The glow of the phone screen illuminated my face in the dimness of my bedroom. Eighteen years old, and my life revolved around the familiar digital hum of notifications, game updates, and of course, messages from Chloe. Chloe, with her sharp wit and even sharper curves, was the current epicentre of my universe. Tonight, however, the universe had decidedly tilted on its axis, threatening to send me spiralling into a black hole of mortification.
My thumbs had been flying across the keyboard, fuelled by a potent mix of teenage hormones and Saturday night anticipation. Chloe had sent a teasing text, something about needing a distraction from her boring homework. My response was brewing in my mind, a carefully crafted blend of suggestive words and visual confirmation of my… readiness. I’d snapped a picture – a good one, if I was honest, catching the light just right, emphasizing… everything. The message was equally direct, a little crude, the way Chloe and I liked it when we were feeling bold behind the safety of our screens: “Let me ram this up you cunt.” Attached, the photo. Confident, ready to send.
Except, in my haste, my thumb had slipped. Not on the ‘send’ button for Chloe’s chat, but… one line up. My mother’s name, ‘Mom Marie’, stared back at me from the top of the screen. My blood ran cold. The sent arrow was a mocking shade of blue, and I could practically feel the digital bullet ripping through the internet cables straight into her phone.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. I stared at my phone, paralyzed. ‘Mom Marie’… the message… the picture. My stomach lurched, a wave of nausea washing over me. My brain, usually a whirring engine of teenage thoughts, stalled completely.
“Oh, god, no,” I whispered, the words barely audible above the frantic drumming of my heart in my ears. I frantically tapped, scrambling for the ‘unsend’ button, but it was too late. The dreaded ‘Delivered’ notification mocked me from beneath the message. Delivered. To my mother.
My mom, Marie, was forty-two, a sophisticated woman who exuded a quiet strength. She was intelligent, well-read, and possessed a dry wit that could be both comforting and slightly intimidating. I pictured her now, in her room down the hall, probably curled up with one of her novels. And then, the notification. The jarring ping of my message landing on her phone, followed by… that.
I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining her reaction. Disgust? Anger? Utter embarrassment? All of the above, probably. My face burned with shame. How could I be so stupid? So careless?
Desperate damage control kicked in. My fingers, now trembling, flew across the keyboard, typing out a frantic apology.
Me: 🤦♂️ Oh god, Mom, I’m so sorry! That wasn’t meant for you! 😩
Sent. Too late, too little. The digital toothpaste was out of the tube, and no amount of apologetic emojis could squeeze it back in.
I followed it up with another, equally pathetic attempt:
Me: 😳😳 I’m so embarrassed! Please forget about it.
More emojis. As if a few cartoon faces could erase the image seared into her phone’s memory. I wanted to dig a hole in the floor and disappear. Maybe move to Antarctica. Change my name. Anything to escape this excruciating humiliation.
I waited, each second stretching into an eternity. The silence from her phone was deafening. Was she even reading them? Was she in shock? Furious? I imagined her pacing her room, phone clutched in her hand, struggling to process what her eighteen-year-old son had just accidentally sent her.
Then, finally, a reply. My phone buzzed, and I snatched it up, heart pounding, bracing myself for the worst.
Mom: 🤔 Well, that’s certainly a… surprise. I guess it runs in the family. 😉
My breath hitched. ‘Runs in the family?’ What was that supposed to mean? And a winking emoji? This wasn’t the screaming, horrified reaction I had anticipated. It was… weirdly… playful?
A nervous chuckle escaped my lips, a shaky sound in the silence of my room. This was so bizarre.
Me: 😂😂 Guess so. I’m just gonna… go hide now. Bye!
I was still trying to escape. Hide, disappear, pretend this never happened.
Mom: 😘 No need to run away, Mathew. We’re adults, we can handle a little accident.
‘Adults’? ‘Little accident’? Was she seriously downplaying this? This was a digital dick pic sent to my mother! There was nothing ‘little’ or ‘accidental’ about the level of awkwardness here. But… she wasn’t being angry. She wasn’t even being overly concerned. She was… almost… amused?
The conversation continued, and with each text from her, the tension in my chest eased, replaced by a strange cocktail of confusion and curiosity. It was like stepping onto thin ice, unsure if it would crack or hold.
Mom: 📖 So, what were you planning to do with that pic, young man? 😏
‘Young man’? The smirk was practically audible in her text. And the book emoji? Was she even reading? Was she just trying to distract from the giant, throbbing digital elephant in the room?
Me: 😳😜 Uhm, I was just gonna… you know. Show Chloe. 💁♂️
The ‘💁♂️’ felt ridiculous, a pathetic attempt to inject some nonchalance into the situation.
Mom: 😂 Ah, I see. And how’s Chloe doing? 💅
Another emoji. This was surreal. My mom was using nail polish emojis while discussing my accidentally sent dick pic.
Me: 😳 Oh, she’s good. Really good. 😊
I felt my face heat up again, but this time, it was a different kind of heat. Not shame, but something… warmer, more… charged.
Mom: 😉 I’m glad. Now, tell me more about this picture. 📸
The directness of it took my breath away. ‘Tell me more about this picture.’ Was she… interested? That was insane. My mom, interested in my dick pic? It was ludicrous, yet… here she was, typing those words.
Me: 😳😳 Well, it’s… pretty big. 🍆
I typed it hesitantly, a childish boast, but I couldn’t help myself. The whole situation was pushing me towards the edge of something… something I couldn’t quite define.
Mom: 😲 Oh? I’ll take your word for it. 😉
‘Take my word for it’? The implication hung heavy in the digital air. Was she actually… flirting? With me? Her son? The thought was both repulsive and… undeniably… thrilling. A dangerous current began to pull at me, a forbidden eddy of attraction.
Mom: 💦🍑 Mmm, I can only imagine what it would feel like… 😏
Okay, this was no longer ‘playful’. This was… suggestive. Intensely so. The emojis, the words… they painted a vivid picture, and my body responded in a way that both terrified and excited me. My heart pounded harder, and a familiar tightening began in my groin. This was wrong. So wrong. But…
Me: 😲🍆 I… I don’t know, Mom. It’s not something I’ve ever done with you before. 😳
The words felt clumsy, inadequate, but they were the closest I could get to expressing the whirlwind of emotions inside me.
Mom: 😉 Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? 😈 I can’t get the image of your throbbing member out of my head LOL.
The devil emoji. The brazenness of it. My breath hitched in my throat. ‘Throbbing member.’ She’d actually written that. My mother.
Me: 🍆💦 Mom, I… I think I’m getting turned on. 😳
Confession. Taboo confession. The words hung in the digital space, raw and vulnerable.
Mom: 😳 Mmm, maybe it’s time for bed, then. Gotta keep that thing under control. 😉
‘Keep that thing under control’? But she was the one who had unleashed it, who had stoked the flames.
Me: Fuck I bet you have a nasty gash now with all this talk, mind if I wank. Or shall I come to your room 🍆💦
The words were out before I could fully process them. Bold. Reckless. Driven by a primal urge I couldn’t deny.
Me: 💭 Your words, Mom… they’ve got me all hot and bothered. 😖
Mom: 😈 I must admit, this is quite the sensation. But remember, your room for now, love. Keep those thoughts private.
‘For now.’ That was the key phrase. ‘For now.’ It implied… later. Possibility. Promise?
Mom: 🙊 Imagine if I were there, feeling how hard you are… just thinking of that.
My breath caught. Just the thought of her… her hands, her touch… on me… A shiver ran down my spine, electrifying, forbidden.
Me: UGH, Mom… that makes me wanna go wild.
Mom: 💋 Be a good boy for now, I am curious what you would do to me, you know if I let you. You’ve got me all flustered too. We’ll talk more later, maybe. Maybe I will send a pic so we are even. 😘
‘If I let you.’ The power dynamic shifted, subtly, dangerously. ‘Send a pic so we are even.’ The anticipation was building, almost unbearable.
Me: 😵💫 Mom, I… I can’t stop thinking about it. My cock’s throbbing hard. Wish I could come to your room right now and show you a good time.
Then, the notification. A picture. From Mom.
My thumb trembled as I tapped to open it. The image loaded, slowly, agonizingly. And then… there it was. Her. Not just a picture of her… but that. Her most intimate self, exposed, vulnerable, and shockingly… pink, soft, inviting. A close-up, deliberately teasing, a glimpse of moist folds and the promise of hidden depths.
My breath hitched. My cock, already hard, throbbed with a fresh surge of blood. It was raw, real, and impossibly… arousing. This wasn’t some anonymous image from the internet. This was my mother. And she was offering herself to me, digitally at least, in a way I never could have imagined.
Me: 💥 Holy shit, Mom! You’re… wow.
Mom: 😏 A little payback for your surprise, darling. You’ve got me all riled up too. 😜
‘Payback.’ But it felt like more than that. It felt like an invitation. A challenge. A dangerous game we were now playing.
Me: 😳 I’m getting so hard looking at that. Wish I could touch, lick… explore every inch right now.
Mom: 👅 Mmm, I bet you’d be good at it, Mathew. Maybe one day you’ll show me what that eager tongue can do. Or something else 🍆.
‘One day.’ But the ‘maybe’ in her earlier text felt less certain now. The momentum was building, pulling us both closer to the edge.
Me: 🤯 Mom, are you serious? Right now?
The ellipses bubbled on her end, those three little dots stretching out, each blink of the screen a hammer blow against my restraint. My room felt suffocatingly small. The air crackled with unspoken desires, forbidden thoughts taking root and blossoming into overwhelming urges. Could I? Should I? The questions raged within me, battling against the undeniable pull of my body, my desires.
Mom: 😈 Serious as a heart attack, darling. Unless you’re scared? Don’t tell me that big cock is just for show.
‘Scared?’ The taunt hit its mark. My teenage pride, my burgeoning masculinity, bristled at the challenge. Scared? No. Intrigued? Terrified? Absolutely. But scared? Never.
Me: Scared? Please. Give me five minutes. Get your knickers off ready as I wanna get stuck right in 😈😈.
The reply was instant, a stark, provocative demand.
Mom: You better last longer than 5 minutes if your going to be fucking me, don’t cum quick 🍆💦.
With trembling hands, I pocketed my phone and moved like a man on a mission. My footsteps, usually careless, were now cautious, deliberate. Down the dark hallway, the carpet muffled my approach, the only sound the creak of my knees as they threatened to buckle under the weight of anticipation. I paused at her door, a barrier between our worlds. My palm, slick with sweat, hovered over the wood.
I knocked, soft, yet firm. “Mom?”
A muffled “Come in” urged me on.
I entered, and there she was, my mom, Marie. The air was charged, the room dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of her phone. Our eyes met, hers giving me permission, encouraging the next step. She lay on her bed, the sheets bunched at her side, revealing more than I’d ever dared to imagine. Her legs, slightly parted, hinted at the treasure between them, the same treasure that had stared back at me from my phone screen.
“Mom… you’re… wow,” I breathed out, my voice cracking with anticipation.
Marie smiled, a knowing, sultry smile. “Come closer, Mathew. Let’s not waste time.”
I moved to the bedside, my cock straining against my boxers, demanding freedom. Dropping my pants, I revealed my readiness, and her eyes widened ever so slightly. There was no turning back. The air was thick with tension, with need.
“Look at you,” she purred, her gaze fixed on my throbbing dick. “All for me, huh?”
I nodded, unable to form words, the sight of her, her wet gash glistening, speaking directly to my primal urges.
“You’re making me so wet,” she confessed, her voice a low whisper, as she slid her hand down, touching herself. The squelch of her fingers greeted me, an invitation.
My knees hit the edge of the bed, and I crawled over her, my body aligning with hers. The tip of my cock found its way to her entrance, teasing, probing. The heat radiated, promising.
“Mom, this is… crazy,” I managed, my breath hot against her neck.
“Crazy good,” she corrected, her hands guiding me, pressing me forward. “I want it, Mathew. All of it.”
I pushed, and the sensation of sliding inside her was like nothing else. Warm, tight, wet. A gasp escaped her lips, and I echoed it with a low, guttural groan.
“Ughh, yes! All the way in there,” she urged, her nails digging into my back.
The sounds filled the room – the squelch of our joining, the smack of our skin, the harsh breaths we shared. Every thrust was a revelation, a forbidden symphony of flesh and desire.
“Harder, yes, pound my pussy,” she commanded, her voice laced with need.
I obliged, my hips moving with a rhythm born of instinct and lust. The bed creaked beneath us, a steady beat to our dance.
“Grrr, fuck. That dick feels so good,” she moaned, her legs wrapping around me, pulling me deeper.
“Where do you want me to cum?” I growled, feeling the coil of pleasure tightening.
“Anywhere you want,” she panted, her eyes locking onto mine. “Don’t stop. Not yet.”
“OOHH, Mom!” I groaned, the pleasure building, the room spinning with the intensity of our coupling.
Each thrust, each slide, was a symphony of skin and slick sounds. Her moans urged me on, “NGHH, yes, there!” as I angled to hit that spot, the one that made her body arch, her breath hitch.
The world shrank to just us, to the sounds of our bodies, the sensations that consumed us. The taboo, the thrill, it all fueled the fire between us.
Her nails raked down my back, spurring me on. “UNGHH, harder!”
I complied, the slap of my balls against her thighs punctuating our rhythm. “Ugh, Mom, I’m close,” I warned, my control slipping.
“Not yet, don’t cum yet, ah,” she gasped, her body clenching around me, milking me.
“Oohh, you feel… incredible,” I managed, fighting the urge to let go.
Her encouragement was my undoing. “Let go, Mathew. Fill me up,” she whispered, her voice a command.
The release was explosive, a wave of pleasure that crashed over us both. I groaned her name, my body tensing as I spilled into her, the feeling overwhelming.
Collapsing onto her, we panted, our bodies slick with sweat. The aftermath was a quiet, heavy with the weight of what we’d just done.
“Mathew,” she breathed, her fingers tracing patterns on my back. “That… was something.”
I nodded, unable to speak, my heart still racing.
My breathing was still ragged, chest heaving against hers. “That was… Mom, I feel like I’m in some wild dream,” I whispered, my voice shaking from the aftermath.
Marie’s hands, tender and firm, roamed my back slowly, soothing the stings from her nails. “A dream you’ll remember for a long time, darling,” she whispered back, a soft chuckle in her voice.
I lifted my head to meet her eyes, which were glistening in the dim light, filled with a mix of emotions I couldn’t untangle. “Mom, this… us… is this okay? I mean, are you okay with this?”
Her smile was gentle, reassuring. “More than okay, Mathew. It’s… liberating, in a way. But we need to be careful, keep this our secret.” Her hand found mine, squeezing gently.
I nodded, my heart still racing, the reality of our taboo intimacy sinking in. “Absolutely. Our secret.”