Living with a young lad who is 18 and he is my son Jason who had hormones all over the place. Is pretty hard when I myself haven’t gotten laid in years. Most nights I would hear my son bring some girl back and all I would bloody hear is them shagging all night. No, he didn’t have a girlfriend, he just liked to play around, a bit of a player, a bad boy. Sometimes he would try it on with me, honestly, I am not joking, I have to remind him I am his mother, but good god I have to remind myself.
The constant reminders I gave Jason felt more like whispers into a hurricane than actual warnings. He’d just smirk, that infuriating, knowing smirk that suggested he knew exactly the effect he had on me. It was a game to him, a twisted little power play. God help me, sometimes I felt like I was losing.
The nights were the worst. The thin walls of our small house offered no solace, only amplified the rhythmic thumping and the breathless giggles that emanated from his room. I’d lie in bed, my body aching with loneliness that felt like a physical wound, and clench the sheets, willing myself to think of anything else. Anything but the fact that my own son was living a life I desperately craved, a life that felt permanently out of reach.
One night, it was particularly bad. He had some girl in his room, I was trying to sleep and all I heard was his bed and some poor girl, “Ahh Jason harder, harder.”
The words, “harder, harder,” were like a dagger twisting in my gut. I squeezed my eyes shut, a hot tear escaping and tracing a path down my temple. My hand instinctively went to my throat, as if trying to choke back the rising tide of shame and frustration. I felt like a prisoner in my own home, a voyeur forced to listen to the intimate details of my son’s life, a life that highlighted the gaping void in my own.
I got out of bed, pacing the small room. The moonlight filtering through the window cast long, distorted shadows on the wall, mimicking the turmoil within me. Maybe a glass of water would help. Or maybe a distraction, some mindless television.
As I tiptoed past Jason’s door, the sounds intensified, a crescendo of moans and gasps. I froze, my hand hovering over the doorknob. It was wrong, I knew it was wrong, but a morbid curiosity, a perverse desire to understand what I was missing, held me captive. The door was slightly ajar.
I shouldn’t…I really shouldn’t.
But I pushed it open, just a crack. A sliver of light spilt into the hallway. I peered through the opening.
The scene was bathed in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. I could only see a portion of the bed, Jason’s back flexing with each thrust. The girl’s face was hidden from my view, but her hair, a cascade of fiery red curls, was splayed across his pillow.
A wave of nausea washed over me, a mixture of disgust and a shameful, burning desire. This was my son. This was wrong. But my eyes remained glued to the scene, unable to tear themselves away. I felt like a thief, stealing a glimpse into a world that was forbidden to me.
The girl gasped again, “Oh, Jason…yes…like that.”
The sound was like a match striking in the darkness, igniting a fire within me. A fire that I thought had long been extinguished. A fire fueled by years of loneliness, of unmet needs, of a yearning for connection.
My breath hitched in my throat. I knew I had to leave, I had to close the door and pretend that I hadn’t seen anything. But my feet were rooted to the ground, my hand still gripping the doorknob.
The movements on the bed became more frantic, more desperate. The girl’s moans grew louder, more uninhibited. And then, a final, shuddering cry.
Silence.
The silence was deafening.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity, paralyzed by shame and a strange, undeniable arousal. Finally, I managed to pull myself away from the door, closing it silently behind me.
Back in my room, I collapsed onto the bed, my body trembling. I buried my face in the pillow, trying to smother the sobs that threatened to erupt. What was wrong with me? How could I allow myself to sink so low?
I hated myself. I hated Jason. And, if I was honest with myself, I hated the girl in his bed too. I hated her youth, her vitality, her ability to elicit such a primal response from my son.
Sleep was impossible. Every rustle, every creak of the house sounded like a judgment, a condemnation of my secret sin.
The next morning, Jason emerged from his room looking impossibly fresh and relaxed. He sauntered into the kitchen, grabbed a carton of orange juice from the fridge, and took a long swig.
He didn’t even glance at me.
“Morning, Mom,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Morning,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.
He didn’t notice the tension in my voice, the dark circles under my eyes, the trembling of my hands. He was oblivious, lost in his own world of youthful exuberance and casual encounters.
I watched him as he ate his breakfast, a strange mixture of resentment and longing swirling within me. He was my son. I loved him. But at that moment, I also hated him. And I hated myself even more.
I knew that I couldn’t go on living like this. Something had to change. But what? And how? The answers eluded me, lost in the labyrinth of my own complicated emotions. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something that could shatter the fragile bond between me and my son forever.
But what happened later that night, when I was sitting on the edge of my bed halfway getting changed? I was in T-shirt and just panties. I cried I was very vulnerable, and Jason heard me crying.
Jason appeared at the door, his usual cocky swagger replaced with a look of genuine concern. He hesitated, one hand resting on the doorframe.
“Mom? You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than I’d heard it in years.
I quickly wiped my eyes, trying to compose myself. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me like this, broken and exposed. “I’m fine, Jason. Just…a long day.” My voice wavered, betraying the lie.
He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He was wearing just a pair of basketball shorts, his toned torso bare. The sight of him, usually something that triggered a confusing mix of emotions, was now simply a source of comfort. Or maybe it was just that any human connection felt like a lifeline at this point.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, a few feet away from me, leaving a noticeable space between us. “You don’t seem fine. What’s wrong?” He actually sounded…caring. Sincere.
I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” I mumbled.
“Come on, Mom. You can talk to me.” He reached out, his hand hovering over mine. With his other hand on my thigh and stroking it slowly, I felt a tingle between my legs.
His touch, however innocent it might have seemed, sent a jolt through me, a spark igniting in the tinder of my suppressed desires. I flinched, pulling away slightly.
“Don’t,” I said, my voice barely audible. The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
He retracted his hand, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “What? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The dam that I’d been desperately trying to maintain finally broke, and the torrent of emotions came flooding out.
“It’s…it’s everything, Jason!” I cried, my voice cracking with emotion. “It’s this house, it’s you, it’s me…it’s everything!”
He looked genuinely perplexed. “Me? What did I do?”
How could I possibly explain it to him? How could I tell him about the years of loneliness, the frustration, the gnawing emptiness that had taken root inside me? How could I confess the shameful thoughts that had been plaguing me, the forbidden desires that threatened to consume me?
“It’s…the girls, Jason,” I stammered, my cheeks burning with shame. “The girls you bring home. I…I hear everything.”
He frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “So? What’s wrong with that? You know I’m just having fun.”
“It’s not fun for me!” I blurted out, the words escaping before I could stop them. “It’s a constant reminder of everything I’m missing! It’s a reminder that I’m alone, that I’m unwanted, that I’m…I’m invisible! I NEED FUCKING TOO, sorry, sorry ignore that.”
I looked at him adjusting his crotch, he stroked my thigh higher. “Well Mom, I can arrange that for you any time.”
I recoiled at his words, the casual offer feeling like a slap in the face. The shame washed over me again, hotter and more suffocating than before.
“That’s disgusting, Jason! How could you even say that?” I spat, pushing myself further away from him on the bed. But deep down I wanted him, I tried to ignore the wetness in my pussy. “I’m your mother!”
His eyes darkened, a glint of something unsettling flickering within them. “I know you are, Mom. But you’re also a woman. A beautiful woman.” He reached for my hand again, his touch now deliberate, possessive. “And you’re hurting. I can see it.”
“Stop it, Jason,” I said, my voice trembling. “Just…stop.” But my body was betraying me, responding to his touch despite my best efforts. The heat was building, spreading through me like wildfire.
He ignored my plea, his fingers tracing circles on the inside of my wrist. “Maybe I can help you feel better, Mom.” He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above my ear. “Maybe I can make you forget all about being lonely.”
I closed my eyes, struggling against the conflicting emotions that were tearing me apart. Part of me was terrified, disgusted by the implications of his words. But another part, a darker, more primal part, was whispering in my ear, urging me to surrender to the forbidden pleasure.
His breath was hot on my neck as he whispered, “What do you want, Mom? Tell me what you want.”
The question hung in the air, a challenge, a temptation. I knew that if I answered if I gave voice to the desires that had been tormenting me for so long, there would be no turning back. I would be crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.
But the loneliness was so intense. The yearning was so profound. And the promise of connection, however twisted and dangerous, was too tempting to resist.
“I…” I began, my voice barely a whisper. “I want…” I moaned trying to get my words out, as he sneaked his hand up my nightie. He was rubbing my clit through my panties, oh god it felt good.
My breath hitched. The thin fabric of my panties offered little barrier against the electrifying sensation of his touch. Every nerve ending screamed in protest and pleasure. I was teetering on the precipice of something unimaginable, a place where morality and desire collided in a chaotic storm.
“I…I don’t know what I want,” I stammered, the lie evident even to my own ears. My body clearly knew exactly what it wanted.
He chuckled softly, a low rumble that vibrated against my skin. “Yes, you do, Mom. You just have to admit it.” His fingers danced a tantalizing rhythm against my clit. My hips involuntarily arched towards his touch.
“Jason…this is wrong,” I managed to choke out, the words sounding weak and unconvincing. My head was spinning. The rational part of my brain was screaming at me to stop, to push him away, to salvage what little remained of our relationship. But another part, the part that had been starved for affection and connection for so long, was desperate to succumb.
He stopped caressing me. His voice was a low seductive drawl, “Is wrong to want to make you feel good?”
I twisted my head away from him, tears welling up in my eyes. “It’s wrong because…because you’re my son.” I was whispering now, almost pleading.
“And you’re my mother,” he countered, his voice unwavering. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t both be adults. Adults with needs. And right now Mom, you have this wet gash that needs seeing to, let me.”
Next thing were both slowly lying down and his hands were on the waistband of my panties.
His fingers hooked under the elastic, slowly, deliberately peeling them down my hips. The movement was agonizingly slow, each millimetre of exposed skin sending a fresh wave of heat through my body. I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t. Shame warred with a desperate, overwhelming need.
When the panties were finally gone, discarded on the floor like a forgotten promise, the air suddenly felt charged, electric. I lay there, exposed and vulnerable, beneath the gaze of my son. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the inevitable judgment, the disgust that I was sure was lurking beneath his carefully cultivated facade of desire. I bit my lip, hard, trying to ground myself, to remind myself of who I was, of what I was doing. But the harder I tried to resist, the more intense the longing became.
I felt his breath on my neck as he leaned closer. “Open your eyes, Mom,” he whispered, his voice husky with an unfamiliar intensity. “I want to see you.”
Reluctantly, I obeyed. I opened my eyes and met his gaze. What I saw there surprised me. There was no judgment, no disgust. Only a burning intensity, a raw and untamed desire that mirrored my own.
His eyes travelled down my body, lingering on my breasts, my stomach, and the curve of my hips. I felt myself blush, self-conscious and exposed. I wanted to cover myself, to hide, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place, caught in his gaze like a moth drawn to a flame.
He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I’ve always thought so.”
The words hung in the air, a shocking confession that shattered the last vestige of my resistance. A sob escaped my lips, a mixture of shame, fear, and a strange, undeniable relief.
“Jason, please,” I whispered, the word barely audible. “This is wrong.”
He didn’t respond, didn’t move. He simply continued to look at me, his eyes filled with a hunger that was both terrifying and intoxicating.
Then, slowly, he lowered his head and kissed me.
The kiss was tentative at first, a gentle exploration of my lips. But as the initial shock subsided, the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more demanding. His lips parted mine, and his tongue slipped inside, exploring the sensitive flesh of my mouth.
A wave of pleasure washed over me, blotting out all reason, all restraint. I moaned softly, arching my back, and pressing myself closer to him. My hands reached up, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer still.
I was lost. Lost in the moment, lost in the forbidden pleasure, lost in the dark and dangerous world that we were creating together.
He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked at me, his eyes dark and intense. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
The question hung in the air, a simple choice that held the weight of everything. The future of our family, the fate of our souls, rested on my answer.
I looked into his eyes, searching for a sign, a reason to turn back. But there was nothing there but desire, a burning need that matched my own.
And in that moment, I knew that I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t turn back. I was already too far gone.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “No.”
And with that single word, I sealed our fate.
The next thing I felt, was his cock sliding inside of my pussy right up my cunt as I opened my eyes.
He moved slowly at first, testing, and gauging my reaction. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure and guilt through me, a dizzying combination that threatened to overwhelm me. I bit my lip, trying to stifle the moans that were building in my throat.
“Does that feel good, Mom?” He whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
I couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak. All I could do was nod, my eyes squeezed shut, my body arching beneath his.
He began to move faster, his rhythm growing more insistent, more demanding. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to consume me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, surrendering to the moment completely.
The room spun around me, the world fading away until there was nothing left but the two of us, locked together in a forbidden embrace. I felt myself spiralling towards the edge, a precipice of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
“Jason…” I moaned, my voice barely a whisper.
His name on my lips felt like a sin, a transgression that tasted both forbidden and exquisite. I was teetering on the brink, every nerve ending firing, every muscle tensed. The world narrowed to the feel of his skin against mine, the rhythm of his body inside me, the sound of my own ragged breathing.
He pushed deeper, harder, his movements relentless. I met his thrusts with a desperate urgency, my hips bucking against his. The pleasure was almost unbearable, a searing heat that pulsed through my veins. Oh, fuck his cock felt so good.
The rough, brutal pounding sensation of Jason’s thrusts sent waves of intense pleasure crashing over me. I clung to him, my nails digging into his back as I tried to anchor myself in the storm of sensations. Every nerve ending was alive with electricity, every cell in my body crying out for more. His cock just relentlessly hammering into my gash, over and over again.
“Tell me what you want, Mom,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort. “Tell me what you need.”
The question was a spark in the tinderbox of my desire. Shame and reason were distant memories, drowned out by the urgency of the moment. I wanted release, I wanted oblivion, I wanted him.
“Harder,” I gasped, the word torn from my throat. “I want you harder, Jason. Fuck me harder!”
He needed no further prompting. He surged forward, his movements becoming more frantic, more primal. Each thrust was a collision, a merging of bodies and souls that defied all boundaries. My pussy was on fire, throbbing with a raw, insistent need.
He gripped my hips, holding me firmly in place as he continued to pound into me, his rhythm relentless. I could feel every inch of him, his hardness filling me completely. Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through my body, blurring the line between pain and ecstasy.
“That’s it, Mom,” he groaned, his voice thick with passion. “Take it all. Take every inch.”
I arched my back, pushing myself further into his embrace. My hands gripped his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. The world narrowed to the feel of his body against mine, the sound of our ragged breathing, and the burning intensity of our forbidden union.
“You feel so good, Mom,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “So tight. I’ve wanted this for so long.”
His words were like fuel to the fire that raged within me. I felt a surge of power, a sense of control that was both intoxicating and terrifying. I was no longer just a passive participant; I was an active force, driving him on, demanding more.
“Fuck me, Jason,” I moaned, my voice raw with desire. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
He needed no further encouragement. He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more insistent. I could feel my body tightening around him, my muscles clenching in anticipation. The pleasure was almost unbearable, a white-hot intensity that threatened to consume me completely.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, about to plunge into the abyss of oblivion, he suddenly pulled out. I gasped, a sound of protest escaping my lips. The abrupt cessation of contact left me feeling empty, bereft, and craving more.
He didn’t give me a chance to recover. In one swift motion, he rolled me over onto my stomach, positioning me on my hands and knees.
“We’re not done yet, Mom,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’m just getting started.”
He knelt behind me, spreading my legs wider, exposing my raw, throbbing flesh to his hungry gaze. I felt a shiver run down my spine, a mixture of anticipation and dread. The doggy-style position was vulnerable, exposed, and undeniably exciting.
He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of my ass, teasing and tormenting me. I bit my lip, trying to suppress the moans that were building in my throat. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
“Ready for more, Mom?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. All I could do was nod, my body trembling with anticipation.
Then, with a low groan, he thrust into me from behind, filling me completely. The sensation was different, more intense, more primal. I gasped, my body arching involuntarily as I surrendered to the force of his desire.
The pounding from behind was relentless, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. I felt myself spiralling out of control, lost in a sea of sensation.
The intensity of his thrusts was matched only by the ferocity of my own desire. I pushed back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, our bodies moving in perfect harmony. The sound of our skin slapping together echoed through the room, punctuated by our gasps and moans.
“Yes, Mom. Just like that. Take it all.” His voice was strained, his words punctuated by grunts and groans. I could feel him growing harder, bigger inside me, filling me completely.
I reached down, my fingers finding my clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming, a maelstrom of pleasure that threatened to consume me. I felt myself spiralling closer to the edge, my body trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Don’t stop, Jason. Don’t you dare stop?” I begged, my voice hoarse with desire. I could feel him smirk against my neck, his breath hot and heavy.
“I won’t, Mom. I promise. I’m going to make you cum harder than you ever have before.” He whispered his words a promise that sent a shiver down my spine.
With a final, desperate thrust, he pushed me over the edge. I cried out, my body convulsing with pleasure as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me. He followed soon after, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside me.
We collapsed onto the bed, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing ragged and uneven. The room was silent except for the sound of our laboured breathing. I could feel his heart pounding against my back, matching the rhythm of my own. Ouch, my pussy as never been so sore.
In that moment, there was no guilt, no shame, no regret. There were only the two of us, entwined in a dance as old as time itself. A dance that, despite the taboo, felt more right than anything else in the world.
As we lay there, our bodies still tangled together, I knew that this was a moment I would cherish forever. A moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure that transcended all boundaries and limitations.
And in that moment, I was lost. Lost in the afterglow, lost in the forbidden, lost in the beauty of our union. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.