The flickering TV light painted my rumpled nightie in harsh, unforgiving shadows. Nine years. Nine years since Michael’s death, nine years of numb routine, of raising Danny, of a body that felt like a forgotten relic. Fifty-four years old and adrift. Then, the buzz. My phone, a jarring intrusion in the silence. Not a neighbour, not a school friend; it was Danny. My blood ran cold. What the hell?
The WhatsApp message slammed into me like a physical blow. A picture, crude and blatant, a stark, obscene image. The accompanying text was a brutal violation: “Can’t wait to fuck your pussy, babe.” Nausea clenched my stomach. This was a mistake, a wrong number. But no. It was Danny’s contact. My son.
My mind screamed. Fury, revulsion, a bewildering undercurrent of something else – something forbidden, shameful, terrifyingly arousing. I stared at the image, the pixels burning themselves into my retinas.
My fingers, trembling, typed a response: “Danny, I think you sent this to the wrong person.” My voice was a ghost in the quiet room.
His reply was immediate: “Oh, Mom, so sorry. Meant to send it to Chloe.” Then, the ice cracked. “Is it… big enough? Did you… like it?”
My heart hammered against my ribs. The audacity, the sheer, stomach-churning audacity of it. “Danny,” I typed, my voice shaking, “we need to talk. You can’t… you can’t send things like that to me.”
He didn’t flinch. “Come on, Mom, don’t be shy. What do you really think?”
A blush scorched my face. My son. My son. But… a flicker of something primal, something long dormant, stirred within me. A spark in the desolate landscape of my widowhood.
“Danny, stop,” I typed, the words feeling weak, and pathetic.
“Can I send another?”
Hesitation. A battle waged in the silent space between my racing heart and my gut. “Fine,” I typed, the word a betrayal even as I sent it.
Regret slammed into me the moment I saw the next message. A video. Unflinching. Raw. My son’s hand, his frantic movements, his voice – a guttural moan punctuated by the words: “Oh God, Mom… take my cock… inside your pussy.”
Shock. Disgust. And then… a sickening, unexpected wetness between my legs. This wasn’t right. It was wrong, so horribly, irrevocably wrong. But my body, traitorous, was responding. My fingers, clumsy, found purchase between my thighs.
“Danny,” I whispered, my voice cracking, “get downstairs… now.”
I needed him. My son’s cock. The sheer depravity of it burned and thrilled me all at once. I ripped off my nightie, the fabric falling around me like a discarded shroud.
The creak of the stairs, a slow, agonizing ascent. He burst into the room, his eyes wide, a mixture of surprise and something else… something that mirrored the dark, forbidden hunger churning inside me.
“Take it you liked the video,” he breathed, stepping closer. “Want me to fuck that pussy, don’t you?”
I nodded, the word a strangled gasp. “Yes.”
He undressed, his movements fluid, predatory. Hard muscle, youthful and virile. His cock, thick, a brutal promise.
He mounted me, the couch groaning beneath our weight, our bodies a collision of shame and desire. His cock filled me, a violation, a brutal, agonizingly pleasurable violation.
“Oh God, Mom,” he groaned, eyes closed.
My cries mingled with his, obscene, desperate, a testament to the impossible transgression. Each thrust, a plunge into the forbidden, a violation and a release all at once. The squeaking of the couch, a soundtrack to our forbidden dance.
“Harder, Danny…” I screamed, the words lost in a torrent of pleasure. We were lost, drowning in a sea of taboo and desperate need. The climax was brutal, a cataclysmic release of tension and shame, a shattering of boundaries and a brutal, messy surrender.
“Ahhhhh my pussy… ha-harder.. harder. Do you like mommy’s pussy.” I moan loudly as he holds my hips tight and pounds me.
The couch was squeaky as he wasn’t slowing down as his cock was hammering into my mature cunt.
Danny’s cock was a thick, throbbing rod that stretched my pussy to its limits. Each thrust made me cry out, my moans echoing through the quiet house. I couldn’t believe I was doing this with my own son, but the pleasure was too intense to deny.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low and husky. “You like having your son’s cock inside you, fucking your dirty old pussy.”His words sent a jolt of arousal through me, my hips bucking against him involuntarily.
“Y-yes,” I gasped, my head thrown back in ecstasy. “I love it, Danny. Your cock feels so good inside me.”He grinned, his eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and triumph.
“You’re such a dirty mom,” he teased, his hips snapping forward to drive his cock even deeper. “I knew you’d love this.” I couldn’t argue with that. His words, his actions, everything about this taboo scenario was driving me wild. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him to go harder, faster.
Yes, Danny, harder! Fuck your mom’s pussy!”He obliged, his cock driving into me with a relentless rhythm. The couch creaked and groaned beneath us, the sound mixing with our ragged breathing and the slap of skin on skin. I was a mess, my juices flowing freely, coating his cock as he took me with savage abandon.
“I’m gonna cum soon, gonna fill you up with my seed.” The thought sent a shiver of desire through me. The idea of my son’s hot cum flooding my womb, marking me as his, was almost too much to bear.
I nodded frantically, urging him on. “Yes, Danny, give it to me! Cum inside your mom’s dirty pussy!”
Danny’s thrusts grew erratic, his cock pulsing inside me as he chased his climax. “Fuck, Mom, I’m gonna… ahhhh!” With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and exploded, his hot seed erupting deep within my convulsing pussy.
I felt every pulse, every spurt as he marked me, claimed me, in the most primal way possible. My own orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure wracking my body as I screamed his name, my pussy milking his cock for every last drop.
We collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-drenched limbs and heaving chests. The aftershocks of our shared climax rippled through us, each gentle tremor a testament to the intensity of what we’d just experienced. For a long moment, we just lay there, catching our breath, the reality of what we’d done slowly sinking in. It was wrong, so terribly wrong…