The lukewarm coffee hadn’t quite chased away the Saturday morning fog. 10:45 AM. Seriously? I glanced at the clock, the red numerals mocking my own early start. “Where is that little shit, Graham?” I muttered the question more like a statement of exasperation than genuine inquiry. He was probably still sprawled in bed, lost in the land of teenage dreams and digital distractions.
Normally, I’d knock. A gentle rap, a polite inquiry about his plans for the day. But today, politeness felt like a heavy cloak, too cumbersome to wear. A prickle of annoyance, a motherly urge to yank him into the real world, propelled me up the stairs.
His door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open further, expecting to find him asleep, phone clutched in his hand. What I saw instead stopped me dead.
He was in bed, alright. But sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. His head was thrown back against the pillows, a strange expression – a mixture of pleasure and strain – contorting his young face. His hand moved under the sheet with a frantic, rhythmic energy. His breathing was heavy, ragged. Oh. He was…
My blood ran cold. Embarrassment flared, hot and immediate, across my face. I should have knocked. I should have just turned around. But I was frozen, a horrified spectator in a scene I desperately wanted to unsee.
“Ahh yeh…” The sound was guttural, almost animalistic. He was really going at it, his grip tight, his movements desperate.
Then came the words. “Ahh fuck… yeah, fuck take all my cock, Mom.”
The air in the room thickened, suffocating me. My breath hitched in my throat. The world tilted on its axis. I felt a wave of nausea rise, threatening to spill over.
I recoiled as if burned, stumbling backwards out of the room. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a gasp. I retreated down the stairs, each step heavy with dread and a creeping, insidious shame.
I sneaked back out, a thief caught in the act of witnessing something forbidden. Masturbating. I could handle that, barely. Teenagers masturbate. It’s a biological imperative. But the words… the fantasy…
While thinking about me. Not just thinking, pretending he was… I didn’t wanna think about it. The thought was a viper, coiling in my stomach, injecting its venom of disgust and something else, something I couldn’t quite name. Discomfort? Fear? A twisted, perverse sense of… what?
I sank onto a kitchen chair, the cold tile a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from my face. The coffee sat neglected on the counter, its aroma now cloying instead of comforting. My son, my sweet, clumsy, slightly awkward son, had just shattered the delicate illusion of childhood innocence. And he had done it with my own image, my own name, as the fuel for his fantasy.
What now? Should I confront him? Pretend it never happened? Run away and never look back? I had no answers, only a gnawing feeling of unease and the horrifying, inescapable image of my son, lost in a world of his own making, whispering my name in a way that would forever taint it.
Hours crawled by. I feigned normalcy, busying myself with meaningless chores – folding laundry that was already folded, and wiping down countertops that were already clean. Each creak of the stairs sent a jolt of anxiety through me. Each sound of Graham moving in his room was a fresh wave of nausea.
Finally, around 2 PM, he emerged, bleary-eyed and looking sheepish. He shuffled into the kitchen, his hair a mess, and mumbled a half-hearted, “Hey, Mom.”
My carefully constructed facade of normalcy threatened to crumble. I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white. “Hey,” I managed to croak, my voice surprisingly steady.
He opened the refrigerator, rummaged around, and pulled out a carton of orange juice. He poured himself a glass, avoiding eye contact. “What’s for lunch?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.
The banality of the question was jarring, almost comical. Lunch? Was he seriously worried about lunch right now? Inside, I was a swirling vortex of conflicting emotions – revulsion, anger, confusion, and a strange, unbidden flicker of… understanding. No. No, I refused to go there.
“There’s leftover pizza,” I said, my voice clipped.
He grabbed a slice and went towards the door, “I am off to Marks I be home later.”
The day dragged on and it was 8 PM, and he still wasn’t back. Fuck it, I got a glass and the whisky and sat on the couch and poured a drink. I downed it, then poured another.
Hours passed and it was 10:22 PM and I was so tipsy, I heard the front door go, “It’s just me Mom.”
“Have a good time… honey” I stammered with the booze in my system as he walked over and sat down next to me.
He looked at me, his brow furrowed. “You okay, Mom? You seem… off.”
Off? Off was an understatement. I was teetering on the edge of a psychological cliff, ready to plunge into the abyss of parental horror. But I couldn’t tell him. Not now, not ever. The words were a dam, threatening to burst and flood us both with the unspeakable truth.
I forced a smile, a pathetic imitation of my usual maternal cheerfulness. “Just tired, honey. Long day.”
“Mmm you enjoying the drink mom, here let me pour you one,” he said as he grabbed the bottle.
“You trying to get your mother drunk are you,” I said as I took the glass from him.
He shrugged, a casual, almost mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe. Thought you might need it.”
His words hung in the air, laden with an unspoken understanding. Did he suspect? Could he possibly know that I knew? The thought sent another shiver of unease down my spine. I took a large gulp of the whisky, the burn a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my mind.
“So,” I said, struggling to keep my voice light. “What did you and Mark get up to?”
He launched into a rambling account of their afternoon – video games, pizza, and some new movie he was excited about. Normal, teenage boy stuff. As he talked, I watched him, searching for any hint of guilt, any sign that he was aware of the chasm that had opened between us. But his face remained an inscrutable mask, smooth and untroubled.
The more he spoke, the more surreal the situation became. Here we were, mother and son, sitting side-by-side on the couch, sharing a drink and a casual conversation, while a monstrous secret simmered beneath the surface. It was like living in a distorted reality, where the familiar and the grotesque were inextricably intertwined.
“It was a good day,” he concluded, finally pausing for breath. “We should all hang out sometime. You, me, and Mark.”
Next, he will be fantasizing about him sharing me with Mark. The thought of being taken by two guys turned me on. No this is my son, he’s just having mommy fantasies.
I wanted to test him, to see if he really did always think of me, “Nah, you dont want an old lady like me hanging around.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. You’re not old.” He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “And Mark thinks you’re… a MILF and honestly he’s not wrong. Here I pour another drink to loosen you up.”
“Yeah yeah thanks, you naughty boy trying to get me drunk,” I said as my head swayed. “MILF what is a MILF.”
He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent another jolt of something unidentifiable through me. “Mom, seriously? You don’t know what a MILF is? It means… well, it means you’re a hot mom.” He said it with a playful smirk, but his eyes held a flicker of something else – something that made my stomach clench.
The dam was cracking. The whisky was loosening my tongue, and his words were chipping away at the wall I had so carefully constructed. “Hot? You think I’m hot?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. I hated myself for asking, for needing to know.
He looked at me, a strange mix of amusement and discomfort on his face. “Mom, come on. You’re… attractive. You take care of yourself. Mark’s just got a thing for older women, that’s all.” He tried to brush it off, but the air in the room was thick with unspoken tension.
I wanted to push it, I knew what MILF was and he thinks I am stupid. “Tell me, are you into older women too.”
He froze, the half-empty whisky bottle clutched in his hand. The playful smirk vanished, replaced by an expression of stark apprehension. The casual mask had finally crumbled, revealing the raw, vulnerable boy beneath. He looked away, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the room.
“Mom, don’t,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.
But the dam was well and truly broken now. The whisky had loosened my inhibitions, and the gnawing curiosity had become an insatiable hunger. I had to know. I needed to know.
“Tell me, Graham,” I pressed, my voice low and insistent. “Is that what this is about? Is that why you…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it, to articulate the unspeakable fantasy that had been consuming me all day.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “Mom, this is… weird. Can we just drop it?”
“No, we can’t drop it,” I insisted, my voice rising. “I walked in on you, Graham. I heard what you said. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”
He finally met my gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame, fear, and something else… a desperate plea for understanding.
“Okay, fine,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, maybe… maybe I do find older women attractive. Is that so wrong?”
“No,” I said, surprised by my own response. “It’s not wrong. But… why me, Graham? Why your own mother?”
He flinched as if I had struck him. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t choose who I’m attracted to. It just… happens. And it’s not like I’m going to act on it, Mom. It’s just a fantasy. Everyone has fantasies.”
His words were a tangled mess of justification and self-loathing. He was trying to explain the inexplicable, to make sense of something that defied all logic and reason.
“But it’s me, Graham,” I repeated, my voice shaking. “I’m your mother. How can you… how can you think of me that way?”
He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Mom, please. I didn’t want you to know. I never wanted to hurt you. And it’s not like I see you as… you know. It’s just… an image. A version of you that exists in my head.”
“A version of me that you use to… pleasure yourself?” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
He cringed. “I know, it sounds messed up. But it’s not like I’m thinking about you, you when I do it. It’s just… a feeling. A connection. I don’t know how to explain it.”
His explanation was inadequate, and unsatisfying. But I could see the genuine anguish in his eyes, the desperate need to be understood. And in that moment, I realized that he was just as confused and horrified as I was.
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice softer now. “It’s okay, Graham.”
He looked at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Really? You’re not mad?”
“I am mad,” I said. “But I’m also… trying to understand. It’s just… a lot to process.”
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. The weight of the unspoken hung in the air, a suffocating presence.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Mom,” he said, his voice tentative. “Can we just… forget this ever happened? Can we just go back to the way things were?”
I looked at him, my heart aching. I wanted to say yes, to erase this moment from our shared history. But I knew that we could never truly go back. The veil had been lifted, and the illusion shattered. We were forever changed, marked by the knowledge of this dark, twisted secret.
“I don’t know, Graham,” I said, my voice trembling. “I don’t know if we can. Is that why you’re trying to get me drunk? Be honest, hoping to get your leg over.”
Graham’s eyes widened at your accusation, a mixture of shock and horror flashing across his face. “What? No, Mom, that’s not… I would never…” He trailed off, his words failing him as he realized the implication of his actions.
I sighed as naughty images filled my head and I started to feel tingles between my legs. “Not even if I said you can. Be honest, because you be surprised if you tell me the truth.”
Graham’s face flushed a deep red, his eyes darting away from yours. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.”Mom, I… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t trying to…” He stumbled over his words, clearly struggling to articulate his thoughts.
You leaned in closer, your voice low and husky. “Come on, Graham. Be honest with me. You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? getting me drunk and you know what with me. Honestly, after today and this morning, I probably wouldn’t stop you, so there’s your invitation to do with it as you wish. Well, I am just going to sit here quiet, dont say anything else, help yourself when you’re ready.” The words hung heavy in the air, loaded with implication. I could see he was dying to pull my nightie up.
Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it made contact with your bare thigh. His touch was light, almost reverent, as his fingers traced the contours of your skin beneath the hem of your nightgown. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“You… you really mean that Mom?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.”You’d let me…?”
I leaned back, spreading my legs slightly, giving him a clear view of the damp patch on my panties. “I’m not stopping you, am I?” I purred, my voice dripping with invitation. “You’ve got your chance, Graham. Take it or leave it.”
He quickly got off the couch and got on the floor on his knees before me. He dragged me to the edge of the couch roughly so my ass was hanging off. He pushed my nightie up and just over the top of my tits, he pulled my lace panties to the side. Heavy breathing and excited he pulled his zipper down and got out his cock, omg he’s really doing this. He slid his cock inside of my pussy, his mom’s pussy.
“I… ahhh… didn’t think you… would actually have the…. ahh balls,” I moaned and lay there taking his cock over and over. In and out of my pussy as I stare between my legs.
His thick, hard cock stretched me open as he plunged into my wet heat. I gasped, my back arching off the couch as he filled me. “Fuck, Mom,” he grunted, his hips snapping forward, driving his length deeper.
“Ahh, Graham!” I cried out, my fingers digging into the couch cushions. He was moving faster now, his rhythm becoming more urgent. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with our laboured breathing and moans. “Your pussy…it’s so tight,” he panted, his hands gripping my hips tightly. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Dreamed about fucking you.”
His words sent a surge of forbidden pleasure through me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. “Then fuck me,” I challenged, my voice husky with desire. “Fuck your mother’s pussy.”
“I will ungh,” he grunted and then pulled out and stood me up as he bent me over the couch, and slid back inside me. He held my ass and slapped it hard as he started to drill my cunt harder.
His cock throbbed inside me, each powerful thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. I braced myself against the couch, my knuckles white as I gripped the fabric.
“Yes, Graham,” I moaned, my head thrown back in ecstasy. “Harder, baby. Give it to me harder.”
He obliged, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigour. The couch creaked beneath us, the sound mingling with our lewd grunts and moans. I could feel his thick cock stretching me, filling me to the brink, and then plunging even deeper with each ruthless thrust.
“Ahh, fuck, Mom,” he panted, his breath hot against my ear. “Your pussy… it’s so damn good. So tight, so wet… I can’t get enough.” His words sent a jolt of electricity through me, heightening my arousal.
“Ahh, Graham, yes!” I cried out, my voice echoing through the room. “That’s it, baby, give it to me harder! Make me feel every inch of that thick cock!”
Graham’s grip on my ass tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pounded into me with wild abandon. The couch groaned in protest, the sound blending with our frenzied moans and the slap of skin on skin. I could feel every inch of his throbbing cock as it drove deep into my pussy, hitting all the right spots and sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body.
Graham’s relentless pace had me teetering on the edge, my body trembling with the effort of holding back my climax. I could feel the coil of tension building deep in my core, ready to snap at any moment.
“Fuck, Graham, I’m close,” I warned, my voice strained with pleasure. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!” He groaned, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he chased his own release.
“Ahh, Mom, I’m gonna cum,” he panted, his hips bucking wildly. “I’m gonna fill your pussy with my cum Unngh f-fuck.” The thought of his hot seed flooding my womb sent me over the edge. With a keening cry, I came hard, my pussy clenching around his cock as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over me. I could feel my juices gushing out, soaking his balls and the couch beneath us.
“Ah, fuck, Mom, I’m cumming,” he gasped, his hips jerking forward as he buried himself to the hilt inside me. I could feel his hot seed spurting deep within my pussy, filling me to the brim with his thick, sticky cum. The sensation of his release triggered my own, and I came again, my body convulsing around his cock as I rode out the intense waves of pleasure. Our combined juices flowed freely, dripping down my thighs and onto the couch beneath us. Graham fell limp against my back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. I could feel his softening cock still buried inside me, his warm seed coating my insides.
As Graham’s softening cock slipped out of me, I felt a shiver of satisfaction run through my body. The couch creaked as I slowly straightened up, my legs trembling slightly from the intensity of our encounter. I could still feel his cum leaking out of me, trickling down my inner thighs, a tangible reminder of the forbidden act we had just shared. Graham stood up, his face flushed and his eyes glazed with post-coital bliss. He looked at me, a mix of awe and reverence in his gaze.
“Mom,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That was… incredible.”
I nodded, a soft smile playing on my lips. “It was,” I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper.
The weight of what we had just done hung heavy in the air, a secret shared only between us. As we stood there, caught in the aftermath of our passion, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.