I’m Sarah, a 40-something widow, and my son, Mark, is home for the weekend. It’s been tough since my husband died, and honestly, the loneliness is a constant ache. Mark tries to be supportive, but there’s only so much a son can do, right? We decided to open a bottle of wine with dinner, and one bottle led to another. Now, we’re both a little buzzed, sitting in the living room, the air thick with unspoken emotions.
The cheap Merlot had definitely done its job. Another glass emptied, and the air in the living room hung thick and heavy, not just with wine fumes, but with all the things we weren’t saying. It was a suffocating blanket woven from unspoken wants and needs.
“Haha, stop it!” I giggled, the wine turning me into a ridiculous version of myself. Mark was tickling me relentlessly, his fingers digging playfully into my ribs. It was stupid, childish even, but underneath the surface, something else was bubbling. It had been so long since a touch had felt like… this. Not rushed, not clinical, and not just necessary.
I’d put on that black dress, the one I only wore when I wanted to feel like I could face anything. The neckline was a little lower than usual. No bra. Comfort had become my only vanity these days.
The tickling escalated, and we tumbled off the chair, a messy heap of limbs and stifled laughs landing on the couch. Suddenly, Mark was above me, my dress hiked up my thighs in the chaos.
A jolt, sharp and unexpected, shot through me. I felt it then – the unmistakable, hard ridge of his arousal pressing against my stomach. My breath hitched in my throat. And then, another realization hit me even harder. One breast had completely escaped the low neckline of my dress.
Instinctively, my hand reached out. Not to push him away, not at all. My fingers cupped his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw.
“Haha… Mom,” Mark stammered, his voice suddenly tight, his eyes practically glued to my chest. A hot flush crept up his neck. “You might… uh… want to… cover… that.” He swallowed hard. “Nice though. Really nice.”
“Oh. My God.” Mortification, hot and prickly, washed over me. “I… I’m so sorry. This is… this is so embarrassing. I can’t believe you’ve just… seen my… tits. I…” My hands flew to my chest, scrambling to readjust the dress, but his hand stopped me.
His eyes were dark, intense. Then, his head dipped. And his mouth. Oh God, his mouth closed over my nipple.
A raw, unexpected current surged through me, stealing my breath. A moan escaped, low and involuntary, ripping from my throat. Oh God. Years. It had been years. My brain screamed, a desperate, panicked voice, He’s your son! Stop this! But my body… my body was a traitor.
He suckled gently at first, then harder, a possessive tugging that resonated deep within me. Another moan slipped free, louder this time, more desperate. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked on mine, dark and searching.
“Mom,” he whispered, his voice thick, raw with something I couldn’t name. “You’re beautiful. I… I can’t help it.”
“Mark,” I managed, my voice trembling, barely audible. “This is… we can’t.” The words felt weak, hollow, even to my own ears. My hand remained on his cheek, my thumb tracing slow, helpless circles on his skin. Not pushing him away.
He seemed to sense the wavering in me, the lack of real resistance. He lowered his head again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the exposed curve of my breast. Shivers danced down my spine. “Oh,” I gasped softly, my eyes fluttering shut. Fighting, fighting the overwhelming urge to arch into him, to surrender to this reckless, forbidden impulse.
“I know it’s wrong,” he murmured against my skin, his breath warm on my flesh. “But I… I’ve wanted this for so long. So fucking long.”
“Don’t,” I whispered, it was more a plea than a command, a breathy, broken sound. My body wasn’t listening to my brain. It was awakening, responding to his touch with a fierce, desperate longing that had lain dormant for years. The wine, the oppressive loneliness, years of feeling utterly invisible… it was all crashing together in this one, terrifying, exhilarating moment.
He lifted his head, his eyes full of pleading, raw emotion. “Just tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice thick and uneven. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I will. I promise. Just… tell me.”
Just then, the shrill ring of my phone shattered the fragile, dangerous bubble of tension. Mark, without shifting his weight, reached over to the coffee table and snatched it. Carly. My daughter.
I looked at Mark, his eyes burning into mine, desperate urgency etched on his face. “Behave,” I murmured, the word catching in my throat, then answered the phone. “Hey, love. Everything okay?”
As I spoke to Carly, I felt it. Mark’s hand, slid beneath my dress, his fingers tracing a slow, agonizing path up my thigh. Ignoring him, pretending to focus on my daughter’s voice.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just catching up with Mark,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, and steady. His fingers were getting closer, bolder now, inching higher. “He’s being a pain in the ass, as usual. Especially now.” A strained, unnatural laugh escaped my lips. “So, what’s up with you? Anything exciting happening?” My eyes locked with Mark’s, a silent, desperate conversation passing between us.
“Oh, really? Tell me more…” I forced myself to listen to Carly ramble about her day, offering vague sounds of encouragement, all while Mark’s hand continued its insidious, thrilling journey. It was beyond absurd. Talking to my daughter about her mundane life, while my son was… Jesus Christ.
“So, what about the guy you were seeing?” I managed to ask Carly, feeling the cold metal of his belt buckle unfasten against my stomach.
“Oh, him?” Carly’s voice perked up, launching into a detailed, gossipy account of a recent disastrous date. Meanwhile, Mark’s fingers teased the lace edge of my panties, a slow, tantalizing graze that sent shivers racing down my spine, each touch a spark igniting a fire that threatened to consume me.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” I murmured into the phone, my eyes fixed on Mark. He was slowly, deliberately pulling down the zipper of my dress. Skin, more and more skin revealed with every inch. Each touch was a jolt of pure adrenaline, amplifying the terrifying, exhilarating internal war raging within me. How could I be enjoying this? How could I possibly not stop him?
“Mom? Are you even listening?” Carly’s voice, sharper now, cut through the fog of desire that was rapidly clouding my mind.
“Yes, sweetheart, of course,” I said, my voice a little too high, a little too breathless. “Just… distracted. Mark’s being… noisy.” A pathetic, flimsy excuse, but hopefully, it would be enough.
Mark, hearing his name, smirked, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips. He leaned down and pressed a wet, lingering kiss to my collarbone. The sensation was dizzying, and intoxicating, making it almost impossible to focus on the mundane conversation spilling from the phone pressed to my ear.
“Anyway,” Carly continued, blessedly oblivious to the unfolding drama on my couch, “he said he’s really into hiking, and I hate hiking, so…”
“Right, right,” I mumbled, my mind racing, a chaotic whirlwind of guilt and burgeoning desire. “So, you’re not feeling it.”
Mark’s fingers hooked under the elastic of my underwear, pulling them aside in one smooth, decisive movement. My breath hitched again, caught in my throat like a sob. He shifted, poised between my legs, his cock, hard and throbbing, nudging insistently at the entrance to my pussy. I covered the phone with my hand, whispering, choked and desperate, “Mark, what the…”
“Mom! What was that?” Carly demanded, her voice laced with suspicion.
“Nothing, sweetie, just… hit my knee on the table,” I lied smoothly, a practised, effortless lie. I even added a small wince for extra effect. “Old injury acting up. Go on, what were you saying about the hiking?” My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against my ears. I tried to latch onto her words, to focus, and then I felt it. The slick, wet head of his cock pressed against me, insistent, demanding. And then, he pushed inside.
A sharp gasp escaped me, muffled by my hand clamped over the phone. Carly, thankfully, seemed none the wiser.
“Okay, so he’s totally not my type,” she continued, oblivious to the earthquake raging inside me, the forbidden pleasure blossoming between my legs. Meanwhile, Mark moved slowly, deliberately, inside me, each thrust sending a jolt of both exquisite sensation and crushing guilt through my body.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” I murmured again, my eyes squeezed shut, desperate to latch onto the sound of Carly’s voice, clinging to some thread of sanity, some semblance of normal reality. But Mark’s rhythm was relentless, hypnotic, pulling me further and further away from the shore.
“Anyway,” Carly said, drawing out the word, a dramatic pause, “I think I’m going to break it off. He’s a nice guy, but…”
“Good, good decision,” I managed to choke out, my voice trembling, barely recognizable. “Trust your instincts. Always.”
Mark’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming deeper, harder. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of something terrifying, something gloriously, terribly forbidden. The pleasure was building, cresting, becoming almost unbearable, a tidal wave threatening to break and drown me completely.
“Mom, are you sure you’re okay?” Carly’s voice, now laced with genuine concern, cut through the haze. “You sound… weird.”
“I’m fine… Ummm, h-honest… ahh… honey,” I stammered, struggling to maintain some semblance of control, some semblance of normal speech. “Just… tired. A long… day… Ahhh.”
“Well, I should probably let you go,” Carly said, finally sensing that something was definitely amiss. “Get some rest. And tell Mark I said hi, and that he owes me a phone call.”
“I will… ahh… I will mmph,” I managed, my voice dissolving into a shaky whisper. “Love you, sweetie… B-bye.”
My fingers fumbled clumsily with the phone, finally managing to disconnect the call, severing the link to the normal world. The silence that followed was almost deafening in its intensity, broken only by the ragged rasp of my own breathing and Mark’s heavy pants. He kept thrusting, harder and faster now, driving me closer and closer to the precipice.
“Mark…” I gasped, my hands clutching desperately at his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his shirt.
“Mom…” he grunted, his face flushed crimson, his eyes wild with a mixture of raw desire and something like desperation. “I… I’m close…” He picked up the pace even more, driving deeper with each frantic thrust, pushing me, pushing himself, towards the inevitable.
“Harder…” I heard myself say, the words raw, unbidden, shockingly loud in the sudden quiet. “Ahh yes, fuck my pussy now.” And in that moment, I knew. Knew that the line, that fragile, desperately clung-to line between wanting to stop and not wanting to stop, had become irrevocably, irrevocably blurred. “You… ahhh… you really shouldn’t be… inside me, fucking me… like this…”
I have had this couch a very long time, the same couch I used to sit with him. The same couch I let him watch cartoons on after school. The same couch I nursed him after he fell off his back, and now the couch I am under him allowing him to have sex with me.
“You… you ok Mom,” he said as he speeded up and his balls slapped against me. Ok, I wasn’t sure how to answer it, ok with you know my son fucking me. He said it so calmly too.
“Yes, Mark… I’m okay,” I managed to gasp out, my voice trembling with a mix of fear, excitement, and overwhelming pleasure. “It’s just…it’s just so wrong, but it feels so… so good.” My hips bucked involuntarily against his, meeting his thrusts, and urging him deeper.
“You’re my son, for God’s sake! We shouldn’t be doing this!” And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to push him away. The taboo, the forbidden nature of our act only seemed to heighten the intensity of every sensation, every touch, every thrust. Mark’s eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense.
“I know, Mom,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.” His hand slid between us, his fingers finding my clit, circling it with a maddening rhythm that matched his thrusts.
His fingers on my clit sent electric shocks of pleasure coursing through me. I could feel my orgasm building, a tidal wave threatening to engulf me.
“Mark, I’m…I’m going to…” I gasped, my words dissolving into a moan as the first waves of ecstasy washed over me. My pussy clenched around his cock, pulsing and spasming as I came undone beneath him.
“Fuck, Mom, you’re so tight,” Mark groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic, his own release imminent. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum inside you. Fuck, I’m cumin!”
With a final, shuddering thrust, he buried himself deep, his cock throbbing as he spilt his hot seed into my convulsing pussy. I could feel each pulse, each jet of his cum filling me, marking me, claiming me in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
We lay there for a long moment, bodies still joined, chests heaving as we struggled to catch our breath. The weight of what we’d just done, the sheer, shameless depravity of it all, began to sink in. I felt a surge of panic, a desperate need to flee, to erase the past few minutes and pretend they’d never happened.
“Mark, we… we can’t…” I stammered, pushing weakly at his chest.”This is…this is insane. We can’t do this again.”
He pulled out of me slowly, and I immediately felt the hot trickle of his cum leaking out of my well-used pussy. The evidence of our sin, dripped down my thighs, making the reality of our actions all the more impossible to deny.
“I know,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse and raw.”But Mom… that was…”
“Shh,” I hushed him, pressing a finger to his lips.