The sticky summer heat of 1997 already pressed down, even at this early hour. I moved around our kitchen, the old linoleum cool beneath my bare feet. My thin cotton robe, a faded floral print, clung to my skin, damp in places. At 52, my body wasn’t what it used to be, but it was still mine. Busty, yeah, and definitely what you’d call ‘chubby’ now. My hips swayed a little more than they used to, and my belly had a soft roll, but my breasts still filled out the fabric, heavy and full. Down below, hidden by the robe, I could feel the familiar weight of my ‘puffy pussy,’ as I sometimes called it in my own head – a little swollen, always holding a secret warmth.
The smell of brewing coffee filled the air, thick and rich. I worked quickly, flipping pancakes on the griddle until they were golden brown and fluffy. It was a ritual, a comfort. A way to start the day. I stacked them high on a plate, added some whipped cream and berries. Then, a steaming mug of coffee, black, just how he liked it.
“Breakfast is ready, Mike!” I called out, my voice a little husky from sleep. I waited, but only the hum of the old refrigerator answered. A sigh slipped past my lips. Of course. Eighteen years old and still impossible to wake. I knew the drill.
I picked up the plate and mug, the warmth seeping into my hands, and started my slow climb up the creaky stairs. My thighs rubbed together as I went, a familiar friction in the heat. Each step was a small effort for my aging knees, but I pushed on.
As I reached the landing, something stopped me dead. A sound. Faint at first, then clearer. A rhythmic thumping, a low moan. My heart, already working hard from the climb, began to pound a frantic tattoo against my ribs. It sounded… strange. Not a TV, not music. Something raw.
My son’s bedroom door was just ahead. The sounds grew louder, less muffled. A ragged gasp, then his voice, thick and strained, reached my ears.
“Ahh, harder, mom. Ride it, oh fuck… Mom… your pussy feels good!”
The plate in my hands tilted, nearly spilling. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim, burning my fingers. I barely felt it. My breath caught in my throat, a dry, painful knot. My cheeks flushed, a fire spreading from my neck to my temples. What… what was that? Those words. My name. My pussy. No. It couldn’t be. My mind screamed, trying to reject the obvious, ugly truth.
But my body, traitorous and alive, hummed with a strange, dark current. Curiosity, hot and undeniable, tightened in my gut. I should have knocked. I should have turned around and gone back downstairs, pretending I heard nothing. But I couldn’t. My hand, trembling slightly, reached for the doorknob. It turned with a soft click.
The door swung inward a crack, then slowly, silently, opened wider.
There he was. My Mike. Not the little boy who used to cling to my leg, but a man-child, long and lean beneath the thin sheet. He lay on his back, eyes closed, head thrown slightly to the side. His brow was furrowed, his lips parted, a soft groan escaping them. His hand, quick and urgent, moved rhythmically beneath the sheet, his hips lifting slightly with each thrust. The sheet was barely covering him, pulled down to his waist, revealing a bare chest, slick with a sheen of sweat. I could see the hard line of his jaw, the pulse thrumming in his neck. And then I saw it, the bulge beneath the fabric, moving in time with his hand, larger than I’d ever imagined.
His breath hitched. He wasn’t just masturbating. He was fantasizing. And those words… they echoed louder now, filling the small space of the room, filling my head.
“Oh, God, Mom. Yes… just like that. Your tits bouncing… my cock inside your wet pussy… fuck, Mom, you’re so tight… so good…”
My vision blurred. The pancakes seemed to swim before my eyes. My own breath hitched, a gasp trapped in my throat. My body felt suddenly heavy, exposed. The heat in the room was suffocating, blending with the heat rising from within me. My son. My beautiful, innocent son. He was imagining me. His mother. His words were crude, explicit, and utterly devastating. And yet… A tremor ran through me. Not just shock, but something else. A strange, coiling warmth, deep in my belly.
Then, his eyes flicked open. They were hazy, unfocused at first, but then they landed on me. On the plate of pancakes, the sloshing coffee, and then, slowly, agonizingly, on my face. His eyes widened, pure horror replacing the ecstasy. He froze, his hand still for a second, then quickly, awkwardly, he pulled the sheet up higher, trying to cover himself. Too late. I’d seen it all.
His face flushed a deep, angry crimson, mirroring my own. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths. “O-oh, God, Mom,” he stammered, his voice cracking, completely different from the husky moan I’d just heard. He struggled to sit up, tangling himself in the sheets. “I… I was just… stretching. Yeah. Stretching.”
His gaze, darting and desperate, avoided mine. But I could feel his shame, his embarrassment, burning through the air between us. And mine. Oh, God, mine too.
“Your… your breakfast is ready,” I managed to choke out, my voice thin and reedy, a mere whisper. It sounded alien, belonging to someone else. I couldn’t hold his gaze for another second. It felt like standing naked under a spotlight. I turned, stumbling, and fled the room.
The stairs seemed to stretch endlessly before me. Each frantic step echoed the frantic beat of my heart, a drum solo of terror and something else I couldn’t name. I pounded down, my feet barely touching the treads. My face burned, a furious crimson that seemed to spread to every inch of my skin, igniting a prickly heat that had nothing to do with the summer air. The plate of pancakes, once a symbol of morning comfort, now felt like a lead weight in my trembling hand, a burden, a lie. I vaguely registered setting it down on the counter with a clatter, the forgotten coffee sloshing precariously in its mug, almost overflowing onto the polished wood.
My mind was a chaotic storm, a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and horrifying images. He called my name. He called my name. The words replayed in a loop, intertwined with the breathy moans, the explicit phrases, the unspeakable imagery of his fantasy. My son. My child. The innocent boy who used to draw me crayon pictures and tell me about his dreams of being an astronaut. How had that image been so violently shattered in a single, mortifying instant? A wave of nausea washed over me, a mix of humiliation, confusion, and a strange, unwelcome flicker of something I couldn’t, wouldn’t, dared not name. A raw, dark current of forbidden arousal.
I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white. My breathing was ragged, shallow. All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, leaving me gasping. He couldn’t be fantasizing about me. Right? I felt… old. My body, a testament to time and motherhood. I looked down at myself, my thin robe hanging loosely open from my hasty descent. My breasts, heavy against the fabric, seemed to droop lower than usual. My belly, soft and round, was exposed where the robe parted. And beneath it, concealed by the cotton, I imagined my ‘puffy pussy,’ probably damp with sweat from the heat, maybe even from the shock.
The thought, the possibility, made my stomach clench. Him. Wanting this. My aging, mother’s body. The idea was grotesque, twisted. Yet, even as I recoiled, a tiny, insistent voice whispered. A tiny spark in the dark. He wants me.
I felt a strange warmth spread low in my belly, a flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment this time. It was a faint echo, a ghost of a sensation I hadn’t felt in years. The shame was still there, a thick, suffocating blanket. But beneath it, a tiny, almost imperceptible tremor, a hum of something awakened. It was like a forbidden fruit, suddenly placed before me, tempting and terrifying. The thought of it made me want to gag, but also… to lean closer.
My hands flew to my face, covering my burning cheeks. I couldn’t escape the images, his voice, the raw desire in his eyes just before he saw me. He hadn’t been stretching. He had been imagining his mother. And the way he said it… “Your pussy feels good.” He imagined it. He wanted it.
The summer heat seemed to intensify, pressing in on me, making my skin feel tighter, more sensitive. The air in the kitchen was heavy, thick with unspoken things. I could still smell the coffee, the sweet pancakes, but now they were tainted, layered with the metallic tang of shame and something deeply, unsettlingly sexual.
I walked numbly to the window, pushing aside the curtain. The sun was higher now, beating down on our quiet suburban street. July 1997. A season of supposed innocence, of long days and carefree nights. But in my house, in my kitchen, a line had been crossed, shattered into a million shameful, exciting pieces. And I, the mother, the protector, was left grappling with the horrifying, exhilarating truth. My son saw me not just as mom, but as a woman. A woman he desired. And a part of me, a small, dark, deeply buried part, was starting to wonder what that might feel like.
I closed my eyes, but the images were still there. My son, young and virile, his body taut with desire, calling out my name, my body parts, in his moment of ultimate pleasure. And me, 52, my ‘puffy pussy’ and sagging breasts, suddenly feeling… seen. Desired, in the most forbidden way possible. The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through me, but also, a shiver that wasn’t entirely from revulsion. It was a shiver of the unknown, of a door that had just creaked open into a very dark, very dangerous place. And I wasn’t sure I had the strength to shut it again. Or if I even wanted to.
I stood there, frozen, my mind racing. The pancakes sat untouched on the counter, the coffee growing cold. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think straight. All I could do was replay that moment over and over in my head – Mike’s flushed face, his hand moving beneath the sheet, his voice thick with desire as he called out… me.
My stomach churned with a sickening mix of disgust and something else. Something I refused to acknowledge. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the images, but they only grew more vivid. His long fingers wrapped around his hard cock, pumping furiously as he imagined it was me he was fucking.
A shudder ran through me at the thought. My son’s cock inside me. The idea was repulsive, yet a traitorous part of me couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like. Thick and hot and pulsing against my walls… “No,” I whispered harshly to myself. But he heard.
“No what mom,” he said staring at my opening of my robe and at my tits.
“No… nothing,” I stammered, turning back to face him. His eyes were still wide with shock and embarrassment, but there was something else there too. A flicker of curiosity, perhaps even excitement. It made my stomach twist with a sickening mix of guilt and arousal.
Later that night at 11:34PM I had finished a full bottle of wine and on my second. I was still trying to get the thought of him out of my head. Bit hard when you haven’t had a shag in 5 years. Then the door opens and he walked in and looked at me tipsy on the couch. I was in just a nightie.
His gaze lingered on me, taking in my dishevelled appearance. The thin nightie clung to my curves, the fabric translucent in the dim light. My nipples, hard from the wine and the chill of the air conditioning, pressed against the material, clearly visible. I could feel his eyes on them, on the way they strained against the fabric, begging for release.
“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, his voice low and husky. He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound seemed to echo in the silence, punctuating the tension that hung between us. I took another swig of wine, feeling it burn down my throat.
“Just… trying to relax,” I slurred slightly. I gestured vaguely at the bottle beside me on the couch. “Wine helps.”
Mike’s eyes flicked to the bottle, then back to me. He was staring at my chest and he sat down next to me.
He sat down next to me on the couch, his thigh brushing against mine. I could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of my nightie. He leaned back, spreading his legs slightly, and I couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his Jeans. My eyes flicked up to his face, and I saw him watching me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “You look… flushed,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Is the wine making you hot?”
I swallowed hard, feeling my cheeks burn even hotter. “I’m fine,” I insisted, but my voice came out breathy and weak. I took another sip of wine, hoping it would calm my nerves. But it was playing on my mind, I just came out with it, “Honey, do you… do you have some sort of fantasy… you know about me. I heard what you was saying this morning while you was… you know.”
Mike’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Oh, you heard that, did you?” he said, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of tension. He leaned back further, his arm brushing against mine, sending a shiver down my spine.
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. “I…I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” I stammered, feeling the wine slosh in my stomach as I shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just…well, it was a bit of a shock. You thinking of me your fat mom like that.”
Mike’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Fat mom?” he repeated softly, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “Is that what you think you are?”
His hand came to rest on my thigh, his fingers spreading wide, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin nightie. I gasped, my muscles tensing beneath his touch. “Mike,” I breathed, a warning and a plea all at once. But he ignored me, his hand sliding higher, skimming the edge of my panties.
“You’re not fat,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my earlobe. “You’re…curvy.” His fingers dipped beneath the elastic, tracing the crease where my thigh met my hip. “Soft,” he continued, pressing harder against the flesh there. I squirmed beneath his touch, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
I gasped as his fingers traced the edge of my panties, my body tensing at the intimate touch. “Mike, we can’t…”I protested weakly, but my voice lacked conviction. The wine had lowered my inhibitions, and his words were stirring something deep within me. Something I’d long buried.
His hand stilled, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “Can’t what?” he asked softly, a challenge in his gaze. His thumb began to circle slowly on the inside of my thigh, sending shivers up my spine.
I swallowed hard, trying to find the words. “We can’t… do this,” I finally managed to say, but even to my own ears it sounded half-hearted. My body was betraying me, leaning into his touch despite my protests. Should I just let him play out his fantasy, fuck my gash was feeling wet.
I stared at him, my heart racing. His hand resting against my panties. I could feel the heat of his palm, the roughness of his fingertips as they traced circles stimulating my clit. My breath came in short, sharp gasps, my chest heaving with each inhale. “You’re drunk,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I should take you to bed. I don’t mean for sleeping either.”
I stared at him, my mind reeling. He was right, I was drunk. Too drunk to think straight, too drunk to care about the consequences of what we were doing. All I could focus on was the feeling of his hand between my legs, the warmth of his breath against my neck, the hardness of his body pressed against mine. “Take me to bed,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with desire. “Fuck me like you’ve been fantasizing about.”
Mike’s eyes darkened with lust at my words, his pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remained. His hand tightened on my thigh, his fingers digging into my soft flesh. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he growled, his voice low and rough with desire.
Without another word, he stood abruptly, pulling me to my feet with him. The sudden movement made me sway, the room spinning slightly around me. Mike’s arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me as he led me towards the stairs. I stumbled along beside him, my legs unsteady from the wine and the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins.
We eventually arrived into my room, he took off my nightie and unclasped my bra. He laid me down and pulled my panties down and off. His hand shaky while taking his jeans and boxers off. I was drunk but wow his cock. He laid on me between my thighs. I felt the sticky head of his cock nestled into my labia and he just sunk right inside my pussy and just instantly started going at it. My legs wrapped around him with my heels digging into his ass.
His thick, hard cock slid into my wet pussy with ease, stretching me open. I gasped at the sudden fullness, my back arching off the bed. He began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, his size filling me completely. I could feel every inch of him as he slid in and out, hitting spots inside me that had never been touched before.
“Fuck, mom,” he groaned, his face buried in my neck.
His hands gripped my hips tightly as he increased his pace, his cock plunging deeper with each thrust. I clung to him, my nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure washed over me. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies coming together, skin slapping against skin and our heavy breathing mingling.
“Oh god,” I moaned loudly, my voice trembling with each thrust. “Your cock feels so good inside me. Fuck your a naughty boy fucking mommy.”
Mike’s pace quickened at my words, his hips slamming into me with renewed vigor.”Yeah?” hegrunted, his voice strained with exertion and pleasure. “You like it when I fuck you, Mom?”
His hand slid between us, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing it in tight circles. The added stimulation sent jolts of electricity through my body, making my toes curl and my legs tremble. “I’ve fantasized about this for so long,” he confessed, his breath hot against my ear. “About burying my cock deep inside your tight pussy.” His words only fuelled the fire burning within me, pushing me closer to the edge.
I could feel the pressure building low in my belly, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust of his hips. “Then fuck me,” I gasped out, wrapping my legs tighter around him. “Fuck me hard and don’t stop. Ahhh honey please… don’t don’t stop. You better… not tell… ahhh your friends. I know what you… men are like.”
“You kidding me mom… my buddies would want some too.” He laughed heavy breathing as he pounded into my soaking cunt. “Mom,” Mike groaned, his hips snapping forward. “You’re so fucking tight. I bet you’d love having a room full of cocks to choose from. I can sort it out with the lads, let me know.”
“Mike,” I gasped, my voice trembling as his hips continued to piston into me. “You… you wouldn’t dare.” But even as I said it, I knew he would. He was young, arrogant, driven by hormones and a newfound sense of power. And God help me, but the thought of it was turning me on. His hand on my clit moved faster, his fingers slick with my juices.
“Wouldn’t I?” he taunted, his breath hot against my neck. “I bet you’d love it. Being passed around like a fuck toy. A bunch of hard cocks waiting their turn in your mouth, your pussy… arrgh unngh you feel so good mom. You can have my dick when ever you want.”
His balls slapped against me as his cock hammered away at my fat pussy. Hear him talking about him and his friends gangbanging me turned me on even more.
I moaned loudly as he fucked me harder, his words sending shivers of excitement and shame through me. The idea of being used by him and his friends, of being nothing more than a hole for them to fill, was both horrifying and arousing. “Ahhh… Mike,” I gasped, my hips bucking against his. “You’re so bad… talking like that…”But even as I said it, I could feel my orgasm building, my pussy clamping down around his cock.
“That’s it, Mom,” he encouraged, his voice thick with lust. “Come for me. Come on your son’s cock. Argh fuck I love fucking you.” His fingers rubbed furiously at my clit, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in my belly, my legs shaking uncontrollably.
“I’m…I’m going to…” I couldn’t finish the sentence before the orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave.
Mike’s eyes widened as he felt my pussy clamp down around his cock, my inner walls spasming as the orgasm tore through me.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he struggled to maintain his rhythm. I screamed out his name, my back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. My nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin. He kept fucking me through it, his cock sliding easily through my dripping pussy.
The sensation was almost too much, the oversensitivity making me squirm beneath him. But Mike wasn’t having any of it. He gripped my hips tightly, holding me in place as he continued to pound into me. “Look at you,” he panted, his eyes locked on where our bodies joined. “Taking my cock so well. I bet you’ve missed this, haven’t you? Missed having a hard dick inside you?”
Mike’s words only served to prolong my orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending shockwaves through my body. I could feel him growing thicker inside me, his cock pulsing against my sensitive walls.
“Mom,” he groaned, his voice strained. “I’m gonna… fuck…” With a final thrust, he buried himself deep inside me, his cock jerking as he came. I felt the warmth of his release filling me, coating my insides with his seed. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in years, and it sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over me. Mike collapsed on top of me, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
We lay there for several long moments, our bodies entwined and slick with sweat. The room was filled with the sounds of our ragged breathing and the occasional moan or sigh. Eventually, Mike lifted his head to look at me, his eyes dark and satisfied.
Mike looked down at me, his eyes dark and satisfied. “That was… fuck,”he said, his voice hoarse. He rolled off of me, flopping onto his back beside me on the bed. His chest was still rising and falling rapidly, his skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.
I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my body trembling slightly in the aftermath of our encounter. The room was silent except for the sound of our breathing, slow and steady now as our heart rates began to return to normal. Mike’s hand found mine in the darkness, his fingers intertwining with mine. I tensed slightly at the contact, unsure how to react. This felt… different. Intimate. Not just a quick fuck, but something more. “What now?” I asked softly, turning my head to look at him. His face was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, casting shadows across his features.
“Now we sleep,” he said still panting. “You are going to need you energy for tomorrow when I bring some friends back, is that ok.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. The idea of him bringing his friends over, of them seeing me like this, using me… it should have horrified me. But instead, I felt a thrill of excitement run through me. “You’re serious,” Ibreathed, my voice barely audible.”You really want to share me with your friends.”
Mike nodded, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I told you,” he said softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. “I’ve fantasized about this for a long time. About you being surrounded by cocks, about you being passed around like a fuck toy.” His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I could feel my pussy clenching at the thought.
“And you’d let them do whatever they wanted to me?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly. “Use my mouth, my pussy… even my ass?”
Mike’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with lust at my words. “Whatever they want,” he confirmed, his voice low and husky. “You’d be our personal fuck toy, available for us to use whenever we pleased.” His hand tightened around mine, his fingers squeezing possessively. “I’ll make sure they know how lucky they are to have you. How tight your pussy is, how good you feel wrapped around their cocks.”
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. The idea of being used like that, of being nothing more than a hole for them to fuck… it should have revolted me. But instead, I felt a surge of arousal between my legs. My pussy clenched, juices leaking out to soak the sheets beneath me.
“What if I don’t want to?” I asked weakly, even as my body betrayed my true desires. Mike’s smirk turned wicked, his eyes glinting with amusement and dominance.
Mike’s smirk turned wicked, his eyes glinting with amusement and dominance. “Oh, I think we both know that’s not true,” he said softly, his voice low and confident. His hand slid up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Come on mom, let’s get some sleep. I get morning wood so I expect you to sort it out ok.”
“Ok honey,” why did I just agree with that, ok honey what am I thinking.
The next morning, I woke up to the feeling of something hard pressing against my back. I blinked sleepily, trying to orient myself. That’s when I remembered. Everything that had happened last night. The wine, the conversations, the fucking. My son’s thick cock buried deep inside me. I went to go shower and make myself all cleansed as I heard Mike on the phone to his friend and I heard him talk as he was inviting him and a few others around, was this really happening and I was letting it. I was actually excited for once.
As I stood under the warm spray of the shower, I couldn’t help but replay the events of last night in my mind. The feeling of Mike’s hands on my body, his lips against my skin, his thick cock sliding into me… it was almost too much to bear. I let out a shuddering sigh, my fingers trailing down my stomach to slip between my legs. I was already wet, my pussy throbbing with need as I thought about what was to come. Mike had invited his friends over, and he fully intended for them to use me. To fuck me in every hole until I was nothing more than a satisfied, exhausted mess. The idea should have horrified me, but instead, it only served to fuel my arousal.
As I finished showering and dried off, I heard the sound of voices downstairs. Male voices. My heart raced as I realized they were here. Mike’s friends were in the house, waiting for me.