Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content and adult themes, intended for mature audiences only. All characters depicted are 18+.
I shuffled down the hall, bare feet slapping against the cold tile. The kitchen light was already on, a beacon in the pre-dawn gloom. Mum was there, surprise, surprise, the early bird as always. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching the dust motes dancing in the air.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, her voice a little rough around the edges, the way it always was first thing. She was pouring coffee into her favorite mug, the one with the chipped handle.
“Morning, Mum,” I mumbled, trying to sound normal, trying not to immediately zero in on her legs. She was wearing this silk nightie, pale cream, almost see-through in the light. It barely covered her mid-thigh, and the lace trim dipped low, hinting at the curve of her chest. I hated how much I noticed these things lately. It felt…wrong.
She sat down at the table, the silk shifting, and the V of her cleavage seemed to deepen just a little too much. I busied myself with the coffee maker, grinding the beans with unnecessary force. The smell filled the air, but my brain was stuck on rewind, replaying the images from a second ago. I knew I shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t be thinking these things, but it was like trying to hold back a sneeze.
I poured myself a cup, black, and sat down across from her. The table felt like a mile wide. “So, big plans for today?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her eyes.
My gaze flickered upward, then immediately back down to my coffee. “Uh, not really. Probably just hang out. Maybe catch a movie with Mark later.” I grabbed a piece of toast and started scraping butter on it, avoiding eye contact. I felt like a total pervert.
Mum chuckled softly. “Mark, huh? He’s a good kid. Just…be smart, okay? And be home at a decent hour.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled, my face burning. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. All I could hear was the clink-clink of her spoon against the ceramic mug.
Finally, I forced myself to look at her. “You okay, Mum? You seem…different.”
She took a long sip of her coffee, her eyes locked on mine. “Perfectly fine,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “Just…noticing things. You’re growing up so fast, it’s hard not to notice.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “What things?” I asked, the word barely escaping my throat.
“Things like…” she trailed off, then leaned forward slightly. The nightie dipped again, and I saw it – the faint, but unmistakable, outline of her nipple pressing against the silk. Shit.
“W-what things?” I stammered, the toast suddenly tasting like cardboard.
She paused, then tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Things like how you keep staring at my chest.”
My face exploded with heat. “I…I’m not!” I blurted out, even though I totally was.
She laughed, a low, husky sound. “Relax, honey. It’s okay, I guess. Hormones are a bitch, right?” She paused. “Maybe I’ll just stay in my nightie all day Sunday, can’t be arsed getting dressed.”
Without thinking, I blurted out, “I might stay home too. I can’t be arsed going out.” I wanted to smack myself. Why did I say that?
Mum arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? What made you suddenly want to spend the day with your old mum?”
I stared at my coffee, trying to come up with a believable excuse. “I just…I’m tired, I guess. And Mark’s got some kind of sniffle. Better to avoid contact.”
Mum gave me a knowing look. “A likely story,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “But who am I to argue with a son who wants to spend time with his mother? Maybe I’ll take a long soak in the bath.”
“I thought you was going to stay in your nightie all day,” I said before I could stop myself, the words tumbling out in a rush. I mentally face-palmed. What the hell was wrong with me? “Are you going to put another one on after your bath? We…we can have a lazy day.”
Mum chuckled, a throaty sound that vibrated through the already tense air. “Oh, I might. This one’s too long, isn’t it?” She winked, standing up and gliding towards the sink, the nightie clinging to her curves with every step. “Maybe after my bath, I’ll find something…shorter. Lighter. Something more appropriate for a lazy day with my son.” She glanced back at me over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Unless you’d prefer I put on something more…conventional?”
“NO… I mean, wear what you want!” I stammered, the shout escaping before I could stop it. I wanted to crawl under the table and die.
She laughed, a throaty, amused sound. “Short it is,” she said, then turned towards the hallway. “I’m going to run my bath now.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I watched her leave, the gentle sway of her hips fueling the fire in my loins. I knew I should leave, go for a run, anything to escape the suffocating tension of the house. But my legs felt like lead, rooted to the spot.
The sound of running water eventually drifted from the bathroom, a constant reminder of her proximity. I imagined her undressing, the nightie sliding off her shoulders… I gripped the edge of the table, willing myself to think of something else.
It was useless. My mind was a runaway train. I stood up abruptly, pacing the kitchen like a caged animal. This was wrong. She was my mother. But the way she was acting, the things she was saying… it was all so confusing.
Suddenly, I heard her voice, calling from the bathroom. “Honey, could you grab me that towel? The one on the top shelf in the hall closet?”
My breath hitched. This was it. This was the moment of truth. I could pretend I didn’t hear her, escape while I still could. Or… I could bring her the towel.
My feet moved almost of their own accord, carrying me towards the hallway. Each step felt like a betrayal. I reached the closet, my hand trembling as I reached for the towel.
As I turned towards the bathroom, I paused, taking a deep breath. I could still back out. I could tell her I was leaving, that I couldn’t do this. But the thought of missing this opportunity, of letting the tension dissipate without resolution, was unbearable.
I pushed open the bathroom door slightly, peeked in, my heart pounding like a drum solo. The room was filled with steam, obscuring the details. All I could see was the faint outline of her body behind the frosted glass of the shower door.
“Mum?” I called out, my voice barely above a whisper. “I have the towel.”
The shower door was slightly ajar, just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of her silhouette. The frosted glass blurred the details, turning her body into a soft, ethereal form. The curve of her shoulder, the gentle slope of her back, the suggestion of a hip. It was both more and less revealing than seeing her directly. As she turned, I got brief blurry, frosted views of her breasts, and a dark shadow between her legs.
“Just hang it on the hook,” she said, her voice muffled by the steam. “I’ll grab it in a minute. I will be down in a bit honey, can you be making me a coffee.”
“The coffee will be ready when you come down,” I managed to say, my voice strained. Trying to sound relaxed I asked, “You should have a shave…”
I lingered for a moment longer, my senses overwhelmed by the scent of her soap and the sound of the running water. It was a symphony of temptation.
As I walked away, I glanced back one last time, my eyes drawn to the blurred silhouette behind the glass. Then, I turned and fled, desperate to escape the suffocating heat of the moment.
“A shave,” I muttered to myself, the words sounding ridiculously out of place. What was I doing? What was I hoping to accomplish? This was madness.
Back in the kitchen, the coffee machine sputtered and hissed, its rhythmic sounds a poor substitute for the frantic beating of my heart. I paced, my mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Guilt warred with desire, confusion wrestled with fascination.
I poured the coffee, the rich aroma filling the air. As I added milk and sugar, I tried to focus on the simple task, to ground myself in the tangible world. But my thoughts kept drifting back to the bathroom, to the image of her behind the frosted glass.
Suddenly, I heard her footsteps approaching. My breath caught in my throat. I turned, bracing myself for whatever was to come.
She walked into the kitchen, her hair damp and tousled, a soft blush on her cheeks. She was wearing a different nightie, omg she looked… hot. It was shorter than the last and the front was transparent, just a fine layer of silk. I could see the dark circles of her nipples pressing against the fabric, she had no bra on underneath and my cock went hard.
She smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes, and took the coffee from my hands. “Thanks, honey,” she said, her voice soft and intimate. “Just what I needed.”
She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving mine. “So,” she said, placing the mug on the counter, “what shall we do with our lazy Sunday?”
The air crackled with unspoken tension. I knew I was standing on the edge of a precipice, one wrong step could send everything spiraling out of control. But the pull was too strong, the temptation too great.
“I… I don’t know,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.
She reached out, her fingers tracing a line down my cheek. “Maybe,” she murmured, “we could watch some DVDs and snacks.”
“Yeah,” I managed to croak out, my voice thick with suppressed desire. “Yeah, that sounds…good. I… love that nightie mum.”
Mum’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, a mix of amusement and…something else. She glanced down at herself, as if just remembering what she was wearing. The silk clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.
“Why, thank you,” she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.”I’m glad you like it. It’s so comfortable, don’t you think?” She turned, giving me a full view of her back. The nightie rode up slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of her bottom. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
“It’s…really nice,” I managed to say, my voice strained.
Mum chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Come on,” she said, grabbing the coffee mug and heading towards the living room. “Let’s get those DVDs set up.” I followed her, my eyes glued to the sway of her hips.
Mum settled onto the couch, patting the seat beside her invitingly. “Come sit with me, honey. I want to be close to you today.”
I hesitantly sat down beside her, the couch dipping under my weight. Mum shifted, her leg brushing against mine. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I fought to keep my breathing steady. She leaned forward, reaching for the TV remote. The movement caused her nightie to ride up, exposing a length of her thigh. I quickly looked away, my face burning.
“What do you feel like watching?” she asked, scrolling through the options. Her hair fell forward, obscuring her face. I found myself staring at the nape of her neck, at the delicate curve of her shoulder.
“I…I don’t care,” I mumbled as I watched her nipples through the see thru fabric, my eyes darting back to the TV screen. “Whatever you want.”
Mum glanced at me, a small smile playing on her lips. “Whatever I want, huh?” She paused, considering the options. “How about something…romantic?” She selected a movie, the opening credits filling the screen.
As the movie started, Mum snuggled closer, resting her head on my shoulder. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. Her hair tickled my neck, and I could smell the faint scent of her shampoo. I tried to focus on the movie, but it was impossible with her so close. I put my arm around her and she sighed in like relief.
Suddenly, Mum lifted her head, her eyes meeting yours in the dim light. “This is nice,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just the two of us, alone together.”
I shifted slightly, trying to ease the growing tension in my jeans. Mum’s proximity was intoxicating, her warmth seeping into my skin. The movie played on, but I couldn’t focus on the plot. My mind was consumed with thoughts of her, with the softness of her body pressed against mine.
As if sensing my distraction, Mum lifted her head, her eyes searching mine in the dim light. “Is everything okay, honey?” she asked softly, her breath warm against my cheek.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah,” I managed to croak out. “Everything’s fine.” She studied me for a moment longer, then slowly, deliberately, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. Her fingers lingered, tracing the contours of my face. I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Are you… Are you like this nightie?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I looked at her, my eyes widening in surprise at her bold question. “What do you mean, like this nightie?”I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. My heart was racing, my mind spinning with possibilities.
Mum’s fingers trailed down from my forehead, along my jaw, and came to rest on my chest. She tapped her nails lightly against my shirt, the rhythm slow and deliberate.
“I mean, is it too much? Too…revealing?” Her eyes flicked down to her chest, then back up to meet mine. “Do you…like it?” I gulped, my mouth suddenly dry. The air between us felt electric, charged with a tension I couldn’t quite define.
“I… I don’t know,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. “It’s just…you’re my mum.” She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips.
“And?” she prompted, her fingers still tapping against my chest.
“It’s… making me, you know. Hard.” There I said it, fuck, fuck why did I say that.
Mum’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before being replaced by a slow, sensual smile. “Oh,” she breathed, her fingers pressing more firmly against my chest. “I see.”
“I am sorry,” I hung my head in shame.
“Don’t be sorry,” she murmured, her thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. “It’s only natural, given the situation.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice husky.” I understand. You’re a man, after all. And I’m…well, I’m not exactly hiding much, am I?” She glanced down at herself, the see-through nightie leaving little to the imagination. “Do you want me to change into something else.”
“No!” I blurted out, then quickly added, “I mean, you look nice. Really nice.” I felt my face flush with embarrassment. “I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t be thinking these things.”
Mum’s smile deepened, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes as she leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear.
“Oh, honey,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, “there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just… noticing. And I’m noticing you noticing.” Her fingers slid down my chest, pausing just above the waistband of my jeans, where the fabric strained against my growing erection. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of her words and the scent of her skin—something floral, mixed with the faint musk of her bath.
I sat on the couch, my hands fidgeting in my lap, the dim glow of the TV casting shadows across the living room. The movie was some old rom-com, but I couldn’t focus. Not with her sitting so close. My stepmother, Lena, was curled up beside me, her bare legs tucked under her, a thin silk nightie clinging to her curves. The fabric was a deep crimson, almost sheer, and it rode up her thighs, revealing soft, pale skin that glistened faintly in the low light. Her dark hair was damp from a shower, loose waves framing her face, and the scent of her jasmine shampoo filled the air, mixing with something muskier, something that made my chest tighten.
“You’re so tense, love,” Lena said, her voice soft but laced with a teasing edge. She tilted her head, her green eyes catching the light, and a small smile played on her lips. She reached out, her fingers cool and delicate, and took my hand, guiding it to her thigh, just below the hem of her nightie. Her skin was warm, impossibly smooth, and my breath caught, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Relax. It’s just us. No one’s watching.”
“M-Mum,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The word felt wrong, too formal for the heat in the air, but it was all I could manage. She wasn’t my real mum, just married to Dad for a couple of years, but calling her Lena felt too… intimate. Her thigh pressed closer, the silk slipping higher, and I froze, my eyes darting to the way her chest rose and fell, the nightie stretched tight across her full breasts, the faint outline of her nipples visible through the fabric.
“Shh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her smile turning wicked, though her eyes were warm, almost tender. “You don’t need to say a word. Just… feel.” She guided my hand higher, her touch gentle but firm, until my fingers brushed the edge of her nightie, where silk met skin. My breath hitched, and I looked up at her, half-expecting a laugh, a sign this was all a game. But her pupils were wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips parted slightly, a soft gasp escaping her. “Heard you in the bathroom earlier,” she whispered, her voice dropping low. “Talking about… shaving. So I did it. For you.”
“Y-You did?” I managed, my voice cracking. My eyes flicked down, imagining it—her pussy, smooth and bare, slick with anticipation. My jeans tightened painfully, my cock straining against the denim, and I shifted, trying to hide it. But Lena’s eyes followed, and her lips curved into a knowing smile. She leaned closer, her breath hot against my cheek, her damp hair brushing my skin.
“Mhm,” she purred, her voice thick with mischief. “Thought it’d feel… better. Smoother. What do you reckon?” Her fingers trailed up my arm, nails grazing lightly, sending shivers through me. The nightie had slipped higher now, barely covering her thighs, and I could see the faint shadow where her legs met, a promise of what lay beneath. My hand stayed on her thigh, trembling, and I couldn’t pull away, didn’t want to.
“Mum, we… we can’t,” I mumbled, but the words felt weak, like I was trying to convince myself. My hand hadn’t moved, my fingers still pressed against her warm skin, and the way her breasts rose and fell, the dark circles of her nipples pressing against the silk, was pulling me under. I was drowning in her, in the scent of her skin, the heat of her body.
“Can’t what?” she teased, her fingers now tracing circles on my chest, dipping lower, dangerously close to my waistband. “We’re just… getting comfy, aren’t we? Nothing wrong with that.” She tilted her head, her hair falling over one shoulder, and I caught the faint saltiness of her skin, mingling with her shampoo. “Unless you want me to stop.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. My eyes locked on hers, and I saw it—a challenge, a dare. She wasn’t just my stepmother anymore; she was a woman, vibrant and alive, her body a forbidden landscape I was desperate to touch. My hand moved, sliding higher, my fingertips brushing the edge of her nightie. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she let out a soft gasp, her lips parting, her eyes darkening.
“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Let go, love.” She shifted, spreading her legs slightly, and the nightie rode up further, revealing the smooth curve of her inner thigh. My heart pounded, my breath ragged, and I could feel the ache in my groin, my cock throbbing painfully. Her hand mirrored mine, resting on my thigh, her nails digging in just enough to make me hiss.
“F-Fuck, Mum,” I muttered, the word slipping out, my face burning. She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a jolt through me.
“Language,” she teased, but her eyes gleamed, and her hand slid higher, brushing the bulge in my jeans. I jerked at the contact, a groan escaping me, and she bit her lip, her gaze dropping to where her hand rested. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice thick. “You’re so… pent up.”
My hand moved again, bolder now, slipping under her nightie. I felt the bare skin of her hip, warm and smooth, and my breath caught—she wasn’t wearing knickers. The realisation hit me like a shock, and my fingers grazed the edge of her pubic bone, pausing, waiting for her to stop me. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned closer, her lips brushing my ear. “Touch me,” she whispered.
The words ignited something in me. My fingers moved, tracing the smooth, freshly shaved skin where her thighs met. It was slick with sweat, warm and inviting, and I could feel the heat radiating from her core. My breath caught as I brushed her pussy—hairless, just as she’d said, the outer lips soft and slightly swollen, already wet with arousal. She moaned softly, her head tipping back, and the sound urged me on.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” I whispered, my voice hoarse, and she laughed, shaky and breathless.
“Mmm, you’ve no idea,” she murmured, her hand cupping me through my jeans, her thumb rubbing slow circles that made my vision blur. “Keep going, love. Don’t stop.”
My fingers parted her lips, feeling the slick heat of her pussy, the way it pulsed under my touch. Her labia were plump, the inner folds glistening with her juices, and I traced them slowly, marvelling at the texture. Her clit was a small, firm bud, and when I brushed it, she gasped, her hips bucking. “Ohhh, fuck,” she moaned, her voice raw. “Right there… yes…” Her hand tightened on my cock, and I groaned, the pressure overwhelming.
I slid a finger inside her, and she was tight, so fucking tight, her walls clenching around me as she let out a sharp,
“Ahh!” Her pussy was hot, slick, her juices coating my finger as I moved, slow at first, then faster, curling to find that spot. She panted, her breaths short and ragged, and I could smell her arousal, musky and sweet, mixing with the sweat beading on her skin.
“More,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Fuck, love, give me more.” Her hand fumbled with my zipper, and I didn’t stop her. The sound of it was loud in the quiet room, and then her hand was inside, wrapping around my cock. I groaned, loud and raw, as her fingers gripped me, her touch firm. My cock was hard, throbbing, the skin taut and slick with precum, the veins pulsing under her fingers. She stroked me slowly, her thumb circling the head, spreading the wetness.
“God, you’re massive,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “So fucking hard for me.” She shifted, straddling my lap, and the nightie rode up completely, baring her pussy to me. It glistened, the lips parted slightly, flushed with arousal, her juices clinging to her skin. She guided my cock to her entrance, and I felt the heat of her, the slickness, as the head brushed her.
“Stick it in,” she whispered, her voice trembling, and I pushed up as she sank down. Sliding inside her was fucking unreal—her pussy was tight, hot, gripping me like a vice. Her labia stretched around my cock, slick and swollen, and when I was fully inside, my balls rested against her clit, the contact making her moan loudly.
“Ohhh, fuck!” she cried, her head thrown back, her hands gripping my shoulders. “So deep… fuck, you’re so deep.”
I thrust up, slow at first, and she matched me, her hips rolling, her moans shifting with each thrust—sharp “Ahh!”s and low “Mmm”s that drove me wild. Her juices dripped down, coating my balls, and the sound of our bodies was wet, a soft clap with every movement.
“Fuck my pussy,” she gasped, her nails digging into my skin, and I did, harder now, the rhythm building, the couch creaking beneath us.
Her pussy clenched around me, slick and perfect, and I could feel her tightening, her breaths faster, her moans louder.
“Ohhh… ummm… fuck, yes!” she cried, her thighs trembling, sweat beading on her skin, her pussy slick with arousal. I was close, the pressure building, my balls tight.
“Mum, I’m—” I started, but she kissed me, messy and desperate, her tongue hot.
“Cum inside me,” she whispered against my lips, her voice raw. “Fuck, love, fill me up.” I thrust once, twice, and then I was gone, my cock pulsing as I came, the release intense.
Her pussy clenched, milking me, and she screamed, her orgasm hitting, her body shaking. Her juices mixed with mine, hot and sticky, dripping down her thighs, the wet, clapping sound of our bodies raw and real.
We collapsed, panting, her body limp against mine, her pussy twitching around my softening cock. The air smelled of sex, sweat, and cum, and I felt the stickiness where our bodies met. She laughed, breathless, and kissed me softly, her lips swollen.
“Fuck,” she murmured, hoarse. “That was… something.”