picture. And after my reaction.
Then, finally, the reply. Just one word, but it hit me like a shot of pure adrenaline.
Mom: …Maybe.
Maybe. That single word hung in the air, vibrating with unspoken possibilities. My heart pounded harder than it had during any Xbox firefight. ‘Maybe’. It wasn’t a yes, but it sure as hell wasn’t a no. It was a crack in the dam, a sliver of light in the darkness. Hope, dangerous and intoxicating, flooded through me.
Me: Maybe?! ‘Maybe’ is the most exciting word you could have said right now. 😉 ‘Maybe’ you’re as turned on by this as I am? ‘Maybe’ you secretly wanted me to react like this? Please tell me I’m not completely insane for feeling this… because ‘maybe’ I really am going crazy for you right now, Mom. 🥺 Don’t hate me, but I have never thought of you in that way but I could so rail your cunt right about now.
My message hung there, bold and brutal. I braced myself for the backlash, for the ‘disgusted’ or the block. But instead, another flurry of typing bubbles. This time, they persisted, building a longer, more considered reply.
Mom: Liam! Okay… wow. You… you really went there. Rail my… plow my… 😳 Jesus. Okay, deep breaths, Mom. Deep breaths. That is… incredibly crude. And… honestly? Kind of… hot? But SO wrong. Like, code red, sirens blazing, wrong. My son does NOT talk to his mother like that.
Hot? She said hot? Mixed with the horror, but hot was in there. My pulse roared in my ears. Code red wrong, yeah, I knew that. But code red exciting too.
Me: Crude? Yeah, sorry. Got carried away again. But… ‘kind of hot’? Mom, seriously? You just admitted that my talking about railing you was ‘kind of hot’. 🤯 We’re officially in crazy town now, aren’t we? But… crazy good? Please tell me I’m not alone in feeling this… crazy, messed up, electric thing.
I needed her to confirm it, to validate this insanity that was gripping me. To admit she felt something too, even if it was buried under layers of ‘wrongness’.
Mom: Electric? Liam, stop. Just… stop. This is insane. I am your mother. You are my son. We are having a completely inappropriate, frankly disturbing, conversation. I should shut this down right now. I really should.
She was wavering. ‘Should’ but hadn’t. The ‘should’ was her head talking, but what was her heart, or whatever else was thumping in her chest right now, saying?
Me: You should. You absolutely should. And you could. One tap of a button and poof, gone. Sanity restored. But… you haven’t. You’re still here. Still texting. Still… ‘kind of hot’-ing. Why, Mom? Why haven’t you shut it down? Be honest. Just a little bit honest.
The silence stretched again, each second feeling like an eternity. I stared at the screen, willing her to reply, to not shut me out, to not retreat back into the ‘mother’ role and pretend this whole crazy thing hadn’t happened.
Mom: …Because… because I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know why I haven’t shut it down. Maybe… maybe because a tiny, tiny part of me… is curious. And maybe… maybe because after all the ‘wrongness’ and the ‘OMG Liam’ moments… there’s this weird… thrill. A dark, twisted, absolutely forbidden thrill. And… and maybe that’s why I haven’t stopped. Are you happy now? Forcing your mother to admit she’s a terrible person?
She was admitting it. The thrill. The curiosity. The dark, forbidden pull. It was there. Underneath the layers of ‘wrong’, right there. And she was calling herself a terrible person, but there was a tremor in her words, not just of shame, but something else. Something like… excitement?
Me: Happy? No, Mom, not happy. Freaked out. Terrified. But… also… yeah, maybe a little bit thrilled too. Because you feel it too. That ‘dark, twisted, absolutely forbidden thrill’. That’s exactly what I feel. And… and it’s pulling me in, Mom. Pulling me in hard. Is it pulling you in too?
I was pushing again, hard. But she’d opened the door a crack. I had to try to push it wider. This was insane, dangerous, but I couldn’t stop now. Not when we were both teetering on the edge.
Mom: Liam… this is going to end badly. I know it is. We both know it. This… whatever this is… it can’t go anywhere good. It’s a train wreck waiting to happen. A nuclear meltdown. Choose your disaster analogy. It’s going to be catastrophic.
She was still pulling back, still warning of the consequences. But the warnings felt weaker now, more resigned. Like she was stating the obvious, but not actually stopping the train wreck.
Me: Catastrophic, yeah, probably. But… some disasters are… kind of breathtaking, aren’t they? Like a volcano erupting. Totally destructive, but… beautiful in a terrifying way. Maybe… maybe this is one of those. And maybe… maybe we’re both standing too close to the edge to turn back now. Are we, Mom? Too close to turn back?
Another long, agonizing pause. The typing bubbles danced, disappeared, and reappeared. I could almost feel her internal struggle through the silence, the warring desires, the clash of ‘should’ and ‘want’.
Mom: …I… I don’t know, Liam. I honestly don’t know. I’m so confused. So… messed up in the head right now. I need to… I need to think. Just… give me a minute. Please?
‘Think’. That was good. ‘Think’ wasn’t ‘no’. ‘Think’ meant she was still considering, still wrestling with it, still… maybe… tempted.
Me: Think. Yeah, think. But… while you’re thinking… maybe… maybe think about this. That lingerie. The way it looked on you. The way you felt wearing it. And… maybe… think about the ‘damn good pair’ comment. And… maybe… think about what else I could say, what else I could do, to make you feel… that ‘kind of hot’ feeling… even more. Just… think about that, Mom. While you’re thinking. Think of my throbbing member inside your gash mmm.
I sent it, and then just stared at the screen, waiting. My own thoughts were a chaotic jumble of fear, and desire, and a wild, reckless exhilaration. This was insane. Completely, utterly, mind-bendingly insane. And yet… I couldn’t deny the thrill, the forbidden electricity crackling between us, the terrifying, beautiful disaster unfolding in real-time. And in the silence that followed, I could only wait, my heart pounding, wondering what she would say next, and where this terrifying, exhilarating madness would lead.
Mom: Omg your dad hasn’t done me doggy in years, shit ignore me. What are you doing to me, naughty boy.😳😳
Me: I’ve imagined, you bent over the counter, skirt hitched up, me behind you, driving into you with everything I’ve got. Feeling you writhe and moan against me, hearing you gasp my name. Your big tits pressed to the surface as my cock hammered into your mature motherly twat. It’s a filthy, forbidden fantasy, but I can’t help it. I want you so bad, Mom.
Mom: Liam! Skirt hitched up? Mature motherly twat?! 🙈😳 You are… incredibly detailed in your depravity, aren’t you? And… and you’re actually picturing… me? Like… really picturing it? Over the kitchen counter? With… with me moaning and gasping your name? Oh my god.
Me: Detailed? Guilty as charged. But you’re the one who started this little… visual adventure, Mom. Remember the lingerie? And yeah, Mom, me. It’s always been you. Maybe that’s the craziest part of all this. It’s not some random fantasy woman in my head. It’s you. And yeah, I picture you moaning and gasping my name because… because who else’s name would you be gasping then? Your husband’s? Please. We both know that spark is long gone.
Silence again. But this time, it felt different. Less like shock, more like… contemplation. Like she was actually picturing it now too. My words, sharp and explicit, were hanging in the digital ether, forcing her to confront the image I’d painted. And I was betting every reckless cell in my body that the image, despite its forbidden nature, was… appealing.
Mom: Liam… stop trying to be some kind of… seducer. It’s ridiculous. And… and hurtful, to bring your father into this. He’s… he’s a good man.
Me: Dad is a good man, yeah. And he’s my dad. This isn’t about him. This is about… us. And about what’s happening right now. And you know what? If it’s ridiculous for me to be a ‘seducer’, then maybe it’s even more ridiculous for you to be… seduced. By your own son. But ‘ridiculous’ doesn’t mean ‘not happening’. Does it?
Another pause. A beat. Two beats. Then, a single word, so quietly typed it almost whispered off the screen.
Mom: …No.
Me: No, what, Mom? No, it’s not ridiculous? No, it’s not happening? No, you’re not being… seduced? You have to finish the sentence. Don’t leave me hanging like this.
Mom: No… ridiculous doesn’t mean ‘not happening’. God, Liam, what am I doing?
She was spiraling, I could feel it. And I was right there with her, plummeting down this dizzying, dangerous slope together. ‘What am I doing?’ The question wasn’t directed at me; it was a desperate plea to herself, a cry for help from the abyss of her own desires.
Me: You’re being honest, Mom. Maybe for the first time in a long time. You’re acknowledging something real, something that’s crackled between us for… I don’t know how long. Maybe always? And you’re feeling it, just like I am. That thrill. That… connection. Don’t fight it, Mom. Just… feel it. Just for a minute. Just… tell me what you’re feeling. Right now. Honestly. No ‘shoulds’, no ‘supposed tos’. Just pure, raw honesty. What are you feeling?
The typing bubbles pulsed again, agonizingly slow. This was it. This next reply, this next confession, would either shatter everything and send us both scrambling back to the safety of denial or… or it would push us further, deeper, into the heart of this forbidden territory.
Mom: Okay… okay, honesty. You want honesty? Fine. Honestly… honestly, my heart is racing. Like… like I’ve just run a marathon. And my stomach is doing flips. And… and… Oh god, Liam, I think… I think I’m actually… wet.
The word hit me like a physical blow. Wet. My mother. Wet. Because of… because of me. Because of these words, these forbidden images, this insane, electric conversation. My own body tightened, responding instantly, violently.
Me: Wet? Mom… are you serious? You’re actually… wet? Because of this? Because of me talking about railing you over the kitchen counter?
Mom: Yes! Okay? Yes, damn it! Are you happy now? Happy that you’ve reduced your mother to… to this? To admit she’s getting turned on… by her own son’s filthy fantasies? Is that what you wanted to hear?
She was lashing out, but the anger felt fragile, and defensive. Beneath it, I could hear the tremor of something else. Something closer to… arousal than disgust.
Me: Happy? No, Mom, not happy. But… honest. And yeah, maybe… a little bit… thrilled. Because you’re being real. And because… because knowing I can do that… knowing I can make you feel… like that… it’s… Mom, it’s unbelievably powerful. And yeah, maybe… maybe a little bit… hot as hell. You’re wet, Mom. Because of me. Say it again. Say it out loud. ‘I’m wet’.
The typing bubbles went away. Silence descended, thick and heavy with unspoken desires, with the weight of the forbidden, with the terrifying possibility of what might come next. Had I pushed too far? Had I finally broken the fragile thread of her… curiosity? Or had I just pushed her closer to the edge, closer to the point of no return? The silence stretched, an eternity hanging in the balance, and then, finally, the bubbles reappeared, slow, deliberate, each tap of her finger echoing in the vast emptiness of my anticipation.
Mom: …I’m… wet.
My fingers trembled as I hit send, the words hanging in the digital ether, a dangerous proposition launched into the space between us. “Mom you started this by sending me a picture of your boobs, I know it was by accident but we’ve been talking sexually all night. Why are we texting when we could be getting down to the real deal.” My heart pounded against my ribs, a mixture of fear and exhilarating anticipation churning in my gut. The wait felt like an eternity, each second stretched taut with unspoken possibilities.
Then the notification pinged, her name flashing on my screen. My breath hitched as I unlocked my phone, my eyes scanning the message: “I am in the kitchen, if you are serious then come get it. God what am I doing, I accidentally sext you earlier and now this, fuck it here. [image attached of her pussy].” The image burned itself into my mind – her lips swollen and parted, glistening with wetness, a dark triangle of hair framing the entrance. It was raw, real, and undeniably a challenge.
My cock, already surging with blood, throbbed violently in my pants. Every nerve ending screamed with the need to touch, to taste, to bury myself inside her. This was insane, forbidden, and yet the pull was irresistible, a primal force dragging me forward.
I forced myself to move slowly, deliberately, each step amplifying the tension coiling within me. I could hear the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen, a mundane sound in stark contrast to the storm brewing within me. As I rounded the corner, the sight of her stole my breath.
She stood with her back to me, leaning over the kitchen island, her hands braced against the cool granite, her ass presented to me in a blatant invitation. Her jeans were pulled down to her thighs, revealing the curve of her lower back and the enticing cleft of her ass. The flimsy lace thong clinging to her hips was doing little to conceal the prize beneath. My gaze devoured the sight of her, the subtle tremble in her legs, the way her shoulders were slightly hunched. She was nervous, unsure, but undeniably there, waiting.
The air crackled with unspoken desire. I could practically taste the pheromones hanging heavy between us. My cock pulsed against my zipper, straining to be freed. I moved closer, my footsteps silent on the tiled floor. As I reached her, I ran my hands up her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her thin top. She tensed under my touch, a small gasp escaping her lips.
“Mom…” I breathed, my voice thick with lust, the word feeling foreign and charged with taboo in this context. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
She didn’t turn, but I saw her shoulders relax slightly. “Are you going just to stand there, or will you do something about it?” Her voice was husky, laced with nervousness and something else… eagerness?
I took that as my cue. I reached down and gripped the hem of her thong, slowly dragging it down her thighs, inch by agonizing inch, revealing more and more of her glistening flesh. She shivered, her muscles tightening as the cool air hit her exposed pussy. Finally, the thong was gone, tossed carelessly to the floor.
My cock was straining against my pants now, aching to be free. I reached down and unbuckled my belt, the metallic click echoing in the sudden silence. I slowly unzipped my pants, pulling them down along with my boxers, letting my fully erect cock spring free. It was thick and heavy, throbbing with anticipation.
I stepped closer, pressing my hard shaft against her bare ass cheeks, teasing her. She gasped again, her breath hitching in her throat. I could feel the heat radiating from her pussy, promising wetness and surrender. The tip of my cock rubbed against her swollen lips, sending shivers through her body.
“Mmm, you’re so fucking wet Mom,” I groaned, my voice rough with desire. I could feel the slickness of her arousal coating the head of my cock through her parted folds. The scent of her arousal filled my nostrils, intoxicating and primal.
She whimpered, her hands gripping the edge of the island tighter. “Please… please, I need your cock inside me. God, I need it now.” Her voice was desperate, pleading, the last vestiges of hesitation melting away in the heat of the moment. She shifted her hips, trying to grind against me, her pussy aching for release.
But I wanted to draw this out, to savour every second of this forbidden pleasure. I decided to tease her a little longer, to drive her even wilder. I traced the head of my cock around the entrance to her pussy, circling her swollen clit, but not yet entering. She moaned, a low, drawn-out sound of frustration and rising desire.
I then slid my cock between her plump ass cheeks, the smooth skin surprisingly tight and hot. I glided up and down, the head of my cock pressing against her perineum, sending jolts of pleasure through her. She gasped and arched her back, pushing her ass into my cock, presenting her pussy more fully to me.
I reached around to rub her clit with my fingers, feeling its hard nub pulsing beneath my touch as I continued sliding my cock between her cheeks. Her moans escalated, turning into cries of pure need.
“Ohhh fuck yesss, just like that! God, baby, just like that!” she cried out, her voice thick with desperation. “Don’t make me wait any longer, please. Shove that big dick in my pussy! I’m going to explode if you don’t!”
Her words were the final push I needed. My control snapped, replaced by raw, animalistic desire. With a guttural grunt, I gripped her hips, pulling her closer. I lined up my throbbing cockhead with her wet, twitching hole, feeling the heat radiating from within. I pressed the tip against her entrance, feeling the soft, yielding flesh part for me.
Then, with a surge of pent-up energy, I drove forward, spearing her open on my thick rod. Her velvety pussy walls clenched around me instantly, a hot, tight embrace that sent a jolt of pure pleasure through my body. I sank in deeper, inch by glorious inch, until I was buried to the hilt, my balls slapping against her ass cheeks.
She cried out, a sound of surprised pleasure that echoed in the kitchen. “Holy shit… oh god… you’re so fucking good… and bigger than your dads… ungh… yes, take it, take me baby,” she groaned, her voice ragged with sensation. I savoured the feeling of her wet heat gripping me like a vice, the tight, pulsing walls of her pussy wrapped around my shaft.
Her words hit me like a shot of adrenaline, igniting my desire into a raging inferno. “Bigger than your dads…” A possessiveness, a dominance, a forbidden thrill that amplified the already intoxicating situation. I gripped her hips tighter, anchoring her to me, feeling the slick heat of her pussy enveloping my cock.
“You like that, Mom?” I rasped, my voice thick with lust and triumph. I started to move, slowly at first, testing the waters, relishing the way her inner muscles clenched and released with each inch I moved. It was unbelievably tight, hotter and wetter than anything I could have imagined, a stark contrast to the familiar scent of her house, now overwhelmed by the potent aroma of her arousal.
She gasped, her breath catching in her throat, her head lolling back against my shoulder although I was behind her. “Oh god, yes… fuck, yes… don’t stop….” Her nails dug into the granite countertop, her knuckles white with strain. I could feel her body trembling, a mixture of pleasure and shock rippling through her.
“Ahhh honey… oh god, yes… am taking you baby…” she moaned, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “God, I can’t believe… I am letting you fuck me… right here… over the kitchen counter…” Her words were fragmented, lost in the wave of pleasure washing over her as my abs collided with her nice, round ass.
I started to move slowly, and deliberately, wanting to draw out the exquisite sensations. I pulled back until just the tip remained inside, teasing her, then slammed back in, pushing deep into her mature cunt. The wet squelch of her pussy being stretched around my girth filled the room, a primal symphony of lust and surrender.
I set a slow, sensual pace, rolling my hips, exploring the angles, trying to find that perfect spot, that sweet spot that would drive her wild. After a few thrusts, I felt it – a subtle shift, a deeper connection. Her moan deepened, becoming more urgent.
“Oh my god… yes… right there! Oh fuck… right there! Keep going! Don’t stop! oh fuck, you like mommy’s pussy,” she panted, her back arched, her fingers digging into the granite countertop as she pushed her hips back to meet my thrusts with frantic urgency. Her pussy flutters around me, hot and slick, a living, breathing thing pulsating with desire.
“I love your pussy,” I felt like I was in a dream, I never ever thought about my mom in this way, and now I am shagging her over the kitchen counter.
I reached around to maul her bouncing tits, cupping their weight in my hands, pinching and tugging her stiff nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through her body. This only encouraged her, driving her closer to the edge. Her moans became louder, more uninhibited. “Harder baby… fuck me harder! Please… I want to feel that big cock ruining my pussy! Fill me up, baby… fill me up!”
Who was I to deny such a request? The slow, sensual pace was no longer enough. The need to lose myself in her, to drown in her wetness, was overwhelming. I picked up speed, abandoning all restraint, slamming into her pussy with abandon, my thrusts becoming deeper, harder, more insistent. The sounds of our bodies colliding – the wet smacking of flesh against flesh, her gasps, my grunts – echoed through the house, a testament to our unleashed desires.
Her moans turned into wails, high-pitched cries of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her pussy quivered and clenched around me rhythmically, a tightening vice that milked my cock with every thrust as I railed her into the kitchen counter, the granite cold against her hands, the heat between her legs burning like fire.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck I’m gonna cum!” she wailed, her voice reaching a fever pitch, her body convulsing beneath me. Her pussy spasmed wildly around my cock, squeezing, pulling, urging me on. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare fucking stop! Keep going… keep fucking me!”
I fucked her straight through her orgasm, pounding into her pussy with relentless force as she shuddered and cried out again and again. Her clenching walls, milking my cock with each spasm, were too much to bear. The pressure building inside me reached its breaking point.
“Ohhh shit… I’m cumming!” I bellowed, my voice raw with exertion and pure release. I buried myself to the hilt, driving deep inside her as I exploded, pumping what felt like gallons of hot, thick seed deep into her spasming cunt, filling her with my essence, claiming her completely in that forbidden moment. My own orgasm ripped through me, waves of pleasure washing over my body as I collapsed against her back, still buried deep inside her hot, wet pussy.
“Best pussy ever,” I said panting as I pumped one last time. Damn, I was so empty.
We stood there, breathless, bodies slick with sweat, the silence punctuated only by our ragged breathing. The scent of sex hung heavy in the air, a potent reminder of what had just transpired. I slowly withdrew, the sound of our bodies separating echoing in the sudden quiet. My gaze drifted to the countertop, where her fingernail marks were etched into the granite, a permanent record of our transgression.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me – guilt, shame, exhilaration, and a strange sense of accomplishment. What had we done? How could we possibly go back to normal after this?
She turned to face me, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of shock and something else… something akin to satisfaction. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed, and her lips were swollen and parted slightly. She looked… beautiful.
“Well,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “that was… unexpected.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Mom, I…”
She held up a hand, stopping me. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. Not yet. We need to… process this.”
She stepped away from the counter, smoothing down her dress, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But the evidence was clear – the dishevelled state of her clothes, the lingering scent of sex, the look in her eyes. There was no denying what had happened.
“I need a shower,” she said, her voice regaining some strength. “And then… then we need to talk. But not here. Not now.”
She walked past me, heading towards the stairs, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen, the scene of our forbidden encounter. I looked around, taking in the details – the scattered utensils, the smeared lipstick on a wine glass, the faint indentation on the countertop where her hands had gripped it so tightly. It was like a crime scene, a testament to the moment we had crossed a line we could never uncross.
I knew that whatever happened next, nothing would ever be the same. The comfortable normalcy of our mother-son relationship was shattered, replaced by a complex web of desire, guilt, and uncertainty. I had opened a Pandora’s Box, and I had no idea how to close it.