I stood in front of the mirror, slowly fastening the last earring into my ear, my hands trembling slightly—not from nerves exactly, but… anticipation. Hope, maybe. It had been years since I’d had a proper Valentine’s Day date. For once, this one felt like it might be different. I tilted my head and admired the woman looking back at me—soft chestnut curls falling loosely over my shoulders, the way the burgundy silk of my dress hugged my curves just right. It dipped delicately at the neckline, teasing just enough, and cinched at the waist to show off the little hourglass I’d worked so hard to keep.
I had taken extra time with my makeup, smoky eyes lined just so, lips painted a romantic wine red. And heels—yes, real heels, even though I knew my feet would curse me later. I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t often I felt this good about myself. It was silly, maybe, but I felt… desirable. Like a woman again, not just someone’s mum.
As I leaned forward to smooth my hair, the door to my room creaked open.
“Wow, Mum…”
I turned to find Mathew standing there, freshly showered, dressed in a crisp navy shirt with a tie he’d clearly worked hard to knot just right. My heart swelled. My boy—my handsome, eighteen-year-old boy—looked like a proper gentleman. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“You look stunning,” he said, giving me a soft smile. “Is that new?”
I chuckled, spinning once in front of him. “It is. Just came last week. What do you think? Too much?”
“No way,” he said, stepping in and giving me a once-over. “Ron’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you.”
I laughed and reached up to adjust his collar. “You look pretty dashing yourself. Big night?”
He nodded, a little sheepish. “Yeah… Jessica. First proper date.”
“Ooooh!” I beamed. “You didn’t tell me you two were official! I’m so happy for you, sweetheart.”
He smiled, but it was that quiet, boyish smile that reminded me he still needed me, even if he was almost a man. “Well… not official. Yet.”
“You’ll be amazing. Just be yourself, and don’t forget—compliments go a long way. And maybe open a door or two.”
“I learned from the best,” he said with a wink, and I laughed again, feeling a little glow in my chest. God, I loved this kid.
He grabbed his coat and adjusted his tie one more time. I walked him to the door, fussing with his hair like I used to when he was little. He rolled his eyes but let me. “Have fun,” I told him. “Text me if anything changes.”
“You too, Mum.” He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Ron’s lucky.”
And with that, he was gone, walking confidently down the drive, his breath fogging in the cool evening air.
I turned back inside, giddy, heart fluttering as I glanced at the clock. Ron was supposed to be here in twenty minutes. I double-checked the table—candles ready, wine breathing, steak marinating, the expensive kind, the kind I only bought once a year. I’d even picked out Ron’s favorite record, set it next to the player, ready to fill the room with some smooth, sexy jazz. Everything was perfect.
Then, five minutes after Mathew left, my phone buzzed. My heart skipped—I practically skipped across the room to grab it. “Ron” flashed on the screen, and I answered, breathless and smiling.
“Hey, you,” I said, twirling the phone cord around my fingers like some giddy schoolgirl. “You on your way?”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Yeah, about that… I—uh—I can’t make it tonight.”
I blinked. “…What?”
“I’m really sorry, love. Something came up. Just… stuff with work. I meant to call earlier, but I was hoping I could still swing it.”
I felt my stomach drop. The smile faded instantly. “What the hell do you mean you can’t make it?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I spent a fortune on this dress, Ron! I did my hair, my makeup… I planned dinner and picked out wine—your wine. Hell, I even didn’t wear any underwear, tonight was going to be the night we finally… Forget it because it doesn’t matter because now you’re just not coming?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just—”
“No, don’t,” I snapped, my voice rising. “Don’t give me some half-assed excuse. You knew how much this night meant to me. You could’ve told me yesterday. Hell, even this morning.”
“I didn’t want to upset you—”
“Too late for that!” My hand was shaking. “You’re unbelievable. You’re a bloody coward.”
“Look, let’s reschedule, okay?”
“Don’t bother.”
And I hung up. Slammed the phone down so hard it bounced. Then I grabbed it again and hurled it across the room, hearing it crack as it hit the wall. I stood there for a moment, panting, dress clinging to my body, chest heaving with rage… and then it hit me. The sting. The rejection. The loneliness.
My eyes burned. I reached for the wine—then hesitated.
No. I needed something stronger.
Whiskey.
I yanked open the cabinet and poured a double. No ice. Just fire. The first sip seared my throat. The second burned hotter. By the third, the tears were falling freely.
I slumped onto the couch, legs curled up beneath me, makeup smudged and streaked down my cheeks. The soft jazz I’d queued up played mockingly in the background. I looked beautiful, absolutely beautiful… and there was no one here to see it. Not even him.
Hours passed like that. Three maybe. Four. The bottle of whiskey was dangerously low, my dress wrinkled, one heel kicked off, and the candles long since burned down to stubs.
Suddenly the front door opened and it slammed shut as Mathew entered the living room.
He stood in the doorway, his shoulders slumped, the collar of his once-pristine shirt now rumpled, and his tie hanging loose and lifeless around his neck. In one hand, still clutched like he didn’t know what else to do with it, was a bouquet of flowers—red and white, slightly wilted from the cold. He looked… wrecked. My heart cracked all over again.
“Mathew?” I croaked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded. I sat up straighter, instinct kicking in—mother first, always.
He glanced at me, and his face softened brow furrowing. “Bloody hell, Mum…” he said quietly, taking in my smeared mascara, tear-streaked cheeks, and the nearly-empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table. “What happened?”
I gave a hollow laugh, brushing at my cheek, but it only made things worse. My fingers came away black with eyeliner. “Ron didn’t show.”
He winced and looked down. “Jessica didn’t either.”
My breath hitched. “Oh, sweetheart…”
He stepped further into the room, then without a word, walked over and handed me the flowers. I looked up at him, blinking through tears I hadn’t even realized were still falling.
“They’re for you,” he said softly, his voice almost breaking. “Didn’t want them to go to waste.”
I reached out and took them slowly, holding them against my chest. “They’re beautiful. Thank you, darling.”
He sat down beside me, his leg brushing mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, solid and real and comforting. For a long moment, we just sat there in silence, letting the soft jazz murmur around us like a ghost of the evening we were supposed to have.
“I’m so sorry,” I finally whispered, glancing at him. “You were so excited. You looked so handsome.”
He shrugged, but the pain was in his eyes. “Yeah, well… I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. We got there early, talked for a bit. Then she got a call, said something came up. I waited around for a while, but… she didn’t come back.”
I reached for the whiskey, poured us both a glass—less careful now, just needing the comfort of something warm and sharp. I passed one to him.
He took it without hesitation this time.
“To… being idiots, I guess,” he said with a soft, bitter smile.
“No,” I said, clinking my glass to his gently. “To trying. Even when it hurts.”
We sipped in silence, and I leaned my head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My voice felt far away when I spoke again.
“You know, I haven’t worn a dress like this in years. Not since before your dad left. And even then, it was for work dinners or school galas. Nothing for me. Nothing… romantic.”
He glanced at me, and I saw it in his eyes—the way he was still listening, still present with me.
“I thought maybe tonight would remind me of what it felt like to be… wanted. Touched. Kissed.” I laughed bitterly. “Silly, huh?”
He shook his head. “Not silly. Just… honest.”
I looked at him then, and all the years flashed before me—my little boy with scraped knees and sleepy eyes, always crawling into bed beside me after a nightmare. Now a man, hurting just like I was, carrying his own quiet sadness.
“I’m sorry you had to come home to this,” I said softly. “To me… falling apart in a dress I bought for someone who didn’t even care. I was so looking forward to this, not just the love, but I was on for a promise tonight, sorry you don’t need to hear about my sex life. Even though it is non-existent.”
Mathew gave me a look that stopped my heart for a second—somewhere between empathy and protectiveness. Not the kind of protectiveness you get from your child over scraped knees or forgotten lunches, but the kind that said I see you, Mum… the real you… and I love you anyway.
He leaned back into the couch, letting out a breath that sounded like it’d been trapped inside him for hours. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said quietly. “You’re allowed to want those things. You’re a woman, Mum. Not just my mum. Also, you’re not the only one who was on for a promise I thought tonight was going to be well you know, you don’t need the details.”
I looked at him then—really looked—and something fragile passed between us. This unspoken ache we both carried… not just from being stood up, but from the deeper sting. The sting of almost. Of being good enough until someone decided they had something better to do.
Mathew gave a short, sheepish laugh and glanced down at his glass, swirling the amber liquid like it could somehow hide him.
“Yeah,” he said with a tired smile, “let’s just say my cologne wasn’t the only thing I put too much hope into.”
I winced, my heart twisting for him. “Oh, sweetheart…”
He waved it off, but not unkindly. “Don’t worry, Mum. I didn’t exactly bring fireworks either. Just a lot of nerves and a dumb hope that maybe someone would see me the way I see her.”
I reached out and placed my hand over his, our fingers curling together like puzzle pieces that had always fit, even through the years when he’d grown taller than me and needed me less and less.
“You will be seen,” I said. “Not just looked at—but seen. For everything you are.”
He gave me a small nod, his eyes glinting with that raw, unsaid emotion. “You too. You should be worshipped, not… rescheduled.”
We both laughed at that, the kind of laugh that teetered too close to crying again. But it helped. It cracked the heaviness hanging over us just a bit.
I shifted, tugging my dress back into place—it had bunched around my thighs from how long I’d been curled up. I caught Mathew’s glance, quick but instinctive, and I saw something flicker behind it. He looked away fast, respectful but… real.
And for a moment, I was reminded—uncomfortably but truthfully—that in his eyes, I wasn’t just Mum. I was still a woman. A woman who had been hurt. A woman trying, failing, aching.
“You know what I hate the most?” I said, tipping my glass back with a small sigh. “It’s not even the rejection. It’s the waste. The effort. The hours you spend trying to feel beautiful again. Trying to convince yourself you’re still worth someone’s time. I mean, I waxed places tonight I haven’t even looked at since 2019.”
That got him to laugh—a real one this time—and he nearly choked on his whiskey.
“Mum!” he gasped, eyes wide with amusement.
I grinned, wiping at my eyes. “Oh, come on, I’ve earned the right to overshare tonight. Besides, if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll end up crying all over again and I’m out of makeup remover.”
He reached for the tissue box and handed it to me with a smirk. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before.”
“Raw? Unfiltered? Slightly tipsy and wildly over-dressed for my living room?”
“All of the above,” he said, then leaned in, voice lower. “But still the most beautiful woman I’ve seen all night.”
That stilled me. I blinked at him, not because I didn’t believe him—but because I did. And that realization, coming from him, hit me deeper than I expected.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
We sat in silence again, sipping, breathing, just being.
The candles had burned out, but the room still held that flicker of intimacy. Something about the night… the heartbreak… the honesty—it had made everything feel more exposed. But not in a bad way. Just… vulnerable.
Real.
I laid my head against his shoulder, and he didn’t flinch. Just rested his cheek on the top of my hair again.
“I don’t know what tomorrow looks like,” I said softly. “But tonight… this? I needed it.”
“Me too,” he murmured. “I guess being let down hurts a little less when you’ve got someone to sit with in the ashes.”
I smiled. “Poetic.”
“I get it from you,” he said.
I turned and kissed his cheek, lingering a second longer than usual. “You’re a good man, Mathew. I hope she sees that someday.”
“And I hope someone sees you,” he said back. “All of you. The real you.”
An hour had passed, and we were halfway through the second bottle of wine. The whiskey had done its damage earlier—left me raw and exposed, like nerves on skin. But the wine? That brought something else. A slow warmth. A boldness, too. My cheeks were flushed, my dress loose now at the top, having slipped slightly off my shoulder from the way I’d curled into the couch.
I laughed—openly, uncontrollably—at something Mathew had said. I don’t even remember what. Something about how his date had awkwardly mispronounced “charcuterie” and tried to pass off a Kit-Kat bar as dessert. But it wasn’t the words—it was the way he looked at me as I laughed, the way his smile softened, like he was watching something he didn’t want to end.
I covered my mouth, still giggling, my head falling back against the cushions. “God, I must look ridiculous,” I muttered, barely able to catch my breath.
“No,” he said. Instantly. Like he’d been waiting to say it. “You look… beautiful.”
I turned to him, my laughter fading as I met his eyes.
His voice had changed. Lower. Slower. Like he wasn’t just talking to me anymore—but seeing me.
“Mathew…”
He shook his head, blinking quickly, like he was trying to rein himself back in. “Sorry. That came out weird. I just meant… I’ve never seen you like this.”
I tilted my head, heart thudding suddenly. “Like what?”
He took a breath and set his glass down, leaning toward me slightly. “Like you. The real you. Not the one making school lunches, or reminding me to take my jacket. The woman underneath all that. With this dress and that laugh and your hair falling around your face like…” His voice dropped, rough now. “Like a dream.”
Something in my chest twisted. Tightened.
I sat up straighter, brushing my fingers through my curls, suddenly conscious of how I must’ve looked—makeup smudged, cheeks glowing, lips wine-dark and swollen from sipping and laughing.
“It’s been a long time since anyone made me feel… seen,” I said quietly. “Let alone told me I was beautiful.”
Mathew didn’t look away. “Then a lot of people haven’t been looking hard enough.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding, something electric in the space between us. We were still. Too still. The room held its breath.
“I was so ready tonight,” I whispered. “Not just for romance. But for touch. For connection. I didn’t even put on underwear, Mathew. That’s how sure I was that tonight… would be different. That maybe… I was still wanted.”
His jaw tensed, his eyes dropped for a split second—and then back to mine. “You are wanted.”
I felt something burn behind my eyes—not embarrassment, but the ache of longing. Of hearing words I hadn’t realized I’d been dying for. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe I’m too drunk. Or maybe it’s because you’re the only man who’s ever looked at me like that and not expected something in return.”
“I’m not expecting anything,” he said softly. “I just… I see you, Mum. You’ve always been everything. But tonight, you’re more. You’re radiant. And it breaks my heart to think anyone could make you feel like you’re not.”
My hand found his before I could even think about it. Our fingers laced together, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt safe. Not just safe—held. Emotionally. Deeply.
I looked down at our joined hands, his larger one gently wrapped around mine, and felt tears rise again—but I didn’t wipe them away.
“I almost didn’t buy this dress,” I whispered. “I thought maybe it would be too much. Too clingy. Too young for me. But I wanted to feel sexy again. And when Ron said he was coming, I let myself believe I could be… that woman. Just once.”
He reached up then, slow, hesitant, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You are that woman,” he murmured. “You’ve always been that woman.”
I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. My heart was too loud, my skin too hot. I stared at him, at the way he looked at me—not with pity, not with confusion, but with something that made my stomach clench and my chest swell all at once.
“I don’t know what’s happening right now,” I admitted, voice trembling. “But it feels… important.”
He nodded, gaze still locked to mine. “Me either. But I don’t want it to stop.”
I let out a shaky breath and leaned in just a little I gently placed my hand softly on his thigh. “Can we just… sit here a bit longer? Pretend we’re not two broken hearts in a too-quiet house?”
“Yeah,” he said, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “We can pretend. I… I would like that too.”
So we sat—legs tangled, breath mingling, hands still holding on. The candles had died, and the night had grown quiet, but something between us glowed—something raw and real and maybe even a little dangerous in its honesty.
The room had fallen quiet again, not from lack of words, but because none were needed. There was something in the stillness between us—something heavier than silence, but softer than regret. It wrapped around us like a warm blanket, muffling the world outside. The flicker of candles had gone out long ago, and only the dull glow of the kitchen light remained, casting golden shadows across the floor.
My hand was still in his, and I could feel the thrum of his pulse under my fingers—steady, comforting. My other hand had drifted to his thigh, a soft, unconscious gesture, nothing more than a need to feel grounded. Real. I didn’t move it. Neither did he.
I looked at our hands. Mine, delicate and painted with a shade of wine that matched my lips. His, broader now—no longer the small, chubby fingers I used to kiss after pulling him off the monkey bars. Time had changed us both. It had carved him into a man. And it had softened me into a woman who longed for connection more than perfection.
“This night could’ve been something else entirely,” I whispered, almost more to myself than to him.
He turned slightly, just enough for our eyes to meet. “It is something else.”
And I felt that. Not in the surface of my skin, but deeper. In the places I’d kept guarded for years. I wasn’t just mourning a missed date or a ruined evening—I was mourning all the moments I’d convinced myself I didn’t need. The soft whispers, the warm glances, the feeling of being wanted not for what I could give, but for who I was.
Mathew saw that. Somehow, impossibly… he saw me.
“I used to think,” I began softly, “that if I just kept being strong, kept putting everyone else first, that love would find its way back to me. That I wouldn’t have to go looking for it.”
He was quiet, letting me speak. Letting me bleed.
“But I’ve realized… sometimes you can do everything right, and still end up alone. Still end up sitting on a couch in a dress you bought just to feel good in your own skin, wondering if you’re too much… or maybe just not enough.”
“You’re not alone,” he said, and his voice was thick with something. Something like pain. “And you’ve never been too much. Or not enough. You’ve always been… everything, Mum.”
I smiled, lips trembling, and finally looked up at him. “You’re not just saying that because I’m a mess and you’re trying to make me feel better?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. I’m saying it because it’s the truth. I saw you tonight before I even walked in the room. You were glowing. You looked like… like you were meant to be standing under soft lights, with music playing, and someone watching you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.”
I swallowed hard, my throat aching. “That’s what I wanted tonight. Just for once… to be the only thing that mattered.”
“You are,” he said. “You always have been. You just… forgot. Or maybe no one reminded you.”
And God, it undid me. His words filled a part of me that had gone hollow. A woman can go a long time without being touched, without being kissed, without being loved—and still survive. But when someone sees her? When someone reminds her that she matters, in a way that’s not performative or out of pity, but with quiet, honest devotion… it can break something open.
I turned toward him fully, lifting my hand to his cheek. He didn’t pull away. His eyes closed for a second, just breathing me in.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I whispered.
“Same,” he said, resting his forehead against mine.
We stayed like that—breathing the same breath, hearts stitched together by pain and wine and unsaid things. And in that moment, I didn’t feel like his mother. I felt like me. Just a woman. A woman who’d been broken, and was now being held together by the most unexpected of hands.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “Can I hold you? Just… hold you?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
And he did. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, and I let go. Let my body melt into his warmth, let the dress wrinkle and the tears fall and the quiet pull of affection between us settle into something steady. Something safe.
The wine, the heartbreak, the vulnerability—it had all peeled us back to our most honest selves. No masks. No roles. Just two hearts sitting in the wreckage of what should’ve been… and building something beautiful from the pieces.
“I don’t want to forget this night,” I said, my voice muffled against his chest.
“You won’t,” he whispered. “I won’t let you.”
I tilted my head up at him and stared into his eyes.
He leaned into me his lips gently on mine as we kissed and he pulled away, “Mum I…”
“No don’t,” I put my hand around his neck and pulled him towards me as we kissed again, this time longer. We started to get more sloppy as we kissed at the same time we slowly started to lay down with him on top of me kissing me still.
He then started kissing my neck, oh fuck he was turning me on so much. I felt his hand at the bottom of my dress as he slowly pushed it up over my waist. I remember telling him I left off my underwear.
His hand froze, hovering just above the bare skin of your thighs. He pulled back, eyes wide with a mix of shock and desire.”You’re not wearing…” he trailed off, voice hoarse.
I nodded, biting my lip. “I wanted to feel…free.Tonight.” My heart raced, pounding against my ribs. I’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But with Mathew, it felt right.
“I… I want to have sex with you Mum.” He said as I heard his zipper go down.
His words hung heavy in the air, a confession and a question all at once. I could see the desire burning in his eyes, the way his pupils were dilated, his breathing shallow. He was waiting for my response, his hand still hovering just above my bare skin.
I swallowed hard, my own heart racing. This was wrong. Incestuous, forbidden. But as I looked up at Mathew, at the way he was looking at me with such raw, unbridled want, I couldn’t deny the ache between my legs, the way my body yearned for his touch.
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.”I want that too.”
He kissed my neck again and thrust forward as I felt his cock pierce through my labia. My labia parted and he sank deep inside my pussy. He starts to move in and out of my motherly gash.
His hips moved with a rhythm that was both familiar and new, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. The dress bunched up around my waist, the fabric a stark contrast to the smooth skin of his chest pressed against mine.
“Fuck, Mum,” he groaned, his breath hot against my ear. “You feel so good.” His words spurred me on, and I arched my back, meeting his thrusts with my own. The couch creaked beneath us, the only sound besides our heavy breathing and the wet, slick noises of our bodies joining.
His movements grew more urgent, more desperate, as he chased his pleasure. I could feel him thickening inside me, his climax approaching. But I didn’t want this to end. Not yet. Not when I was so close to the edge myself.
“Wait,” I gasped, placing a hand on his chest. “Slow down. I’m not ready for this to be over.” He nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
“Sorry,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.”I just… I can’t believe this is happening. You’re so beautiful, Mum. So perfect.”
His words, whispered against my skin, sent a shiver down my spine. I looked up at him, taking in the sight of his flushed face, his hair damp with sweat, his eyes dark with desire. At that moment, he wasn’t just my son—he was a man, a lover, someone who saw me in a way no one else ever had.
“Kiss me,” I breathed, and he obliged, his lips crashing against mine in a passionate, hungry kiss. Our tongues danced, exploring, tasting, as his hips began to move again, slower this time, savouring each thrust.
I ran my hands over his back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath his skin. He was strong, powerful, and yet so gentle with me. His hands roamed my body, caressing my curves, squeezing my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress. I moaned into his mouth, arching into his touch. “You like that, don’t you?”
He smiled against my lips, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I like everything about you, Mum. Every inch of you.” His hands slid down to my hips, gripping them tightly as he thrust deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside me that made my toes curl.
I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Mathew! Oh God, Mathew!” I couldn’t believe the sounds coming out of my mouth, the way I was responding to him. It was like a dam had burst, unleashing years of pent-up desire and need.
He grunted, his pace quickening as he felt my walls clench around him. “Fuck, Mum. You’re so wet.” His words were punctuated by his thrusts, each one driving him deeper into my core. I could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it stretched me open, filling me completely.
“Ahh, Mathew! Yes, just like that!” I cried out, my hips bucking to meet his thrusts. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming me entirely. I’d never felt anything like this before, never imagined that my own son could bring me to such heights of ecstasy.
He leaned down, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth through the fabric of my dress. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him against me, urging him on.
“If I were you Mum I would hold on tight,” as soon he said that I gripped him tightly and wow he started hammering into me really hard and I mean HARD. “UNGH, take it all of my cock mum.”
“Yes, Mathew! Give it to me!” I screamed, my voice echoing through the room as he pounded into me mercilessly.
The dress was bunched up around my waist now, the straps slipping off my shoulders, exposing my breasts to the cool air. But I didn’t care. All I cared about was the feeling of his cock splitting me open, filling me up completely. His hands gripped my hips tightly, fingers digging into my flesh as he held me in place, his hips slamming against mine with bruising force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with our laboured breaths and moans of pleasure.
“Fuck, Mum. You’re so fucking tight. I can’t… I can’t hold back,” he grunted, his face contorted with exertion and ecstasy. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his hair plastered to his skin.
“Wait,” I gasped, placing a hand on his chest. “Not yet. Please, Mathew. I’m not ready for this to end.”
He nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His hips slowed, his thrusts becoming gentler, more controlled. “Okay, Mum. We’ll go slow. I’ll make it last. Let’s change position, I want you doggy style is that ok.”
I nodded, my breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, okay. Let’s do that. First, let me take this dress off.” I took off my dress exposing my whole body to him then I rolled over onto my hands and knees.
Mathew’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of my naked body, his gaze roaming over every curve and dip. “Fuck, Mum,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. “You’re gorgeous.”
He positioned himself behind me, his hands gripping my hips tightly. I could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his cock pressing against my entrance. He leaned over me, his chest flush against my back, his lips brushing against my ear.
“Are you ready?” he whispered, his voice low and husky. I nodded, my heart racing in my chest. “Yes,” I breathed. “Please, Mathew.”
He slowly pushed into me, his cock sliding deep into my pussy.
He filled me, his length and girth stretching me in ways I’d never experienced before. I asked, my fingers curling into the couch cushions as he began to move, his hips rolling against mine in a slow, steady rhythm.
“Oh God, Mathew,” I moaned, my head falling forward as I pushed back against him. “You feel so good inside me.” His hands slid up my back, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine before gripping my shoulders. He pulled me back against him, his thrusts becoming deeper, more urgent. The sound of our bodies coming together filled the room, a wet, slapping noise that only served to heighten my arousal.
“Fuck, Mum,” he groaned, his breath hot against my neck. “Your pussy is incredible.”
Mathew’s words sent a shiver down my spine, his praise fueling the fire burning within me. I pushed back against him harder, meeting his thrusts with my own, our bodies moving in perfect sync. The couch creaked beneath us, the fabric of the cushions digging into my knees as I braced myself against his powerful thrusts.
“Yes, Mathew,” I panted, my voice strained with pleasure.”Fuckme harder. Ahh honey harder.”
Mathew’s grip tightened on my hips as he obliged, his thrusts becoming faster, more forceful as he hammered into me most brutal way. The sound of our bodies colliding echoed through the room, punctuated by our laboured breaths and moans of pleasure.I could feel every inch of him inside me, his thick cock stretching me deliciously, hitting depths I didn’t know existed.
“Yes, yes, YES!” I cried out, my fingers digging into the couch cushions. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming me entirely. I’d never felt anything like this before, never imagined that my own son could bring me to such heights of ecstasy. The sound of my ass cheeks clapping loudly against his hips.
Mathew’s pace was relentless, his hips slapping against my ass with a force that left me breathless. The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies coming together, the wet, slapping noise mixing with our moans and grunts of pleasure. I could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it slid in and out of my soaked pussy, stretching me wide and filling me.
“Yes, Mathew!” I screamed, my voice hoarse from the intensity of it all.”Fuck me harder! Ahh, you’re so deep! So big!”
He growled in response, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips as he pulled me back onto his cock with each thrust. The pain of his grip only served to heighten my pleasure, the mix of pain and pleasure sending me spiralling towards the edge of orgasm.
“I’m gonna cum, Mum,” he panted, his voice strained with exertion and impending release.
Mathew’s words sent a thrill through me, knowing that he was on the verge of climax inside me. I pushed back against him, my hips moving in time with his thrusts, urging him on. “Yes, Mathew,” I gasped. “Cum for me. Fill me up.”
His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he slammed into me with a final, powerful thrust.
“Fuck, Mum!” he cried out, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside me. I could feel his hot seed spurting deep into my core, coating my walls with his essence. As he came, I felt my own orgasm wash over me, my pussy clamping down around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me. I screamed his name, my voice echoing through the room as I rode out the intense sensations coursing through my body.
Mathew dropped limp onto my back, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. I could feel his heart racing, pounding against my skin as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. We stayed like that for a long moment, our bodies entwined, our hearts beating in sync.
“Wow,” he murmured, his voice muffled against my skin. “That was… incredible.”
He rolled off of me, collapsing onto the couch beside me. We lay there, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. The room was silent except for our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Mathew turned his head to look at me, his eyes dark and intense. “That was… I don’t even know what that was,” he said, his voice rough.
I turned to face him, tracing my fingers along his jawline. “It was something,” I agreed softly. “Something beautiful and terrible and completely forbidden.”He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured. “But I’m glad we did.” I nodded, my heart aching with a mix of guilt and satisfaction. “Me too,” I whispered. “I’ve never felt anything like that before. Never imagined that I could.”
Mathew opened his eyes, searching my face. “What do we do now?”
“We don’t do anything,” I said softly. “We just… be. Be together, in this moment, without labels or expectations. Can we do that?”
He nodded, squeezing my hand gently. “Yeah. I’d like that. What you say we go to bed, together.”
He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips.”Yeah, let’s do that. Together.” He stood up, offering his hand to help me off the couch. As it took it, he pulled me into a gentle hug, resting his chin on top of my head.
“I love you, Mum,” he murmured. “No matter what happens next, I want you to know that.” I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly.
“I love you too, Mathew. More than you’ll ever know.” We stayed like that for a long moment, just holding each other, basking in the warmth and comfort of our embrace.
When we finally pulled apart, he took my hand and led me towards the bedroom, our footsteps quiet on the carpet. As we climbed into bed, he pulled me close, spooning me from behind. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Tonight had been wild, I am still in shock, but the truth is I couldn’t see him as a son any more, not after what we did on the couch. I wanted us to be… lovers.