Fiction Warning: The following content contains themes and scenarios that may be disturbing or offensive to some readers. It is presented for fictional purposes only and does not endorse or glorify any harmful behaviour. Reader discretion is advised.
I sat alone in our dimly lit living room that night, staring at the family photos on the mantle. My name is Linda, and I’m 42 years old, with a body that’s held up pretty well despite two kids and a lifetime of compromises. My tits are full and heavy, a solid D-cup that strains against whatever top I wear, with dark areolas the size of silver dollars, rough and pebbled around nipples that perk up at the slightest touch. That evening, I had on a tight black top that dipped low to show off my cleavage, paired with jeans that hugged my ass and thighs. I knew I looked good—hell, men still turned their heads—but inside, I was a mess. My husband, Tom, had been in that accident two years ago, and ever since, his cock was useless. He couldn’t get it up, couldn’t fuck me, couldn’t knock me up. I wanted another baby so bad it hurt, like an itch in my empty womb that nothing could scratch.
The desperation hit me hard that evening. I was crying on the couch, tears staining my cheeks, when Mark walked in. My 20-year-old son, tall and built from his gym routine, with a jawline that made women stare. He had his own life now, a wife named Sarah who was sweet but naive. I felt a pang of guilt just looking at him, knowing what I was thinking. But fuck, I was lonely and aching for a child.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Mark asked, his voice gentle as he sat beside me.
I wiped my eyes and looked up at him. “It’s just… I want another baby, Mark. Your dad can’t give me that anymore. Not since the accident. His dick doesn’t work, and we’ve tried everything.”
He paused, his eyes flicking to my cleavage for a split second—I noticed, and it made my pussy clench involuntarily. It was wet already, that traitorous cunt of mine, slick with need. My mound was a soft, trimmed patch of dark hair framing plump lips that swelled when I got aroused, and right then, it was throbbing. “Mom, I hate seeing you like this. Maybe I can help. You know, get you pregnant.”
I froze, my heart pounding. Was he serious? “Help how? We talked about booking appointments with doctors, IVF or something. That’s the safe way.”
He shook his head, his gaze steady. “Why not the normal way? I’m young, healthy. I could fuck you, Mom. Get you pregnant the old-fashioned way.”
The word “fuck” hit me like a slap. I felt my face flush, my nipples hardening against my top. My cunt—god, that wet gash between my legs—twitched with a mix of shock and raw desire. It was wrong, so fucking wrong. He’s my son, for Christ’s sake, and he has a wife. But I was desperate, my body betraying me with its heat, my tits heaving as I breathed faster. “Sex? Do you mean… oh God, Mark, we can’t. That’s incest. It’s sick, twisted. What about Sarah? And your dad?”
He leaned closer, his hand brushing my knee. “Mom, you’re breaking down here. I see how bad you want it. And yeah, it’s fucked up, but I’m offering. No one has to know.”
I pulled back, my mind racing. My pussy was dripping now, that slick mound begging for attention, but my brain screamed no. I was flawed, hungry for what I shouldn’t want—a young cock to fill me, to make me a mother again. It was alluring, the taboo of it, my son’s hard body against mine, his cum flooding my cunt. But guilt twisted in my gut. How could I even think this? He’s my boy, and he belongs to another woman.
That night, after he left, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My desires were ugly, honest truths I couldn’t hide. I touched myself in bed, fingers sliding into my swollen lips, picturing his cock stretching me. My areolas puckered tight, nipples like hard pebbles as I rubbed them. I was a 42-year-old woman, still fertile, still craving, and I hated myself for it. But desperation won.
The next evening, I grabbed my phone and typed out a text, my hands shaking. My heart raced as I hit send. The message read: “Mark, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but meet me at the Marriott downtown tomorrow night at 8 PM. Room 415. If we do this, it’s just once, just to get me pregnant. No strings. But God, it feels so wrong.”
A few minutes later, his reply came through: “Okay, Mom. I’m in. I’ll be there. We both know what this means. See you then.”
I stared at the screen, my stomach churning. I felt bad for two reasons: first, because he was my son, and this was incest, plain and simple—a dirty, forbidden act that could destroy us all. Second, because he had a wife, and here I was, luring him into betrayal. My tits ached in my top, my cunt throbbed with anticipation, but the guilt was a cold weight in my chest. What the hell was I doing? I was just a desperate woman, flaws and all, chasing a baby at any cost.
The next night, I drove to the Marriott, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were white. I was wearing a black dress that showed off my cleavage, paired with high heels that made my legs look longer. I’d even put on extra makeup, trying to look younger, more desirable. I felt like a whore.
I walked into the hotel, my heart pounding with each step. I got on the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. Once there, I walked down the hall with trembling legs, finally stopping in front of room 415. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
The door opened, and Mark stood there, his eyes scanning from my head to my toes. He raised an eyebrow. “Mom, you look like you’re ready for a night on the town.”
I bit my lip. “I didn’t know what to expect. I just tried to look… good.”
He stepped aside, letting me into the room. It was a standard hotel room, with a king-size bed, a TV, and a small bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid his gaze.
“So,” he said, his voice low, “we’re really doing this?”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. The silence stretched between us, thick with tension, until he finally broke it.
“Okay, Mom,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s get this over with.”
He started undressing, his movements deliberate. I watched as his shirt came off, then his pants, revealing a hard, muscular body. My cunt started throbbing again, that wet gash between my legs aching for his hard cock.
“Take off your dress, Mom,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I want to see those tits.”
I obeyed, pulling the dress over my head, and letting it fall to the floor. I stood there in my bra and panties, my tits heavy and full, the dark areolas standing out against my skin. He walked over to me, his eyes burning with lust.
“God, Mom,” he whispered, his hand reaching out to cup one of my tits. “You’re so beautiful.”
He squeezed my nipples, making me moan. I reached out and grabbed his cock, stroking it through his boxers. His penis felt hard and thick, throbbing in my hand.
“Take them off, Mom,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I want to feel you.”
I pulled down my panties, and he stepped out of his boxers, revealing his hard cock, thick and red. My mound was swollen and wet, the lips parted in anticipation. He pushed me back onto the bed, his body pressing against mine.
“I’m gonna fuck you good, Mom,” he whispered.
He spread my legs and positioned his cock at the entrance of my cunt. I closed my eyes and waited, my body trembling with anticipation. This was it. I was about to fuck my son, to get pregnant with his child. I knew it was wrong, sick, twisted, but I didn’t care. I needed this, wanted this, more than anything.
He pushed into me slowly, his thick cock stretching my tight pussy. I gasped as he filled me, my walls clamping down around his shaft. He started thrusting, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper.
“Fuck, Mom,” he grunted, his face buried in my neck. “You’re so tight. Your cunt feels amazing.”I moaned, my nails digging into his back.I could feel every inch of his hard cock sliding in and out of me, hitting spots I hadn’t felt in years. My tits bounced with each thrust, the nipples hard and aching.
“That’s it, baby,” I panted.
He picked up the pace, slamming into me harder. The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard hitting the wall. I was getting close, my pussy clenching around him. He pounded my wet cunt hard as I stared between my legs, seeing my son’s thick cock pound my hole where he came from.
Mark’s cock was pistoning in and out of me, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust. I was a mess, tits bouncing wildly as he fucked me like a dog in heat. My cunt was dripping, his cock slick with my arousal as it plunged deep.
“Can I… ahh… fuck, can I suck your tits,” he said while not slowing down with his thrusts.
I nodded, gasping for air as he pulled back and sucked one of my nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the hard nub, teasing the sensitive flesh. I moaned, arching my back as he sucked harder, the sensation making my pussy clench around his cock.
“Yes, baby,” I panted, “suck them, just like that.” He moved to my other tit, his mouth latched onto the nipple as he continued to fuck me. The dual sensations of his cock pounding my cunt and his tongue teasing my nipples pushed me closer to the edge. My hips bucked against him, meeting his thrusts as I chased my orgasm.
“Mark, oh God, I’m close,” I whimpered, my fingers tangled in his hair. He released my nipple with a pop and looked up at me, his eyes dark with lust. “Cum for me, Mom. Squirt Mom.”
As he spoke, his hips snapped into me with renewed vigour, his cock driving into my soaked cunt like a piston. My eyes rolled back in my head as the pressure built, my clit throbbing with each thrust. I was so close, teetering on the brink.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I cried out, my voice echoing off the hotel room walls. “I’m cumming, baby, I’m cumming!” My orgasm hit me like a freight train, my pussy clamping down on his cock as I squirted, my juices gushing out around him. My back arched, my toes curled, and my mind went blank as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. Mark’s cock twitched inside me, and with a few more powerful thrusts, he buried himself deep and came, his hot seed flooding my womb.
We collapsed together on the bed, his softening cock still buried in my cum-soaked cunt, his face buried in my neck.
I lay there for a long moment, trying to catch my breath, my mind reeling from what we’d just done. Mark’s softening cock slipped out of me, and I felt a pang of emptiness, my pussy still throbbing with need. I knew I shouldn’t have done this, that it was wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
“Mom…. what if this doesn’t get you pregnant,” he said softly still panting.
I turned to him, my eyes searching his face in the dim light of the hotel room. “It will, baby,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not that old, and you’re young and healthy. It’s the perfect storm for getting pregnant.”
He nodded, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. I knew he was worried about Sarah, about the consequences of what we’d just done. But I also saw the concern etched on his face for me, for the desperation that had driven me to this point. “It’ll be our secret,” I promised, running a hand through his hair. “No one has to know. We’ll just… move on with our lives.” He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my breasts, still swollen and sensitive from his touch. “And what about next time, Mom? If this doesn’t work, will you…?”
“I don’t know, baby,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”
I woke up the next morning in the hotel room, alone. Mark had left a note on the nightstand, thanking me for an amazing night. He had to go to work and he will text me later.
I sat there, my head in my hands, trying to process what had happened. Had it really been just a one-time thing? I wasn’t sure. The memory of his cock pounding into me, of his mouth on my tits, made my pussy throb with need. I knew I wanted more, and craved it, despite the guilt and shame that followed.