On a mundane Friday evening, all my friends were out with their girlfriends, while I found myself confined to my living room, watching uninspiring television with my mother. She sat beside me, sipping wine in her short black nightgown as we tuned into a documentary about female serial killers.
The program featured a captivating woman with an alluring figure, her cleavage accentuated by her choice of attire. As I innocently commented on her appearance, my words caught in my throat.
“Fuck, she can kill me any day,” I blurted out, my eyes transfixed on the screen. “Look at her… tits.” I quickly realized my mistake, stopping myself mid-sentence. I heard her let out a little giggle.
I felt my face flush. My mouth snapped shut, the half-formed word “tits” hanging in the air like a poorly thrown dart. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. Of all the idiotic things to say, that had to be the dumbest, especially with my mom right there. She was still giggling, a low, throaty sound that somehow made it even worse.
“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. She took a slow sip of her wine. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself there.”
I didn’t dare look at her. My gaze was glued to the screen, where the serial killer, now identified as Brenda, was giving a smirk to the camera in an old mugshot. She truly was striking, in a dangerous, unsettling way. My earlier comment, however, was just plain unsettling.
“I… I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammered, my voice cracking slightly. “It was just, you know, a figure of speech. Like, she’s really… confident.” I cursed my brain for not coming up with a better save. Confidence? What was I even talking about?
My mom chuckled again, a little louder this time. “Sure, sweetie. ‘Confident.’ That’s a new one. Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”
I finally risked a glance at her. She was looking at me, her head tilted slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her short black nightgown, which I usually didn’t even notice, suddenly felt very noticeable. The low cut of it, the way it hugged her figure… my eyes darted back to the TV. I then looked back as I stared at her tits in her nightie, fuck they look good. She caught me.
“Something interesting you see, sweetie?” she asked, her voice calm, almost a purr. She didn’t move, didn’t cover herself. She just held my gaze, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. The wine glass was still held loosely in her hand, resting on her knee.
“N-no,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal, trying to erase the image of her low-cut nightgown from my mind. “Just… uh… nothing. The TV.” I gestured vaguely towards the screen, where Brenda the serial killer was still smirking in her mugshot. My brain refused to cooperate, offering no witty retort, no clever cover-up. Just a pathetic deflection.
Her low chuckle filled the silence, a sound that pricked my skin. It wasn’t mocking, not exactly, but it held an undeniable knowing quality. “The TV, huh?” she repeated, her voice soft, disbelieving. She didn’t press, but the air between us crackled with unspoken thoughts.
I didn’t dare look at her again, not directly. My eyes darted to the screen, focusing intensely on Brenda’s unsettling smile, as if my life depended on understanding every detail of her criminal history. The documentary narrator droned on about motive and opportunity, but the words blurred into an unintelligible hum. All I could hear was my own heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. And my mom’s presence, close beside me, felt impossibly large, impossibly close.
“You know, Daniel,” she said, her voice dropping a little lower, more intimate. She took another slow sip of her wine, her eyes still on me, I could feel it. “It’s perfectly natural to notice things at your age. Especially… attractive things. Honest even though I am your mom, I wish your dad looked at me the way you looked at me a bit ago. It feels good to be notice even though you shouldn’t look at my body like that, it is not your fault. I… I don’t mind.”
“What?” I managed to choke out, my cock started to get hard in my jeans. It sounded less like a question and more like a plea for her to retract, to say she was just joking, that the wine had made her speak nonsense.
My mom’s half-smile lingered, unblinking. The documentary continued its grim narration on the screen, but it was just background noise, a distant hum against the frantic pounding in my ears. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, a heat that prickled my skin. My jeans suddenly felt too tight, too constricting.
“You heard me, Daniel,” she said, her voice still soft, almost a caress. She reached out, her fingers delicately tracing the rim of her wine glass, but her eyes looked down at my crotch. “It’s natural. And it’s… okay.”
“Okay?” I repeated, the word a pathetic squeak against the throbbing silence. My mind raced, trying to process what I’d just heard. It’s natural. And it’s… okay. What did that even mean? Was she giving me permission? Permission to look? Permission to… feel? The heat in my jeans intensified, a live, pulsing thing that demanded my full attention. I wanted to disappear. I started to think dirty thoughts about my own Mom. My Mom for fuck sake. She caught me looking at her tits again.
“You shouldn’t be stuck in with your old mom. You should be out having fun with your friends and girls,” she said downing her drink and pouring another.
I sighed, “my friends are all out with there girlfriends.”
“Well, that’s a shame, isn’t it?” she purred, her eyes twinkling. She leaned back slightly, her gaze still fixed on my crotch for a lingering second before flicking back up to my face. The movement caused the soft fabric of her nightgown to shift, molding to her chest in a way that made my breath hitch again. She took another slow sip of her fresh glass of wine. “Eighteen, and stuck with your old mom on a Friday night. It’s no wonder you’re… noticing things.”
My face felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t look at her, not really. My eyes kept darting between the TV screen, the wine glass in her hand, and then, inevitably, back to the curve of her breast just visible above the neckline of her gown. My cock was practically throbbing against my jeans. This was insane. My mom. This was my mom.
“You’re… you’re not mad?” I finally managed to croak out, my voice barely a whisper. I felt like a kid again, asking for permission to do something I knew I shouldn’t. My eyes darted to her face, searching for any sign of disapproval.
She chuckled softly, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Mad? No, sweetie. I’m not mad.” She took another sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m… flattered, actually. It’s my fault, I should be wearing my bra but I wanted to relax.”
The last words hung in the air, thick and heavy, like the sweet, cloying aroma of her wine. Flattered. My mom. Flattered that I was staring at her chest, at the way her nightgown clung to her, at the very obvious outline of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. My brain felt like a scrambled mess of static, unable to reconcile the words with the person saying them. She was my mother, the woman who had tucked me into bed, helped me with homework, cheered me on at soccer games. And now she was… flattered? Was she horny, wet or turned on. Not sure what she was anymore, but even though she is my mom. I was going to try see if I could get into her knickers. I was horny as fuck.
“So… you’re really honestly not mad?” I asked again, the words sounding weak and foolish even to my own ears. I needed to hear it one more time, to make sure I wasn’t completely delusional.
She chuckled, a soft, low sound that vibrated through the couch cushions and straight into me. “No, sweetie. I told you. Not mad. Curious, maybe.” Her voice was like warm honey, thick and inviting. “And a little… lonely, perhaps. You should be out. I miss having someone around.”
My mom’s words hung in the air, a silken trap. “Lonely.” That word, especially coming from her, set off a different kind of alarm in my head. A siren call to a part of me I hadn’t known existed until tonight. My mom, lonely, wishing my dad looked at her, then saying she didn’t mind me looking, even flattered. And now lonely. This was… dangerous territory. Exciting dangerous territory.
“Lonely?” I echoed, my voice a little steadier now, a little more confident than before. The fear was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it was battling with a fierce, burning curiosity. I looked at her properly this time, not just snatching glances. She was still leaning back, her posture relaxed, but her eyes held a depth I hadn’t noticed before, a hint of something unreadable, yet expectant.
She took another slow sip of her wine, her gaze still fixed on me. “Yes, Daniel. Lonely. It gets quiet sometimes, when it’s just me and you’re off doing… whatever it is eighteen-year-olds do. Your friends have their girlfriends, your dad is… well, your dad. He can’t even get a stiffy any more.” She shrugged, a subtle movement that made the fabric of her nightgown ripple just slightly. My eyes flickered to the swell of her chest, the gentle curve, the way the thin material strained just a little where it rested against her.
“But… I’m here,” I said, the words feeling inadequate even as I spoke them. My mind was racing, trying to find the right thing to say, the right move to make. My cock was full and throbbing now, a persistent, undeniable presence against my jeans. This was it. This was the moment. I wanted to lay her down, lift her nightie and yank her knickers off and fuck her. “Lay down, relax if you want mom.”
My mom’s half-smile widened, a slow, deliberate bloom that sent a fresh wave of heat through me. She didn’t answer immediately, just lowered her wine glass to the coffee table with a soft clink. Her gaze, warm and unblinking, swept over my face, then lingered on my mouth before dropping to my chest.
“Oh?” she purred, the sound a low vibration in the quiet room. “And what precisely would you have in mind to help your old mom relax, Daniel?”
“I…” I started, my voice cracking slightly. I cleared my throat, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “I think… I think you know what I wanna do to you.”
“Oh, do I now, Daniel?” she murmured, her voice a low hum that vibrated in the air between us. “And what precisely is it that my sweet, innocent boy wants to do to his old mum?” The word “innocent” was layered with a playful irony that prickled my skin, a challenge I could feel deep in my gut. I took a deep breath as I was about to tell her exactly what I wanted to do to her. I was not going to filter myself, I wanted to tell her what I was going to do to her pussy.
I took a deep breath, “I… I wanna fuck you, really fuck you hard. are you going to lay down?”
“You’re certainly direct, aren’t you?” she mused, her gaze now drifting from my eyes, slowly down my face, to my throat, and then, inevitably, to the straining bulge in my jeans. A soft, breathy chuckle escaped her lips. “And here I thought you were still my shy little boy.”
“Well,” she continued, her eyes still locked on the bulge in my jeans, “I suppose it’s not entirely unexpected. You’re a young man with… needs. And I’m… well, I’m your mother.” She paused, her gaze flicking back up to meet mine. “But I have to admit, it’s a little… thrilling. To know that I can… arouse my son. We really… shouldn’t. Fuck it, don’t tell anyone.”
She laid down, lifted her hips as she took off her knickers and dropped them on the floor. Her nightie rode up and I could see her hairy pussy. Omg it looked so good. I quickly undid my jeans and took them off with my boxers and climbed between her legs. My sticky mushroom penis hard resting against her dark labia.
Her hand, surprisingly steady, reached down and gently cupped my scrotum. A jolt, electric and raw, shot through me. My eyes darted to her face, a question forming on my lips, but no words came out. Her eyes were closed, a soft sigh escaping her.
“Oh, Daniel,” she whispered, her voice husky, almost lost in the sudden closeness. “You really are… just like your dad used to be.” The words were a strange mix of flattery and a bittersweet lament. It made me push slightly, my glans pressing deeper into the soft hair and folds.
A low moan escaped her, and her hips shifted beneath me, an unconscious, inviting movement. Her hand tightened just a fraction, pulling me closer still. The scent of her – wine, her perfume, a musky, animal warmth – filled my senses, drowning out everything else. My mind screamed, This is my mom! but my body was beyond reason. It only yearned to push forward.
“Mom?” I managed, my voice thin, a mere ghost of a sound.
Her eyes fluttered open, dark and luminous, reflecting the dim light from the TV. “Shh, sweetie,” she purred, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Don’t think. Just… feel.” Her fingers moved, gently teasing the sensitive skin, and I felt a fresh wave of heat, a desperate urge to be inside her.
I couldn’t hold back. With a surge of primal instinct, I pushed. My dick, thick and hard, found the wet entrance, a gasp tearing from both our throats. It was tight, so incredibly tight, and searingly hot. I paused, half in, half out, my entire body trembling.
“Oh, God, Daniel,” she whimpered, her voice a raw plea. Her fingers dug into my hips, pulling me firmly, deeply, into her. The sensation was overwhelming, an explosion of pleasure and forbidden thrill that stole my breath. I felt her muscles contract around me, a welcoming grip that made my vision swim. I was inside my mother. My mom.
I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her scent, my own body slick with sweat. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer still, our bodies fitting together with an unnatural, yet utterly perfect, precision. The thrumming in my ears was deafening. The documentary was a distant, forgotten memory.
“Is this… okay, Mom?” I gasped, the words barely audible against her skin. The last vestiges of my conscience were fighting a losing battle against the pure, unadulterated sensation.
She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she arched against me, her body a soft, yielding curve, and kissed my shoulder, then my neck, her lips soft and warm. Her hips began to move rhythmically, a slow, deliberate grind that made me suck in a sharp breath.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire, echoing the pounding need in my own head. “Please, Daniel. Don’t stop.” Her fingers threaded into my hair, pulling my head closer, urging me to continue.
I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. My hips moved on their own accord, driven by a primal instinct I didn’t even know I possessed. Each thrust was met with a soft, wet sound, a testament to our bodies’ intimate dance. “Fuck, you are good at taking dick.”
Her pussy felt so good wrapped around my cock. I started to thrust harder and faster. She moaned loudly as I fucked her hard and fast. Her tits bounced up and down as I slammed into her. I grabbed them squeezing them hard as I fucked her harder.
“Oh fuck, Daniel! You’re so big. You’re stretching me out!” she screamed in pleasure. I leaned down and started sucking on her nipples, biting them gently as I fucked her harder and faster. She screamed in pleasure as I ravaged her body with my cock and mouth. “I’m going to cum, Daniel! Fuck, you’re going to make me cum!” she yelled as her pussy tightened around my cock.
“That’s it, Mom. Cum on your son’s cock,” I said as I slammed into her harder.
“Oh, Daniel… yes! Just like that, sweetie. Don’t stop… I’m so close…I’m going to… Ahhhh! Fuck, Daniel! I’m cumming!” she screamed as her pussy tightened around my cock, convulsing with pleasure. Her body shook and trembled beneath me as she rode out her intense orgasm. I POUNDED HER HARDER. I was dying to cum in her cunt.
Mom… I’m gonna…” I pant heavily as I kept pumping her minge, my voice strained with the effort of holding back. But she doesn’t let me finish. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me deeper, urging me on fucking her.
“Yes, Daniel! Cum inside me!” Mom cries out, her voice thick with desire and desperation. “Fill your mother’s pussy with your hot seed!I want to feel you cum inside me!” Her words push me over the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, I bury myself deep inside her, my cock pulsing and throbbing as I unleash a torrent of cum into her waiting womb.
“Fuck, Mom!” I groan, my body shuddering with the intensity of my release.
Mom’s pussy clenches around me, milking every last drop of cum from my spasming cock. She wraps her arms around me tightly, holding me close as we both ride out the waves of our shared climax. “Oh, Daniel,” she pants softly into my ear. “That was… really good honey.”
As our breathing slowly returns to normal, I collapse on top of her, my face buried in the crook of her neck.
I lay there, panting heavily, my body slick with sweat and trembling from the intense climax. The room was filled with the sounds of our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the TV. Slowly, I lifted my head to look at my mom.
Her eyes were closed, her face flushed and peaceful. A soft, satisfied smile played on her lips. She looked beautiful in that moment – a mix of innocence and sensuality that made my heart skip a beat. I wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in her warmth, basking in the afterglow of our forbidden passion.
But reality was starting to creep back in, bringing with it a sense of unease. What had we just done? The lines between mother and son, between appropriate and taboo, had been erased in a haze of lust and desire. And now… now what? I opened my mouth to speak, to say something – anything – but she beat me to it.
She opened her eyes, gazing up at me with a soft, knowing smile. “Don’t,” she murmured, placing a gentle finger on my lips.”Don’t say anything. Not yet.” Her voice was husky, still thick with the remnants of our passion.
I nodded slowly, pressing a kiss to her fingertips before she withdrew her hand. She sat up carefully, wincing slightly as she moved, a reminder of our intense lovemaking. I watched as she adjusted her nightgown, covering herself once more. The moment felt surreal, like a dream that was slowly fading.
“I think… I think we both needed that,” she said softly, running a hand through her tousled hair. “But Daniel… we can’t let this happen again.” Her gaze met mine, serious and sincere despite the lingering warmth in her eyes.
I felt a pang of disappointment, but I knew she was right. What we had done was wrong on so many levels.