I felt utterly spent as I stepped out of the shower and headed to my bedroom to change. My skin tingled, and I patted myself dry before reaching into my wardrobe. A slinky, purple silk nightie caught my eye. “Fuck it,” I muttered to myself. I decided to forego a bra and panties; tonight was about pure relaxation as I headed downstairs.
In the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass, then settled on the couch, scrolling through Netflix. The wine sloshed as I poured a generous amount. A wave of melancholy washed over me; I felt low, emotional, and profoundly alone.
Suddenly, the front door clicked open, startling me. It was Max, my 19-year-old son, home from work.
The sound of the wine bottle clinking against the glass seemed magnified in the sudden silence. I quickly dabbed at my eyes, hoping he hadn’t caught me crying. My gaze was unfocused on the TV, the thumbnails on Netflix blurring into a meaningless mix of faces and colors.
“Hey, Mom,” Max called out, his voice a familiar and welcome sound.
“Hey, sweetie,” I replied, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my tone.
He rounded the corner into the living room, his faded blue work t-shirt clinging to his athletic build. He stopped short, a slight furrow appearing on his brow.
“You okay? You look…tired,” he observed, his gaze sweeping over me. “And is that…wine? On a Tuesday?” He leaned closer, his eyes lingering for a moment on the swell of my breasts barely concealed by the silk nightie.
Damn it! He knew me too well.
“Just a long day,” I mumbled, taking a large gulp of wine. “Needed to unwind. Your not brought anyone back tonight.”
Max was a player, yep calling my own son out. He had an extremely high sex drive and often came home from work with a different woman each time. He would normally take them straight to his room where I would have to put up with hearing his bed springs.
Max chuckled, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. “Nope, solo mission tonight. Thought I’d spend some quality time with my favorite lady. Your looking good tonight.” He winked, but a hint of concern still lingered in his eyes. He’s always been good at deflecting.
He dropped his work bag near the door and came further into the room, his gaze lingering a moment too long on my nightie. I shifted uncomfortably, tugging the fabric higher. I really hadn’t been thinking when I’d chosen it. Subconsciously, maybe I had wanted…attention. But not from him, or did I.
“So,” he said, popping open a can of beer and settling down right next to me on the couch. “Spill. What happened at work? Or…is it something else?” He nudged my shoulder playfully, but his eyes remained serious.
I hesitated. Where did I even begin? The crushing weight of responsibility? The feeling of insignificance? The creeping realization that my life was slipping by, unfulfilled?
“Just…everything, I guess,” I sighed, taking another swig of wine. “Work’s been stressful, I’m feeling lonely. Its weird with you bringing women back, I feel like I cannot be myself.”
Max frowned. “Lonely? Mom, you have friends. You go out all the time. You also have… a banging body.”
I blushed, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Yeah, well, those friends don’t really get me, do they? Not like I can get laid with my friends as they are all females. And don’t comment on my body! You’re my son. But thank you.” I knew I sounded ridiculous, defensive. The wine definitely loosened my tongue and my inhibitions. Max held up his hands in mock surrender but the way he was eyeing me up at my body.
“Okay, okay,” Max said, trying to lighten the mood. “Point taken. No more commenting on your…assets.” He paused, glancing at my chest again before quickly looking away.
“It’s ok honey, I find it flattering honest I do,” I said as I was worried about drinking now. As when I get tipsy I get naughty very naughty and I had to not let him see that side of me.
Hours passed and so did the wine, glass after glass on the second bottle. Even Max kept pouring me drinks.
“Are… are you… t-trying to… g-get me drunk,” I giggled as he topped my glass up my nightie rode up forgetting I had no panties on.
Max grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe? Is it working?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Thought you could use a little loosening up, Mom. You’ve been so tense lately.”
He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the exposed skin of my thigh, right where the silk nightie had ridden up. A jolt of electricity shot through me, a strange mix of shock and…something else. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time. My breath hitched in my throat.
“Max…” I started, my voice barely a whisper. I knew I should stop him. This was wrong. He was my son. But the alcohol blurred the edges of my judgment, and the loneliness had become a gaping hole inside me, begging to be filled.
His hand continued its slow, deliberate journey upward, sending shivers down my spine. His gaze was intense, his eyes dark and unreadable. He seemed to be studying me, searching for something in my eyes.
“Mom,” he breathed, his voice thick with a mixture of desire and hesitation. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful.”
He moved closer until his lips were just a breath away from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. The line between mother and son blurred, replaced by something else entirely.
I closed my eyes, the world tilting and swaying around me. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. But the thought of pushing him away, of going back to the emptiness and loneliness, was unbearable.
My lips parted slightly, an invitation he didn’t hesitate to accept. His lips crashed against mine, a hungry, desperate kiss that sent a wave of heat surging through me. My arms instinctively reached up, wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened, tongues tangling, breath mingling. It was wrong, so wrong, but it felt…amazing. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire. I had never felt this way before. We started to slowly lay down as he still kissed me on top of me. Then. I heard his belt buckle.
The metallic click of his belt unbuckling echoed in the suddenly silent room. The sound jolted me, snapping me back to reality like a slap in the face. My eyes flew open, and I stared up at Max, his face flushed with passion, his eyes clouded with desire. My own emotions were a swirling vortex of guilt, shame, and a strange, unsettling arousal.
What in God’s name was I doing?
“Max,” I gasped, pulling away, my hands pushing against his chest. My head was spinning furiously. “No. Stop. We can’t.”
He stopped immediately, his eyes widening with confusion and hurt. He sat up, pulling away from me, leaving me feeling cold and exposed. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by our ragged breathing.
“Mom, what…?” He stammered, reaching for my hand, but I flinched away.
“We can’t do this, Max,” I repeated, my voice shaking. “This is wrong. You’re my son.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his face a mask of disbelief. “But…you were kissing me back. Touching me…I thought…”
“I know,” I said miserably, burying my face in my hands. “I messed up. I had too much wine. I was feeling lonely and vulnerable, and…I let it get out of hand. But it was a mistake. A terrible mistake.”
“So…it meant nothing?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper.
My heart ached at the pain in his voice. I had hurt him, and I had disgusted myself. “No, it didn’t mean nothing,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “It meant I’m a flawed, lonely woman who made a terrible lapse in judgment. It meant I need help.”
He leaned down again with another kiss, this time deeper and then I gasped. I felt his cock slide inside my pussy.
The shock of it ripped through me, shattering the fragile wall I had desperately tried to rebuild between us. The alcohol, the loneliness, the moment of weakness—it had all culminated in this, a transgression I could never take back. Max was inside me, his body moving with a primal urgency that sent waves of both horror and forbidden pleasure through me.
My legs wrapped around him, I didnt stop him as he started to fuck me, “S-sweetie… ahhh your in me.”
“Mom…” Max groaned, his voice muffled against my neck, his movements growing more insistent. “Does this feel good? I can stop if… if you want, oh fuck your pussy feels so good.”
I could feel him inside me, filling me up in a way I hadn’t been filled in years. It was wrong, so wrong, but I couldn’t deny the way my body was responding to his. My hips moved in time with his, meeting each thrust with an eagerness that both shamed and thrilled me.
“Max,” I moaned, my voice barely above a whisper. “Oh god, Max.”
I closed my eyes and felt his manhood slide out and in between my slippery walls, a sensation that sent shivers down my spine. I moaned louder, and was so wet, i could hear the sound.
“Please don’t stop,” I begged, my voice thick with desire. “I want you. I need you. I want you to fuck me harder.”
Max groaned as he thrusted deeper, his body pressed against mine. I gripped his back, my nails digging into his skin. He grabbed the neckline of my nightie and stretched it down as one of my boobs flopped out.
Max’s eyes darkened as he looked at my exposed breast, and he leaned down to take my nipple into his mouth. The sensation of his warm, wet mouth on my sensitive flesh sent a jolt of pleasure through me, and I moaned, my hips bucking up to meet his.
“Oh god, Max, yes,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked and bit at my nipple. The feeling of his teeth on my sensitive skin was almost unbearable, and I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge.
Max’s thrusts grew more urgent, his hips slamming against mine as he drove himself deeper and deeper inside me. I felt such a dirty slut allowing my son to shag me on the couch.
The air in the living room was thick with the scent of our sweat and the faint musk of my arousal, mingling with the lingering tang of wine. The couch creaked beneath us, its worn springs protesting with every thrust. My nightie, now bunched around my waist, clung to my damp skin, the silk slick and useless against the heat radiating from our bodies. Max’s hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he moved inside me, each thrust a rhythmic clap that echoed in the quiet house. My pussy was soaked, the wet, squelching sounds of our coupling filling the space between my moans.
“Fuck, Mom, you’re so tight,” Max groaned, his voice raw, almost breaking. His eyes were locked between my legs, watching where his cock disappeared into me. I followed his gaze, my breath hitching as I saw it too—the glistening length of him, thick and veined, sliding out, coated in my slick juices, then plunging back in. My labia, swollen and flushed a deep pink, stretched around him, clinging to his shaft with every withdrawal. A sparse scattering of dark curls framed my pussy, matted with sweat and my own wetness, which dripped down to the crease of my arse, pooling on the couch beneath me. The sight was obscene, raw, and it sent a fresh wave of heat through me.
“Ohhh… Max, fuck, don’t stop,” I moaned, my voice trembling as I arched my back, pushing myself harder against him. Each thrust sent a jolt through my clit, his balls slapping against it with a wet, rhythmic smack. I could feel the pressure building, a tight coil deep in my core, ready to snap. My thighs quivered, slick with sweat, and I spread them wider, giving him better access, letting him see everything. “Harder, baby, please… fuck my pussy harder.”
Max grunted, his breath coming in short, sharp pants as he complied, his hips snapping forward with a force that made my whole body shake. “Nngh… like that? You like it like that?” he rasped, his voice thick with effort. His cock felt impossibly deep, the head nudging against my cervix with every thrust, a dull, delicious ache that made me gasp. My pussy clenched around him, greedy, pulling him in deeper, and I could feel the slickness of my juices coating us both, running down my thighs, making everything slippery and hot.
“Ooowww… yes, just like that,” I whimpered, my eyes still fixed on the place where we joined. His cock was glistening, the texture of it so vivid—smooth skin stretched taut over pulsing veins, the slight curve of it hitting just the right spot inside me. My clit throbbed, swollen and sensitive, and every time his balls pressed against it, I saw stars. “Ahh… fuck, Max, I’m so wet for you,” I gasped, my voice breaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through me. My pussy was a mess, dripping, the lips parted wide to accommodate him, and the sight of it—raw, unfiltered—made me feel like I was falling apart.
Max’s hands slid up my body, one gripping my exposed breast, kneading it roughly, while the other braced against the couch. My nipple, still wet from his mouth, was hard and aching, and his thumb brushed over it, sending a shiver down my spine. “God, Mom, you’re so fucking hot,” he growled, his eyes flicking up to meet mine for a moment before dropping back to my pussy. “Look at you… taking me so good. Your pussy’s so fucking wet.”
“Unnh… Max, I can’t… I’m gonna…” My words dissolved into a loud moan as he shifted his angle, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur. My hips bucked wildly, chasing the sensation, and I could hear the wet clap of our bodies, the sound almost drowned out by my own desperate cries. “Ohhh fuck… fuck my pussy, baby, don’t stop!” My pussy pulsed around him, the walls fluttering as I teetered on the edge, every nerve alight with the intensity of it.
He groaned, deep and guttural, his thrusts growing erratic as he fought to hold back. “Shit, Mom, you’re gonna make me cum,” he panted, his face flushed, sweat beading on his brow. His cock throbbed inside me, and I could feel it, the way it swelled, the way my pussy gripped it, milking him. My eyes were still locked between my legs, watching the way my labia stretched and quivered, the way my clit pulsed with every slap of his balls. My juices were everywhere, a sticky, glistening mess that coated us both, and the smell of it—musky, primal—filled my senses.
“Ahhh… ummm… Max, I’m so close,” I moaned, my voice high and desperate. My fingers dug into his shoulders, my nails leaving red marks on his skin. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave I couldn’t hold back. “Fuck me, baby, fuck me!” I screamed, my pussy clenching tight around him as the first spasms of my orgasm hit. My whole body shook, my thighs trembling as I came, my juices gushing around his cock, soaking the couch beneath us. The sensation was electric, my pussy pulsing, my clit throbbing, and I could see it all—my labia quivering, my wetness dripping, the way his cock glistened as it drove into me.
Max groaned, his thrusts faltering as my orgasm pushed him over the edge. “Fuck… Mom, I’m cumming,” he gasped, his voice breaking. I felt him pulse inside me, the hot rush of his semen filling me, mixing with my own juices. His cock twitched with every spurt, and I could see it, the way my pussy milked him, the way our combined fluids leaked out, dripping down my arse, pooling on the couch. The sight was filthy, intimate, and it sent another shudder through me, prolonging my own climax.
“Ohhh… Max,” I whimpered, my voice soft now, my body still trembling as the aftershocks rippled through me. He collapsed against me, his breath hot against my neck, his cock still buried inside me, softening but still twitching. My pussy was tender, swollen, and I could feel the sticky warmth of our cum mingling, leaking out slowly. The room was silent except for our heavy breathing and the faint, wet sound of our bodies still pressed together.
Max lifted his head, his eyes searching mine, a mix of awe and guilt flickering in them. “Mom… I…” he started, but his voice trailed off, unsure. His hand rested on my thigh, gentle now, almost hesitant.
I swallowed hard, my own emotions a tangled mess of shame, satisfaction, and something deeper I couldn’t name. “Shh,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Just… stay here. For now.” My nightie was still bunched around my waist, my breast exposed, my pussy still slick and sensitive. The reality of what we’d done hung heavy between us, but in that moment, with his warmth against me, I couldn’t bring myself to push him away.
The room felt smaller now, the air thick with the aftermath of our transgression. The TV still flickered in the background, forgotten, casting faint shadows across the walls. My heart pounded, not just from the intensity of what had happened, but from the weight of what it meant. Max’s hand tightened slightly on my thigh, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me now—not just the woman on the couch, but the mother he’d crossed a line with. The thought sent a shiver through me, equal parts fear and something I didn’t dare acknowledge.
For now, we stayed there, tangled together, the silence stretching out, heavy with unspoken words. The couch was a mess, stained with sweat and cum, and my nightie was ruined, clinging to my skin like a second shame. But as Max’s breathing evened out, his body still pressed against mine, I felt a strange, fleeting sense of connection, a momentary reprieve from the loneliness that had driven me to this. And that, more than anything, terrified me.