It was the weekend and I woke up with that morning wood, yep. Always woke up that way, and I had a little stroke under the blanket as my mom barged into my room. The sunlight poured in with her, momentarily blinding me. I quickly yanked the covers higher, a reflex honed over years of adolescence.
“Morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped, already heading towards my window. “Beautiful day out. I’m thinking we could hit the the road, and go visit your Aunt Mia.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Uh, Mom, could you maybe knock next time?” I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep and a healthy dose of embarrassment.
“Why?” she said looking at me with her hands on her hip with her blouse slightly open. She always wore short skirts too. Now I never saw her in that way if you get me. But as a young horny lad jerking and seeing the side of her breast…
My face flushed crimson. “No reason,” I stammered, avoiding eye contact. “Just… privacy.”
“Come on just get up,” she pulled the covers off me.
My stomach dropped. The covers were gone and she was staring at my hand around my hard shaft. My carefully constructed shield, vanished. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable mortification. I could practically feel the heat radiating off my face.
“OH… ermm sweetie I…” she stammered, her voice losing its cheerful lilt. I dared to peek. Her cheeks were flushed, a mirror of my own. She quickly averted her gaze, busying herself with adjusting the nonexistent curtains.
“I… I didn’t realize,” she mumbled, the words barely audible. “I’ll just… I’ll wait downstairs. I… I let you… finish.”
Well, I couldn’t finish, that was so embarrassing. I eventually got out of bed and headed to the shower.
I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me. It felt like trying to wash away the mortification, scrubbing harder than necessary, hoping to erase the image of her face – flushed and startled – as she saw me. Every drop landing on my skin seemed to replay the moment: the sunlight, her cheerful voice, the cold shock as the covers were pulled back, and the horrifying split second of eye contact before she fled.
The steam filled the small bathroom, a temporary shield from the world, or at least from the downstairs where Mom was undoubtedly trying to compose herself. I finished quickly, toweling off with vigorous movements, still feeling the phantom heat on my cheeks.
Getting dressed felt like another hurdle. What did I wear? Anything felt wrong. Too casual felt disrespectful after being caught, too ‘normal’ felt like pretending it didn’t happen, which was impossible. I settled on jeans and a plain t-shirt, clothes that were unremarkable and comfortable. I avoided looking in the mirror for too long, not wanting to see the lingering flush I imagined was still there.
Taking a deep breath, I opened my bedroom door. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Usually, the weekend mornings were filled with the clatter of breakfast being made or the sound of the TV. The silence amplified the tension I felt coiling in my gut.
I padded downstairs, every step feeling heavy. As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, Mom was standing at the counter, her back to me, seemingly engrossed in staring out the window at the backyard. She flinched slightly as I entered but didn’t turn around immediately.
“Morning,” I mumbled, heading towards the fridge, needing something, anything, to do with my hands.
“Oh! You’re up,” she said, her voice a little too bright, a little too forced. She finally turned, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her cheeks still held a faint pinkish hue. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah, fine,” I lied, grabbing the milk carton.
There was a long, awkward silence. The air crackled with the unspoken incident. She busied herself slicing some fruit, her movements precise and perhaps a little stiff. I poured cereal into a bowl, the scraping sound unnaturally loud. We were both acting, badly.
“So,” she started, clearing her throat. Right, the trip. A blessed distraction. “Aunt Mia. I thought we’d leave… maybe in an hour? If that works for you?”
“Can’t we leave a little later, I have to call into work for few hours,” I said as I added, “I will drive I don’t mind.”
My offer seemed to break the static in the air. Mom looked a little surprised, then a flicker of something – relief? – crossed her face. “Oh, work? Okay, sweetie. That’s… fine. How long will that take?”
“Maybe an hour or two,” I said, trying to sound casual as I finished pouring my milk. “Just jump on a quick call, send some emails.” It wasn’t a total lie; I could technically check emails, but it served more as a convenient excuse for a delay and some private time to fully recover my composure.
“Okay,” she said, her smile a little more genuine this time, though still cautious. “Two hours sounds perfect. Gives us time to pack a small bag, grab some snacks for the road. And… you driving? That’s great! Saves me the effort.” She busied herself with the fruit again, the rhythm of her movements a little less strained.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, taking my cereal bowl to the table. The simple act of sitting down and eating felt like a small victory, a step towards normalcy. We ate in relative silence, punctuated by the occasional clink of spoon against ceramic or the rustle of her slicing fruit. The air was still thick, but the subject of work and driving offered a fragile bridge over the chasm of awkwardness that had opened between us.
As I ate, I stole glances at her. She was now wearing a slightly less revealing blouse, though the short skirt remained. It was weird – the morning had forced me to see her in a new, uncomfortable light for a fleeting second, but now, with the practicalities of a trip laid out, my brain was working hard to shove that image back into the ‘parent’ box where it belonged. Hers seemed to be doing the same.
Once I finished, I rinsed my bowl. “Okay, I’ll… head up and do that work stuff,” I said, feeling the need to escape the immediate vicinity.
“Alright, sweetie,” she replied, not quite meeting my eyes but offering another small smile. “I’ll start packing the snacks.”
Later that day I came home a little too late, it was 6:45pm.
The front door felt heavy in my hand as I pushed it open. The house was quiet again, though this time it felt less like the tense silence of the morning and more like the empty quiet of a missed opportunity. The faint smell of something baking – Mom’s stress-baking, no doubt – hung in the air. It was 6:45 pm. The trip to Aunt Mia’s obviously hadn’t happened. But, I was still determined to take her, it was her sister after all.
I closed the front door behind me. The silence inside was thick, heavier than the air outside. “Mom?” I called out, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet house. No answer. The scent of baked goods was stronger here – sugar cookies, maybe? Definitely stress-baking. 6:45 pm. Yeah, the trip hadn’t happened.
I found her in the living room, curled up on the sofa with a book. She looked up, a flicker of something – disappointment? – crossing her face before she masked it with a weary smile. “Oh, hey sweetie. Work take longer than you thought?”
“Yeah, sorry, Mom,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “Got caught up in a few things. Didn’t realize how late it was.” Part of it was true; I had checked emails and made a quick call, but mostly I’d just needed time, needed space, needed the day to breathe before facing the awkwardness again.
“It’s okay,” she sighed, closing her book. “I figured we’d missed our window. Thought maybe we could just go tomorrow?”
“No,” I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “No, we can still go. It’s… it’s only a couple of hours drive, right? We can get there later tonight. It’s Aunt Mia, she won’t care what time we arrive.” I needed this trip now, needed the structure, the movement, anything to put the awkward morning firmly behind us and reset things.
She looked at me, surprised again. “Tonight? It’ll be pretty late, won’t it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I insisted. “Come on, let’s just go. We’ll pack quick, grab those snacks, and hit the road.”
She hesitated for a moment, then a small smile touched her lips. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, sweetie. Let’s do it. It’s been a weird day anyway, maybe a drive is exactly what we need.”
We packed quickly, throwing clothes and toiletries into duffel bags. The awkwardness was still there, a low hum beneath the surface, but the shared purpose of the trip, even a late-night one, seemed to push it further into the background. We loaded the bags into my car – I was driving, as promised – and the snack bag found its place between the seats.
Pulling out of the driveway, the streetlights were already beginning to cast long shadows. The sun had set while I was out, painting the western sky in bruised purples and oranges. As I merged onto the highway, the car cabin felt small, intimate. Mom adjusted her seatbelt, then settled back, pulling a small blanket she’d brought over her lap.
“Comfy?” I asked, my eyes on the road ahead.
“Yep,” she replied, her voice soft. “Thanks for doing this, honey. Driving, I mean.”
“No problem,” I mumbled.
The initial miles were quiet, just the hum of the engine and the occasional pass of another car. I focused on the road, on the lines blurring under the headlights. Every so often, I’d glance in the rear-view mirror. Not just to check traffic, but to see her. She was looking out the side window, watching the dark landscape rush past.
And that’s when I saw it. In the angle of the mirror, as I adjusted it slightly to get a better view of the lane behind me, I could see past the neck of her slightly-too-loose top. Just a glimpse, a curve of pale skin, the upper swell of her breast. It was fleeting, accidental, less revealing than the morning, but the instant I registered it, the heat from earlier flooded back to my face. My grip tightened on the steering wheel.
I quickly adjusted the mirror again, pretending to need to see something specific behind us, forcing the angle to cut off the view. I didn’t dare look at her directly. Did she notice? I couldn’t tell. The silence stretched, thick with the air I felt I wasn’t breathing properly.
“You okay?” she asked after a minute, turning her head to look at me.
“Yeah, fine,” I said, my voice a little strained. “Just… concentrating.”
She didn’t press it. She turned back to the window, and I stared resolutely ahead, the image from the mirror burned into my mind, immediately followed by the cringing memory of her face that morning. It was like the universe was determined to keep reminding me, to keep putting that uncomfortable image in my head.
The highway stretched on, dark and empty save for the occasional distant headlights. The sky outside was now completely black, dotted with distant stars. We were making good time, but fatigue was starting to set in, a dull ache behind my eyes. I yawned, trying to be subtle about it.
“Getting late,” Mom said, her voice quiet in the dark.
I nodded, checking the dashboard clock. Almost 10 pm. We were only about halfway there.
Suddenly, a large, brightly lit sign appeared in the distance, growing larger as we approached. Red and yellow neon glowed against the blackness.
“Look,” Mom said, pointing. “Oasis Motel. ‘Vacancy’.”
I kept driving, but my gaze flickered to the sign, then back to the road.
“Maybe… maybe we should stop Jason?” she suggested tentatively. “It’s getting pretty late, and it would be nice to get a proper night’s sleep and finish the drive in the morning. No need to rush.”
I considered it. She was right. It was late. And the lingering awkwardness, amplified by the accidental mirror view, made the idea of continuing the drive into the dead of night feel less appealing than the thought of a temporary escape, a pause.
“Yeah,” I said, signalling to take the exit ramp. “Okay. A motel sounds like a good idea.”
The Oasis Motel lived up to its name in theory, though the reality was less a lush paradise and more a rectangular building of faded glory next to an all-night gas station. The neon sign buzzed erratically, casting a flickering red and yellow glow over the cracked asphalt parking lot. A single car, an ancient pick-up truck, was parked near the office.
I pulled the car into one of the empty spots directly in front of the ‘Vacancy’ sign still blazing like a beacon in the darkness. The engine quieted, and the sudden silence felt even heavier than the hum of the highway.
“Looks… charming,” Mom said, a hint of amusement in her voice, though her smile seemed a little strained.
“Yeah, peak luxury,” I muttered, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Probably better than driving another two hours half-asleep.”
We got out of the car, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the slightly stuffy car cabin. I stretched, trying to work out the knots in my shoulders. Mom pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“I’ll go check us in,” I said, heading towards the small, brightly lit office attached to the side of the building.
The office was small and dated, smelling faintly of stale cigarette smoke and industrial air freshener. A bored-looking man with thinning hair sat behind a counter, watching a tiny portable TV.
“Evening,” I said. “Need a room for the night.”
He barely looked up. “Name?”
“Evening,” I said. “Need a room for the night.”
He barely looked up. “Name?”
“Jason,” I supplied. “Room for two.”
He tapped a few keys on a surprisingly ancient-looking computer monitor, then squinted at the screen. He sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to suggest my request was a major inconvenience. “Yeah, look, kinda late,” he mumbled, still not meeting my eye. “Only got one left.”
“Okay, one room is fine,” I said, relief starting to bubble up. A room, any room, felt like a significant step towards ending the awkward drive and getting some rest.
He finally looked up, his expression flat. “Yeah. One left. It’s… just got the one bed though.”
My relief evaporated instantly, replaced by a sudden, cold knot in my stomach. “One bed?” I repeated, my voice tight.
He nodded slowly, picking at a loose thread on his uniform shirt. “Yeah. Queen size. That’s it. Everything else is full.”
My mind raced. Sharing a single bed. With Mom. After that morning. After that glimpse in the mirror. It was like the universe was actively conspiring against me, forcing us into a situation that would amplify every ounce of banked, uncomfortable tension. For a second, I considered just getting back in the car, driving the rest of the way, fatigue be damned.
But then I saw her face in my mind, curled up on the sofa earlier, the weary smile. I felt the weight of my own exhaustion, the dull ache behind my eyes. And I remembered the sheer, crushing awkwardness of sitting side-by-side in the car, the silence filled with everything we weren’t saying. A motel room, even one with only a single bed, offered a different kind of space, a physical separation from the driving, a chance to just stop.
“Okay,” I heard myself say, the word sounding strangely detached. “Okay, we’ll take it.”
The attendant seemed unbothered by my hesitation. “Sixy-five fifty plus tax,” he rattled off, already reaching for a key card.
I paid, the transaction feeling surreal. Taking a room with one bed. For my mom and me. It was absurd. It was necessary. It was… something I didn’t want to think about too hard.
I took the key card, the plastic cool against my fingertips, and walked back out into the flickering neon light. Mom was still standing by the car, looking patiently towards the office. I tried to keep my expression neutral as I approached her.
“Got the room,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“Oh, good!” she said, relief evident in her voice. “Which one?”
I swallowed. “Uh, it’s… the last one they had. It’s fine, but…” I trailed off, trying to find the least awkward way to phrase it.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, a question in her eyes. “But…?”
“It only has one bed,” I finished, quickly adding, “A queen.”
She blinked, and for a second, I saw that familiar flicker of something – surprise? discomfort? – pass across her face before it settled back into weary practicality. She glanced from me to the shabby motel building, then back to me.
“Oh,” she said softly. She paused, then gave a small, wry smile. “Well. Okay then. Beggars can’t be choosers at this hour, I guess. It’s just for one night. Just… be careful not to do what you was doing this morning.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound surprising even myself. It was the first genuine moment we’d shared since the morning’s debacle.
“Yeah, I’ll try to keep my hands to myself,” I teased back, feeling some of the weight lift from my shoulders.
Mom stood just inside the doorway, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder, taking in the room with a critical eye.
“Well,” she said finally, a hint of amusement in her voice, “it’s certainly… cosy.”
The room was small, the decor a faded remnant of a bygone era. The queen-sized bed dominated the space, its floral bedspread a stark contrast to the bland beige walls. A small dresser stood against one wall, topped with a tiny TV. The bathroom was just visible through a partially open door, the faint smell of damp towels drifting out.
“It’s clean, at least,” I offered, setting my own bag down by the bed.
Mom nodded, dropping her bag onto the dresser. “True. And it’s a roof over our heads. That’s more than we can say for the alternative.” She glanced at the bed, then at me, a hint of awkwardness creeping back into her expression. “So… I guess we should figure out sleeping arrangements. But let we go for a shower first and get into my nightie.”
I felt my cheeks warm slightly. “Yeah. I mean, it’s a big bed. We can make it work. Go on mom get your shower.”
Mom nodded, grabbing her overnight bag. “Okay, I’ll go first then. Won’t be long.” She disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
As the shower turned on, I found myself alone in the motel room, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the highway and the faint sound of water running through pipes. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, trying to ignore the churning in my stomach.
Sharing a bed with Mom, after the morning’s incident, felt like a recipe for disaster. I couldn’t help but think about her in the shower, the water cascading over her body, and I quickly shook my head, trying to dispel the image.
The shower stopped, and a few moments later, the bathroom door opened. Mom emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and curling slightly around her face. She was wearing a black silk nightie that clung to her curves, the neckline dipping low to reveal a tantalizing hint of cleavage. The short hem rode up slightly as she walked, exposing her long legs. She looked stunning, a far cry from her usual conservative attire.
She paused, seeming to suddenly realize how revealing her nightwear was. A faint blush crept up her neck, and she tugged at the hem self-consciously. “I… I didn’t bring anything else,” she murmured, avoiding my gaze. “I didn’t think we’d be sharing a bed.”
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my eyes on her face and not let them wander. “It’s… it’s fine,” I managed to say, my voice slightly hoarse. “I’ll just… I’ll shower quickly.”
I grabbed my bag and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I had a good long hot shower and after drying off and put my clean boxers on. I only slept in boxers and nothing else.
Mom was already in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. She was lying on her side, facing away from me, her damp hair spread out on the pillow. The sight of her in that revealing nightie, the way it clung to her curves, sent a surge of desire through me that I quickly tried to suppress. I climbed into bed on the other side, pulling the covers up. The mattress dipped slightly under my weight, and Mom rolled onto her back, her eyes fluttering open. She looked at me, and for a moment, we just stared at each other in the soft glow of the lamp, the tension between us palpable.
“Jason…” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “About this morning…”
I felt my heart rate quicken. “Mom, we don’t have to talk about it, I am sorry though.”
She looked at me, her eyes searching my face. “No, I think we do need to talk about it. I… I overreacted. I shouldn’t have barged in like that, and I definitely shouldn’t have reacted the way I did when I saw…” She trailed off, her blush deepening. I felt a surge of embarrassment, but also a strange sense of relief that she was bringing it up.
“Yeah, it was pretty awkward,” I admitted, trying to keep my tone light. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been doing that in the first place, especially with you right downstairs.”
She nodded, her gaze drifting down to where the covers lay across my chest. “I understand, Jason. You’re a young man, it’s… it’s natural. I just…I wasn’t expecting it, especially not from you.” She paused, biting her lip. “And then, in the car…I saw… I noticed… I am not stupid what you kept looking at in the rear view mirror.”
My heart raced as I listened to her words, a mix of embarrassment and something else, something I didn’t want to acknowledge, coursing through me. “Mom, I… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I was just…I was just looking at the road.”
“Right, the road… of course you were,” she didn’t believe a word of it, as she sighed and got back on her side her back facing me.
“How about I cuddle up to you… my way saying sorry,” I said as I shuffled right close and put my arm around her resting on her belly.
“Sorry for what?” she asked. “But… yes this feels lovely, oh love you not cuddled me in ages.”
As I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her back against my chest, I felt her relax into the embrace. Her body was warm and soft, fitting perfectly against me. I breathed in the scent of her shampoo, a familiar smell that brought back memories of childhood. But now, as an adult, the feeling of holding her was different, charged with a new kind of tension. She sighed contentedly, her hand coming up to cover mine where it rested on her belly.
“This is nice,” she murmured, her voice sleepy. “I’ve missed this. You have nice strong hands.”
I felt a warmth spread through my chest at her words, a mix of affection and something more. I tightened my arm around her, pulling her closer.
“I’ve missed it too, Mom,” I whispered, my lips brushing against her ear. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much lately.” She shook her head slightly, her hair tickling my chin. I started to rub her belly and my cock started to twitch against her ass.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re grown up now, you have your own life. I’m just glad we have moments like this.”
As I lay there, holding my mom close, I felt a stirring in my groin. My cock began to swell and harden, pressing against her ass through the thin fabric of my boxers. I froze, my heart racing, hoping she wouldn’t notice.But her body stiffened slightly, and I knew she had felt it.
“Jason…”she whispered, her voice trembling. “Is that… is that what I think it is?”
I swallowed hard, my face burning with shame and arousal. “Mom, I… I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I can’t help it. Being close to you like this, it’s…it’s turning me on.”
She was silent for a moment, her body tense against mine. Then, slowly, she relaxed, pressing back against me, her ass grinding against my hard cock.
“Oh, Jason,” she breathed, her voice husky. “You’re my little boy. My baby. And yet… Spooning me like this. You need to get rid of it.”
I felt a surge of relief and excitement at her words, my cock throbbing against her ass. “Mom, I… I don’t know if I can just ignore it,” I admitted, my voice low and strained. “Being this close to you, feeling your body against mine… it’s too much.”
She didn’t even turn around, still back facing me as she talked. “Well, you can’t sleep… like that.”
She reached back, her hand finding my hard cock through the fabric of my boxers. I gasped at the contact, my hips jerking forward instinctively. She managed to get it out of my boxers, she then slid her knickers down a bit and guided my cock under her ass. I felt the tip of my cock touch her labia.
“Oh God, Mom,” I groaned, my hips bucking forward involuntarily as my cock slid through her slick folds. She was already wet, ready for me.
She rocked back against me, meeting my thrusts, her own arousal evident in the way her body responded to mine. “Fuck, Mom,” I groaned, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
My hands roamed her body, cupping her breasts, squeezing her nipples through the thin fabric of her nightie.
“Jason, oh God, yes,” she panted, her hips moving faster now, chasing her pleasure. “You’re so big, so hard… I can feel you throbbing inside me. Fuck… oh my pussy.” I couldn’t respond, couldn’t form words as I lost myself in the sensation of her body around mine.
All I could do was thrust deeper, harder, driven pumping my dick in and out her twat. The bed creaked and shook with our movements, the headboard slamming against the wall as I pistoned into her. Her cunt felt like heaven.
I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. My cock was throbbing, my hips moving on their own, plunging deep into my mom’s warm, wet pussy. I could feel every inch of her, her tight walls clenching around me, milking my shaft with each thrust.
“Mom, oh fuck, Mom,” I groaned, my voice strained with pleasure and guilt. As I was fucking her, her pussy was squelching she was that damn wet.
I could feel her cunt squeezing me tighter as she came, her walls fluttering around my cock. I kept pumping, driving into her as she rode out her orgasm, her body trembling beneath mine. The feeling of her climaxing around me was overwhelming, and with a low, guttural moan, I finally let go, my own orgasm crashing over me. I spilled my seed deep inside her, my cock pulsing and twitching as I filled her up. It felt like I was pumping gallons of cum into her, my balls emptying completely.
I lay there, my cock still buried deep inside my mom’s cum-filled pussy, my heart racing, my body trembling with the aftershocks of our forbidden coupling. I could feel her body still quivering beneath mine, her cunt still milking my softening cock. We were both panting, our breathing heavy in the quiet of the motel room. Eventually, I carefully pulled out of her, my spent cock sliding free with a wet squelch.
A trickle of cum followed, dripping down her thigh. I felt a pang of guilt at the sight, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the residual pleasure still coursing through my veins. Mom rolled onto her back, facing me, her eyes heavy-lidded, her chest heaving.
“Jason,” she said, her voice soft, husky. “What just happened?” I swallowed, my mouth dry.
I looked at her, trying to find the words, but they eluded me. “I don’t know,” I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It just… it just felt right, Mom. Being close to you like that, feeling your body against mine… it was too much. I couldn’t stop myself.” She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I know, baby,” she said, her voice gentle. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s been a long time since we’ve been this close, and… well, I can’t deny it felt good. Really good. Just so you know, you can help yourself to my pussy when ever you like honey. But we best get some sleep.”
I nodded, still trying to process what had just happened. “Okay, Mom,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
She smiled again, her eyes soft with affection. “Goodnight, Jason,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke my cheek. I leaned into her touch, closing my eyes as I let the warmth of her hand soothe me. As I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in her arms, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our lives had just changed in ways I couldn’t even begin to understand. But for now, in this moment, all that mattered was the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the softness of her body against mine, and the knowledge that I was loved, truly and completely, by the only woman who had ever mattered to me.