It was Saturday night, and I was finally alone. The day had felt long—one of those where everything just takes a little more out of you than usual. It had rained on and off since morning, and now the wind was picking up outside, brushing tree branches against the windows like restless fingers. The whole house felt quiet, dim, and heavy with that warm kind of stillness that comes after hours of running around. You know the feeling—when you finally close the door, lean back against it, and just breathe.
I’d just stepped out of the shower, steam clinging to the mirror and curling around my legs like a soft fog. The heat from the water still tingled on my skin. I wrapped myself in a thick white towel, tucking the corner in just above my chest. My chestnut hair was wet and messy, a few strands clinging to my neck and shoulders. I was 48, and even though some days I felt it, tonight… I don’t know. Something about the way the storm whispered outside made me feel a little more alive.
I glanced at myself in the mirror. My curves were still there, still soft and feminine and full. My hips flared under the towel, and the damp sheen on my skin made everything glow in the low light. I wasn’t perfect, but I liked how I looked. I carried myself like a woman who’d lived, who knew who she was. There was power in that. My breasts, full and lifted, pressed against the towel with every slow breath, and my legs—long and toned from years of yoga—peeked out from the bottom as I padded barefoot to my room.
I dropped the towel onto the bed and grabbed a clean pair of black panties and a matching lace bra from the drawer. They fit snug and smooth, familiar against my skin. Then I pulled on my favourite nightie. It was silky and navy blue, with delicate straps and a neckline that dipped just enough to tease. The fabric hugged my waist and flowed gently over my thighs, stopping just above the knee. I ran my fingers through my damp hair, letting it fall where it wanted.
A quiet nightcap sounded perfect—a little whisky to help me unwind before bed. I headed out into the hallway, the floor cool under my bare feet, my nightie swaying with each step. The storm outside had picked up again. The kind of night that makes you want to curl up under a blanket and listen to the rain.
But just as I passed James’s room, I heard it.
Crying.
Not loud, not dramatic—just soft, broken sobs, like he was trying not to be heard. I froze. James didn’t cry. He was eighteen, strong and quiet like his father used to be, always keeping things bottled up. Something must’ve happened. And in my gut, I knew what it was about. Jane. That girl always gave me a bad feeling. Too polished. Too practised. I’d seen the way she looked at other boys even with James right beside her.
I stood outside his door for a second, listening. My heart ached. I hated hearing my son sound like that—so small, so hurt. I knocked gently. “James?”
His voice came through the door, cracked and shaky. “C-come in.”
I stepped inside. The room was dim, lit only by the small lamp on his nightstand. He was curled up on his bed, his face half-hidden in the pillow, shoulders shaking. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.
“Sweetie,” I said softly, walking over. “What’s wrong?”
He looked at me, eyes red and wet, and just said it. “She dumped me.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch his arm. “Oh no, honey. What happened?”
“You were right about her,” he said, his voice breaking. “We were at this party, and she was flirting with all these guys. I told her I didn’t like it, and she just laughed. She let them touch her. Like… like I wasn’t even standing there.”
He covered his face with both hands. My throat tightened. I felt like someone had punched me.
“She said I was being too controlling. Then she broke up with me. Just like that.”
I didn’t even hesitate. I slipped into the bed beside him, pulling the blanket over us. My nightie brushed against his side as I lay on my back and turned to him. I needed to be close. I wasn’t going to let him go through this alone.
“James, honey,” I said softly, resting my hand on his bare shoulder. “I’m so sorry. That’s not something you deserved. You’re still young, baby. Only eighteen. I know it feels like the end of the world right now, but it’s not. I promise. You’re going to find someone who sees you, who loves you the way you deserve.”
He looked at me, eyes full of pain. “But why, Mom? Why’d she do that in front of me? And when I told her it hurt, she just left. Am I supposed to be okay with that? Am I supposed to let her?”
“No,” I said, firm and gentle at the same time. “Don’t blame yourself. I’ve always thought there was something about her. She didn’t see you for who you are.”
He leaned into me then, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, letting him breathe and cry and fall apart for just a little while. That’s what we do as moms, right? We hold it all together when they can’t. Even when they’re taller than us. Even when their voice is deeper than ours.
I didn’t even realise that I draped my leg over his waist, I felt something hard press against my stomach. My breath hitched. It was… unexpected. Completely unexpected. In the dim light, pressed close as we were, the contours of his body shifted and… well, changed. He was a man now, not my little boy. Of course, I knew that logically, but in this moment, curled together in his bed, the reality hit with a strange little jolt.
My heart did a funny flutter again, but this time it wasn’t just from sympathy. It was something… else. Something I couldn’t quite name, a flicker of… something inappropriate, immediately chased away by a wave of motherly warmth. Ridiculous. It was just the angle, the blanket, the heat of his body against mine. Anything else was just my imagination running away with me in the dark.
I subtly shifted my leg, just a fraction, tucking it more firmly beneath his. Which made us pressed together as I tried to comfort him. But the feeling of his hardness against me didn’t go away, I wondered why was he so hard for me.
“Mom?” James mumbled, his voice muffled against my shoulder.
“Hmm?” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady, and normal. Then I felt his hand gently on my bare thigh which was resting over him as my nightie rode up.
“Thanks,” he whispered. “For… for being here.”
“Anytime, sweetie. Always.” I said as I felt him slowly stroking my thigh as it went higher, I rubbed his back gently, and my belly felt sticky coming from his boxers.
My words felt thick in my throat. “Always,” I repeated, but the easy warmth was gone, replaced by something… prickly. His hand on my thigh wasn’t just resting there anymore. It moved, slow and deliberately, inching upwards, the pads of his fingers brushing against the lace edge of my nightie.
My breath hitched again. It couldn’t be… could it? My son? But the heat radiating from his body, the pressure against my stomach, the way his fingers were moving… My mind, which had been so clear just moments ago, suddenly felt foggy.
Stop it, a voice screamed in my head. He’s distraught. He’s just seeking comfort. But another voice, a whisper I hadn’t heard in a long time, was starting to hum, noticing the way his touch sent a shiver down my spine, for the first time in years my fanny started to get wet.
“You… you ok sweetie, you feel… you know tense down there,” I said as I raised my body up just a little. His hardness was now pressed against my crotch area.
“I am ok Mom, just…” he stopped. “Little frustrated and… you don’t need to know trust me.”
I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. The air in the room felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension. His hand was still on my thigh, his touch sending little sparks of electricity through me. My fanny throbbed.
“James…” I started, but the words caught in my throat. What was I supposed to say? This isn’t right. Stop touching me like that. It felt absurd, lecturing him like a child when his body was clearly reacting like a man. But what was I feeling?
He shifted slightly, his face still buried in my shoulder. His breath hitched as I raised just a little, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Mom, can I… can I tell you something?”
I swallowed hard. “Of course, honey. You can tell me anything.” Even though my fanny was starting to weep, and his words were not clear.
“Well, for weeks now before Jane started acting like this. We… we haven’t been having sex,” he said gently in an embarrassing way and when he said it I felt his cock twitch.
I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t something a mother expected to hear from her son, especially not while he was grieving a breakup. It also wasn’t something that should have made my heart race and my fanny throb with a dull ache.
“Oh,” was all I managed, my voice barely a whisper.
He shifted again, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. The dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the pain and vulnerability there. But there was something else in his gaze too – a raw, almost desperate need that mirrored the ache deep within me.
“It’s been… hard,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”
His hand on my thigh tightened, and my breath hitched. He was so close, his body radiating heat. I could feel the frantic beat of his heart mirroring my own. My fanny was now screaming with sensitivity as he raised little by little on top of me.
“The thing is…” he paused, his gaze dropping to my lips. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but his eyes said it all. And in that moment, I knew I understood. I understood the unspoken desire, the forbidden longing that had been simmering beneath the surface. He turned slightly to look at my neck.
My mind screamed. This was wrong. So wrong. He was my son. I should push him away, tell him to stop. But my body… my body was betraying me. The feel of his hand on my thigh, and the heat radiating from his cock against me, had ignited something within me that I couldn’t control. I felt him now kissing the edge of my neck as his hand crept under my nightie.
“Mom,” he whispered, his breath hot against my neck. “Is this okay?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Was it okay? God, I didn’t know. All I knew was that my body was screaming yes. My fanny twitched. I was so close to the edge, teetering on the precipice of something dangerous and exhilarating.
He must have sensed my hesitation because his hand stilled. I could feel his body tense, bracing for rejection.
And then, I made a choice. A reckless, impulsive choice that would change everything. I tilted my head back, exposing my neck to his kiss, and whispered, “Just… be gentle.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. His lips found mine, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. The kiss was electric, forbidden, and utterly intoxicating. I moaned softly, surrendering to the moment, to the heat, to the desperate need that consumed us both.
My hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as the kiss deepened. My fanny began to weep more and his cock was now pressing firmly against my crotch. The gentle ministrations of his hands under my nightie were driving me crazy as he started to move. Time seemed to stop. The storm outside raged on, but inside, in the dim light of his room, a different kind of storm was just beginning. My fanny was soaked as he raised himself up over me and positioned himself to enter.
His eyes met mine, and I could see a question in his look. I didn’t say no but softly raised up to let him in. He gently slid my panties to the side to expose my vagina.
His cock gently entered my fanny into the wetness of my body and the storm began.
Then he started sliding slowly in and out of me, “Oh sweetie, if this helps you then its… it’s ok, make love to mommy.”
The sound of our heavy breathing filled the room, mingling with the rain pelting against the window. With each thrust, James’s body tensed, and I could feel his cock twitch inside of me. My own body responded in kind, my fanny clenching around him as I urged him on.
“James, baby, that feels so good,” I moaned, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Mom, you feel amazing,” he gasped, his breath hot against my ear.
The bed creaked beneath us, the sound lost in the storm outside. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, my body trembling with pleasure.
“Don’t stop, James, don’t stop,” I begged, my fingers digging into his back.
He responded with a deep, primal growl, his thrusts becoming more urgent. The bed started to squeak and he started going deeper inside of me. I could hear his balls slap against me as he picked up speed. His hand shoved my nightie to over the top of my breasts, he pulled one boob out of my bra and started to suck on it. Did he stop his thrusts, no they got more intense.
“Ooooh baby, ahhh… J-James, oh god,” I moaned so loud, the headboard of his bed banging loudly against the wall. I put my legs over his shoulder so he could get a better angle at my pussy.
His mouth was hot and wet on my nipple, pulling and sucking, sending jolts of pure sensation straight down to my core. My fanny was on fire, throbbing around his cock, each thrust sending waves of pleasure washing over me. The slick wetness inside me made each movement feel deeper, and more intense.
“Yes, James, like that,” I gasped, arching my back to give him even more access. The headboard banged against the wall again – thud, thud, thud – a rhythm to our growing frenzy. I could feel him deep inside me now, each thrust hitting a spot that sent shivers through my whole body. My fanny was stretching, opening up to him, taking him in as deep as he could go. It felt amazing, sinful, and utterly consuming.
“Mom… you’re so tight,” he grunted between kisses on my breast, his words muffled against my skin. “So fucking good.”
His words, crude and raw, did something to me. It was like he’d flipped a switch. My inhibitions melted away, replaced by a primal desire that mirrored his own. I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel him everywhere, inside and out.
“Don’t stop,” I hissed, my voice thick with need. “Deeper, James. Harder.”
He didn’t need any more encouragement. His thrusts became more forceful, more desperate. The sounds of our bodies filled the room now, the wet squelch of our flesh rubbing together, the rhythmic thud of the headboard, our ragged breathing, and my escalating moans.
“Oh god, James… I’m… I’m close,” I stammered, my body trembling. My fanny was clenched tight around his cock, squeezing and releasing with each thrust. The pleasure was building, spiralling, becoming almost unbearable.
“Come on, Mommy, let go,” he urged, his voice strained, his body slick with sweat. He pounded into me, each thrust driving me closer to the edge. I could feel the pressure building, a tight coil of sensation in my fanny that was about to snap.
“Ahhh! James!” I screamed, my body convulsing around him. Wave after wave of pure, white-hot pleasure exploded through me. My fanny clenched and unclenched, milking him as I came, the sensations so intense they bordered on pain.
He groaned, a deep guttural sound, and thrust into me one last time, hard and deep, before going still. I felt him shudder above me as he came, his hot seed spurting inside me, filling me up.
We stayed like that for a long moment, chests heaving, tangled together in the aftermath. The storm outside still raged, but inside the small room, a different kind of storm had passed, leaving behind a strange mixture of exhaustion, exhilaration, and a heavy feeling of… something I couldn’t quite name yet. My fanny was still throbbing, pleasantly spent but also strangely aware of the forbidden intimacy we had just shared.
“You… you ok honey,” I didn’t know what else to say, I can’t believe I just let that happen.
The rain continued to pour outside, a stark contrast to the warmth and satisfaction that enveloped us. I could feel James’s heartbeat slowing down, matching my own, as we both tried to catch our breath. His weight on top of me was comforting, a physical reminder of the connection we had just shared.
“Mom… I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice filled with regret and shame. I could feel his cock still inside me, slowly softening, and my fanny gave a little twitch in response. I didn’t want him to be sorry. I wanted to pretend that this moment of weakness, of desire and need, had never happened. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t deny the way my body had reacted to his touch, the way I had begged him for more, for deeper, for harder.
“It’s okay, James,” I said softly, my fingers tracing patterns on his back. “It’s okay.”
But was it? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. All I knew was that I had crossed a line, a line that could never be uncrossed. I had let my son inside me, not just physically, but emotionally. I had let him see a part of me that I had kept hidden for so long, a part of me that I had denied even to myself.
“I love you, Mom,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck. I could feel his tears, hot and wet, on my skin.
“I love you too, James,” I replied, my voice choked with emotion.
And I did. I loved him more than anything in the world. But I also loved the man who had just made love to me, the man who had brought me to the brink of ecstasy and back again. I loved them both, and I didn’t know how to reconcile those two loves, those two parts of myself.
The rain continued to fall, a steady beat that echoed the rhythm of my heart. I knew that things would never be the same between us, that we had entered a new territory, a forbidden land that we would have to navigate together. But I also knew that I would face that challenge, that I would do whatever it took to make things right, to make things work.
Because I loved him. I loved him with all my heart and soul, and I would do anything for him, even if it meant breaking all the rules, crossing all the lines, and risking everything we had.
“Let’s go to sleep, James,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”
He nodded, his face buried in my shoulder, and I could feel him slipping away, his body growing heavier, his breaths evening out. I closed my eyes, my fanny still throbbing, my mind still racing, and I held him close, praying for the strength and courage to face whatever came next.
Because I was a mother, and I would do anything for my son. Even if it meant losing myself in the process.
The following morning I woke to him fucking me, “Ahhhh honey, what are you doing.”
“Ah Mom, sorry. Thought I give you a special wake-up call. Oh fuck,” he moaned pumping hard into my pussy.
Was this it now? Was I becoming ‘free use’ for him? Should I be allowing this, no. Do I need it, yes. Do I love it, oh fuck yes? What is wrong with me?
As James continued to thrust into me, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. On one hand, I was his mother, and I knew this was wrong. But on the other hand, it felt so good, and I couldn’t deny that I needed this, craved this event.
“Oh baby, you feel so good, naughty boy for helping yourself to Mommy while she sleeps,” I moaned, my voice barely above a whisper I was still half asleep.
James grunted in response, his thrusts becoming more urgent. I could feel him getting closer, his body tensing with each movement. I clenched my fanny around him, urging him on.
“Naughty boy is right,” I breathed, my words catching in my throat as he drove into me again, a deep, shuddering thrust that made my breath hitch. “Mmmm, James,” escaped me, half moan, half reprimand, but laced with unmistakable pleasure.
His rhythm was faster now, less languid morning stretch, more urgent hunger. Each pump sent a shockwave through my core, reminding me, no, insisting on the raw reality of what was happening. My fanny was slick, incredibly sensitive after last night, and he was filling me completely. Squish, squish, the wet sounds of our bodies joined the rasp of his breath in my ear.
“You like that, Mom?” he grunted, his voice thick with arousal. He didn’t wait for an answer, just kept pounding, harder, deeper. My legs were still tangled with his from last night, sheets twisted around us, a messy tableau of our transgression.
“Oh god, James,” I gasped again, my head lolling back against the pillow. My hands, still half-asleep, found purchase on his hips, fingers digging in involuntarily as a particularly hard thrust made me arch up off the bed. Thwack, thwack, thwack, his pelvis slapped against mine, a sharp, rhythmic sound that punctuated the intensity.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to tease, then slammed forward again, burying himself deep inside me. “Tell me you like it, Mom,” he insisted, his voice strained, breath hot on my neck.
My internal battle was raging. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But my body was screaming a very different message. My pussy was throbbing, clenching and releasing around him, every nerve end singing with sensation. The friction was exquisite, borderline painful in its intensity, but I didn’t want him to stop. God, I didn’t want him to stop.
“Yes,” I finally managed, the word torn from my throat. “Yes, baby, I like it. Oh fuck, I like it so much.” Shame burned in my chest, hot and acidic, but it was quickly overshadowed by the fire spreading through my lower body.
He seemed to take my reluctant admission as full permission. His thrusts became even more forceful, rhythmic and relentless. He lifted my leg higher, draping it over his shoulder again, stretching me open wider. The angle changed, hitting a new spot deep inside me, a spot that sent shivers of pleasure down my spine.
“You’re so wet,” he panted, “So fucking wet for me, Mom.” His words were vulgar, shocking, but in this moment, they were arousing. The forbidden nature of it all, the edge of danger, the sheer audacity… it was intoxicating.
I gasped, my breath coming in ragged bursts as he drove into me again and again. Squelch, squelch, thud, thud. The sounds were loud in the quiet morning, intimate and raw. My fanny was on fire, stretched wide and full with him, every movement sending sparks of electricity through me.
“James… harder,” I moaned, surprising myself with my own boldness. The words were out before I could stop them, a release of all the pent-up desire, the forbidden urges I had kept locked away for so long.
He groaned in response, a guttural sound deep in his chest, and obeyed instantly. His thrusts became brutal, hammering into me, each one pushing me closer to the edge. My vision started to blur, the room swimming around me as the pleasure intensified, threatening to overwhelm me.
“Mommy, look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough. I opened my eyes, hazy with arousal, and met his gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, focused solely on me. There was a hunger in them, a primal need that mirrored my own.
He kept pounding into me, his rhythm relentless, face contorted with effort and pleasure. “Come for me, Mommy,” he urged, “Come on, let it go.”
And I did. The dam broke. A wave of pure, unadulterated sensation crashed over me, starting in my fanny and radiating outwards, engulfing my entire body. I screamed, a long, drawn-out cry of release as my muscles clenched around him, milking him with involuntary spasms.
“Ahhh, fuck, Mom!” he roared, his body tensing, going rigid as he came inside me again, hot and thick, filling me completely. He collapsed on top of me, heavy chest heaving, his sweat mingling with mine.
We lay there, panting, limbs tangled, the echoes of our cries still ringing in the quiet room. The morning light was filtering through the curtains now, painting stripes across his back, highlighting the beads of sweat clinging to his skin.
The question still hung in the air, unspoken but heavy between us. Was this it now? Free use? The thought was both terrifying and… undeniably thrilling. The shame was still there, a dull ache beneath the fading waves of pleasure. But the desire… the desire was still burning strong. And the way my fanny felt, still pulsing and sensitive, told me it wouldn’t be denied for long.