The air in the house felt thick, like it was choking me. I turned 18 yesterday, but it didn’t feel like a milestone. It felt like a trap. My body was changing, my mind was racing, and everything around me felt like it was pushing me toward some edge I didn’t want to jump off. My mom was in the kitchen, her back to me, wearing that thin tank top she always wore around the house. It clung to her in a way that made my stomach twist. The short skirt also, oof her legs looked so damn good. I hated myself for noticing. I hated myself for a lot of things lately.
“Mark,” she said suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. She turned to face me, her eyes narrowing. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
I froze, my face burning. “I’m not looking at you.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, her tone sharp. “You’ve been doing it for weeks now. It’s… it’s uncomfortable, Mark. You’re making me uncomfortable.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor. Instead, I lashed out. “Maybe if you didn’t walk around like that, I wouldn’t have to!”
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back, her hand gripping the edge of the counter. “Like what? What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “You’re my mom! You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t dress like that around me! Around anyone!”
She stared at me, her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she shook her head, her voice low and trembling. “Mark, I’m your mother. How I dress is my choice. And the way you’ve been acting lately… it’s not normal. It’s not okay.”
“I’m not a kid anymore!” I yelled, slamming my fist on the table. The sound echoed through the room, and she flinched. “I’m not blind, Mom! I see the way you look, the way other people look at you. It’s not just me! It’s everyone!”
Her face crumpled, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. But she didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “Mark, you’re confused. This isn’t you. You’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m not confused!” I roared, my voice breaking. “I’m just tired of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not! I’m tired of feeling like this!”
She stepped closer, her eyes searching mine. “Mark, you need to calm down. This isn’t healthy. You’re scaring me.”
Her words cut deep, but I was too far gone to stop. I turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled. The street was quiet, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the pavement. I walked aimlessly, my heart pounding, my mind a whirlwind of anger and shame.
I passed Mrs. Carter’s house. She was outside, watering her flowers, wearing a sundress that swayed in the breeze. She smiled at me, waving. “Hey, Mark. How’s it going?”
I forced a smile, my stomach churning. “Fine,” I muttered, quickening my pace. I didn’t stop until I reached the park. I sat on a bench, my head in my hands, trying to steady my breathing. The storm inside me was still raging, but now it was mixed with guilt. I didn’t want to feel this way about my mom, about anyone. But I didn’t know how to make it stop.
I stayed there until the sky turned black, the stars barely visible through the haze of the city. When I finally went home, the house was quiet. My mom was in her room, the door closed. I didn’t knock. I just went to the fridge, grabbed a couple of beers, and slumped onto the couch. I cracked one open and took a long swig, the bitter taste doing little to calm the storm inside me.
I didn’t hear her come in. One minute I was alone, staring at the blank TV screen, and the next she was sitting beside me, her legs tucked under her. She was wearing her nightie—a soft, silky thing that fell just above her knees. Very short and the neckline showcased her beautiful big cleavage. I tensed, my grip tightening on the beer bottle.
“Mark,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence. “We need to talk.”
I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. “What’s there to talk about?”
She sighed, reaching out to touch my arm. I flinched, but she didn’t pull away. “You’re not okay,” she said. “And I’m worried about you. This… this anger, this confusion… it’s not normal. You need help, Mark. Real help.”
I took another swig of beer, my hands shaking. “I don’t need help. I just need… I don’t know. I just need to figure things out.”
She was quiet for a moment, her hand still on my arm. Then she said, “I’m your mom, Mark. I love you. But I can’t fix this for you. You have to want to fix it yourself.”
I didn’t know what to say. The weight of her words pressed down on me, and for the first time in weeks, I felt the anger start to fade, replaced by something heavier—something worse. I set the beer bottle on the table and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t know how,” I whispered.
She squeezed my arm, her touch warm and familiar. “We’ll figure it out,” she said. “Together tell you what I have some whiskey lets drink together spend time together.”
Hours later, we was both very tipsy but I had opened up a lot more. But the thing is, it also made me more bolder.
I could feel the whiskey buzzing in my veins, loosening my tongue and blurring the edges of my thoughts. The room felt warmer, softer, like the world had been wrapped in a hazy blanket. My mom was sitting close to me, her legs still tucked under her, her nightie shifting slightly as she moved. The neckline dipped lower than I’d ever noticed before, and I couldn’t help but glance, even though I hated myself for it. The alcohol made it harder to look away, harder to fight the thoughts that had been gnawing at me for weeks.
She was laughing at something I’d said, her head tilted back, her hair falling over her shoulders. She looked so carefree, so different from the tense, worried woman she’d been earlier. It was like the whiskey had melted away the awkwardness between us, and for a moment, I almost believed things could go back to normal. Almost.
But then she leaned closer, her hand resting on my knee, and my breath hitched. Her touch was casual, familiar, but it sent a jolt through me that I couldn’t ignore. My heart started pounding, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I tried to focus on the conversation, on anything but the way her fingers felt against my skin, but it was impossible.
“You’re such a good kid, Mark,” she slurred slightly, her voice warm and affectionate. “I don’t tell you that enough. You’ve always been so… so good to me.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mom,” I said, my voice low and rough. I didn’t mean for it to sound the way it did, but the words came out heavy, loaded with something I couldn’t quite name.
She blinked at me, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, she looked almost startled, like she’d just realized something she hadn’t before. But then she smiled, a soft, sad smile that made my chest ache. “No,” she said quietly. “I guess you’re not.”
Her hand was still on my knee, and I could feel the warmth of it through the fabric of my jeans. My mind was racing, torn between pulling away and leaning into her touch. The alcohol had dulled my inhibitions, and I felt like I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. Something I couldn’t come back from.
“Mom,” I started, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I feel like this. I just… I can’t stop thinking about things I shouldn’t. About you. About… other stuff.”
Her smile faded, and she looked at me with a mix of concern and something else I couldn’t quite place. “Mark,” she said softly, her hand tightening slightly on my knee. “It’s okay to feel confused. You’re going through a lot right now. But you have to understand… some things are off-limits. Some feelings… they’re not meant to be acted on.”
I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest. Her words were like a bucket of cold water, snapping me back to reality for a brief moment. But then she shifted closer, her face inches from mine, and I could smell the whiskey on her breath, mixed with the faint scent of her perfume. My mind went blank, and before I could stop myself, I reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
She froze, her eyes widening, but she didn’t pull away. For a second, neither of us moved. The air between us felt charged, like the calm before a storm. And then, without thinking, I leaned in and kissed her.
It was soft, hesitant, barely more than a brush of lips, but it was enough to send a shockwave through me. My heart was pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears, and my hands were trembling as they hovered awkwardly in the air. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what I wanted. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop.
But then she pulled back, her eyes wide and filled with something I couldn’t quite read. “Mark,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “What are you doing?”
I stared at her, my chest heaving, my mind spinning. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I don’t know, Mom. I just… I can’t help it.”
She looked at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. And then, to my shock, she leaned in and kissed me back.
It was deeper this time, more intense, and I could feel the heat of her body as she pressed closer to me. My hands found their way to her waist, pulling her in, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The guilt, the confusion, the anger—it all disappeared, replaced by a raw, desperate need that I didn’t fully understand.
But then she pulled away again, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “Mark,” she said, her voice trembling. “We can’t do this. This is… this is wrong.”
I knew she was right. I knew it was wrong. But the alcohol and the confusion and the years of pent-up emotions had taken over, and I couldn’t stop myself. “I don’t care,” I whispered, my voice rough. “I don’t care if it’s wrong. I just… I need this. I need you.”
She stared at me, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and something else—something that looked almost like longing. And then, without another word, she kissed me again. It was more deeper as we kissed and she pulled back.
“When is the last time you know mom,” I said my hand shaking.
“It’s been years, but I shouldn’t be telling you,” she looked confused and emotional. “I shouldn’t have even kissed you.”
“Mom,” I murmured, my voice a gravelly whisper, my fingers trailing along the soft fabric of her nightie, inching toward the hem.
“Mark stop, we shouldn’t…” But her words trailed off, and she didn’t stop me as I slid my hand higher, feeling the warmth of her thigh.
“I know,” I breathed out, leaning in to kiss her again, this time with a hunger that couldn’t be contained.
She moaned softly against my mouth, the sound pulling at something primal within me. My hand slipped higher, brushing against the lace trim of her panties.
“Oh, God…” she gasped, her hands on my chest, not pushing me away but not pulling me closer either.
My heart pounded in my ears as I slid my hand inside the front of her panties, feeling the slick heat of her, the softness that called to every nerve ending in my body. Her breath hitched, a ragged gasp escaping her as my fingers connected with her slick folds, teasing her.
“Mom…” I groaned, my voice thick with need, as I slid a finger inside, the tight, wet warmth enveloping me.
“Mark,” she whispered, her voice a plea wrapped in desire, “this is so wrong… but don’t stop. Oh god I can’t believe I am letting you finger my…”
Her nightie had slipped further, revealing the swell of her breasts, and I couldn’t help but glance, the sight driving me wilder. “You’re so wet,” I murmured, the words slipping out between heavy breaths, “for me.”
She bit her lip, her eyes closing as she nodded slightly, the admission barely audible. “Yes… Yes, Mark,” she gasped, her inner walls clenching around me.
My other hand moved to her neck, tilting her head so I could deepen the kiss, my tongue exploring her mouth as my finger began to move, slow, deliberate strokes inside her.
“Mark…” she breathed, her voice a mix of shock and pleasure, “I can’t…this is insane.”
I added another finger, twisting them gently inside her, feeling her stretch, accommodate. “Does it feel good?” I asked, my voice husky, my lips trailing from her mouth to her neck.
“Yes, oh god yes,” she whimpered, her hips moving to meet my hand. “But we can’t… we can’t keep going, we both had a too much to drink. But oh god it feels good.”
We kiss again as we slowly end up laid on the couch with me on top of her. I pull out my fingers and stretch the material of her panties. So they are resting at the side of her pussy flap giving me access to her slit. I sneak my cock out my pants without her knowing as I pull back from the kiss.
“Mark we have to stop this, it’s wrong and…” I cut her off by pushing my cock at her entrance as it easily slides inside her pussy deep. I instantly start pumping in and out oh fuck it feels good.
“Mark, this is…” Her voice trailed off, replaced by a sharp intake of breath as I hilted myself within her, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, the slickness of her pussy gripping my shaft as I pumped her pussy.
“Mom,” I growled, my voice a guttural whisper, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss to muffle her protests, my hips already beginning a slow, deliberate rhythm.
She arched beneath me, her nails digging into my back as her body adjusted to the invasion, the initial shock giving way to a deeper, more primal need. “Oh, fuck…” she whimpered against my mouth, her body betraying her words as she wrapped her legs around me, drawing me further into her depths.
I started to move, the rhythm building, my cock sliding in and out, the sloppy sounds of our joining echoing in the quiet room. “You feel so good,” I groaned, my hands gripping her hips, anchoring her to me as I drove deeper.
“Mark…I shouldn’t… but it’s been so long…” She bit her lip, her eyes squeezed shut, fighting the pleasure that was written all over her flushed face. The nightie was bunched around her waist now, her tits looked so sexy I tugged on her neckline. She had no bra on and they came out of her nightie.
I leaned down taking one of her nipples in my mouth as I am still thrusting my cock into her.
“Yes…like that,” she gasped, her back arching, offering more of herself to my hungry mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair. “Don’t stop, please.”
The room was filled with the slapping sounds of our bodies joining, my balls slapping against her skin with each deep thrust. I could feel her getting closer, her inner walls tightening, her breaths coming in desperate pants.
“Mom, I’m going to…” I grunted, holding back the wave of pleasure threatening to crash over me, trying to keep my pace steady. I wanted to last longer than this, it was hard not to hold back, knowing its my moms vagina I was fucking.
“Mom,” I panted against her neck, my hips pumping furiously now, chasing the pleasure that was building at the base of my spine. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh shit… ahh mom, my cock.”
I’m still humping my mom’s pussy, my cock throbbing inside her as I try to hold back my orgasm. My balls are aching, and every stroke of my cock feels like it’s dragging me closer to the edge. I’m panting heavily, my face buried in her neck as I try to focus on anything but the intense pleasure coursing through my veins.
“Mom, I… I don’t know how much longer…” I groan, my hips stuttering as I fight to maintain control. “It feels so good… your pussy, it’s like… it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” I can feel her getting closer too, her inner walls clenching around me in rhythmic pulses. Her moans are music to my ears, and I can tell she’s teetering on the brink of her own climax.
“Mark, please,” she whimpered, her voice thick with need. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel you come inside me.”
Her words sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I lost the last shred of control I had. With a guttural groan, I slammed into her one last time, my cock pulsing as I spilled my seed deep inside her.
“Oh fuck, Mom,” I gasped, my body shuddering with the force of my orgasm. “Arghh I’m cumin… I’m cumin so hard, Ungh.”
I started to pump into her cunt harder and faster as spunk shot in spurts after spurts into the back of her pussy. I kept on pumping until I was fully empty. I collapsed on top of her, my face buried in her neck, my cock still twitching inside her. The room was silent except for our ragged breaths, the only sound the occasional drip of my cum leaking out of her pussy.
“Mark,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible with my head resting on her big tits. “We can’t… we can’t do this again. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong, I shouldn’t have gave in so easy. I am never drinking again oh god I am a bad mother.”
I lay on top of her still buried inside her, “sorry mom.”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” I murmured, my voice soft as I stroked her hair, still buried deep inside her. “We’re both drunk. We didn’t mean for this to happen.”
She nodded, her eyes closed, her face a mix of emotions. “I know,” she whispered. “But we can’t let it happen again. We have to forget this ever happened.” I knew she was right, but the thought of never feeling her like this again made my chest ache.
2 Weeks later it was valentines day and mom got all dressed up, she looked so damn sexy. She was waiting for her date and I was jealous, I wanted it to be me.
“Mom I am going out with the lads I hope you have a good time,” I said kissing her cheek and getting a good look down her dress.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she said, smiling up at me. “You too. Have fun with your friends.” I left the house, my heart heavy. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, but I couldn’t help it. The memory of that night was still fresh in my mind, and the thought of her with someone else made my stomach twist.
I met up with my friends at the pub, but I couldn’t focus on the conversation. My mind kept drifting back to my mom, wondering what she was doing, who she was with. I tried to push the thoughts away, but they kept creeping back in. After a few drinks, I decided to call it a night. I headed home, my steps heavy, my mind still racing. When I got there, the house was dark, quiet. I let myself in, closing the door softly behind me.
I was about to go straight to my room and I heard crying in the living room. I went in and mom was on the couch smeared mascara and bottles of whisky and she was pouring another glass looking very tipsy.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” I asked, concern lacing my voice as I sat down beside her on the couch. She looked up at me, her eyes red and puffy from crying, the mascara streaking down her face. She took a swig of her drink, wincing slightly as the alcohol burned her throat.
“It’s nothing, sweetie,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
“Just… just a bad date.” I frowned, my stomach twisting with a mix of relief and guilt. “What happened?” I asked, my hand resting on her knee in a gesture of comfort. She shook her head, taking another sip of her drink.
“It’s stupid. I just… I just thought he was different. But he was just like all the rest. Interested in one thing only.”
“Listen,” I said as I sat down next to her. “What happened that night me and you. I… I hope you don’t think I just wanted the one thing from you.”
“I thought we was going to forget about that night,” she said looking vulnerable pouring another drink, she poured me one as well.
We both took a swig of the whiskey, the burn of the alcohol doing little to ease the tension between us. She sighed, setting the glass down on the coffee table with a clink. “I don’t know what to think, Mark,” she admitted, her voice soft. “That night… it was intense. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “Me neither,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”
She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. “We can’t, Mark,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “We can’t keep doing this. It’s wrong.”
I knew she was right. I knew it was wrong. But the thought of never feeling her like that again, of never touching her, kissing her, tasting her… it was unbearable. I reached out, my hand cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing away a stray tear.
“I know,” I said, my voice rough with emotion.
“But I can’t help how I feel. I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.” She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch. “Mark, please,” she whispered. “Don’t say things like that. You’re only making it harder. This… this isn’t fair.”
The next morning I woke with a banging head, I turned on to my side. Mom was next to me still asleep, I looked under the covers. We were both naked, we must have got drunk again.
She slowly opened her eyes, the sunlight streaming in through the window making her squint. She turned her head to look at me, her eyes widening as she took in our naked forms under the covers. For a moment, neither of us said anything, the weight of the night before hanging heavy in the air.
“Mark,” she whispered finally, her voice hoarse. “What did we do?” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t remember much. I wish I did.”
She let out a little chuckle, she just looked at me as I touched her face and I leaned in, pressing my lips against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. She responded immediately, her arms wrapping around my neck as she pulled me closer. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate as our tongues tangled. I could taste the remnants of last night’s alcohol on her breath, but it only added to the intensity of the moment.
“I love you mom, and I mean love not in the mom and son way. Please don’t hate me,” I said nervously.
Mom looked at me, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite read.”Mark,” she started, her voice soft,”I could never hate you. You’re my son. I love you too, more than anything in this world.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, relief washing over me.”But this… this is complicated,” she continued, her brow furrowing. “We can’t just… ignore what’s happening between us. It’s not healthy. It’s not right.”
I nodded, knowing she was right. “I know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t want to stop.”
She sighed, “I… I don’t want it to… to stop either, there I said it.”
That day we stayed in bed and wow what a tiring day we had. When we finally had our fun in bed from blowjobs to 69s and deep sex. We both sat down with her laptop she had a plan for us to be lovers. But we had to move, away from here.