The hum of the refrigerator was the loudest thing in the house. Mom was probably upstairs, lost in another true crime documentary. Ever since Dad left, those shows were her escape. Me? I had other escapes in mind.
It wasn’t that I didn’t feel bad for her. Fifty-four, divorced, and completely, utterly alone. I saw the loneliness in the way she lingered a little too long when she hugged me, the way she always asked about my friends, my (non-existent) dates. The thing was, Mom was… well, she was still hot. Not in a creepy way, just… vibrant. She took care of herself, she had this fire in her eyes, and sometimes, when she thought I wasn’t looking, I’d catch her checking me out too.
Yeah, I know. Freudian nightmare fuel. But the truth is, my mom has always been open and quite sex positive. It was the elephant in the room that neither of us ever mentioned. Until now.
My plan had been brewing for weeks. I’d rehearsed the “accidental text” scenario a thousand times. My heart hammered against my ribs as I pulled out my phone. I took the picture. A good one. Then, I navigated to Mom’s contact, the picture already attached. Deep breath. Send.
Immediately, regret coiled in my stomach. What the hell was I doing? This was my mom. But it was too late. The text was out there, a digital missile aimed at the already fragile landscape of our relationship.
I waited. The silence stretched. Every creak of the house sounded like a judgment. Finally, my phone buzzed.
Mom: Michael! 😡 Honey, why are you sending me your dick???
My fingers trembled as I typed my reply.
Me: OMG! Mom! I am SO sorry! 🙈 That was meant for Beth! I swear! I have been sending her pics all week she loves it 😂
I held my breath, waiting for the explosion. Instead, three agonizing minutes passed. Then:
Mom: Beth, huh? 🤔 Well I must say you are quite gifted. Don’t let her break your heart!💔
Okay. This was… unexpected. A wave of relief washed over me, quickly followed by a surge of something else entirely. Was she… flirting?
Me: Mom! Please! I’m dying of embarrassment here. 😳 Can we just pretend this never happened?
Mom: Pretend? 😉 I don’t know, honey. That’s a pretty hard image to erase from my mind. 😂
I didn’t reply immediately. I stared at the message, my mind racing. This was either the biggest disaster of my life, or… something else entirely. I decided to play it cool, see where this went.
Me: Okay, Mom. Whatever you say. Just please don’t tell Grandma. 🙏
Mom: Your secret is safe with me. 😘 Now, are you going to tell me more about this Beth? What does she do that makes you photos like that?😈
I decided to push. Just a little.
Me: LOL. I’ll tell you what she doesn’t do… she doesn’t leave me hanging. 😉
Another excruciating wait. I could practically feel Mom on the other side of the screen, processing, deciding. Finally:
Mom: Well, isn’t that just the saddest thing I’ve heard all day? 😢
My heart skipped a beat. Was this really happening?
Me: Maybe… maybe I could tell you about it sometime? You know, get some “Momly” advice? 😉
Mom: Maybe you could. But advice is boring. 😈 I am sure it would be more fun to demonstrate.
That was it. The line had been crossed. My palms were sweating, my head was spinning. This was insane. But also… incredibly hot.
Me: Mom… are you serious? 😳
Mom: Am I ever not serious about pleasure? 😏 I am a lonely lady, my boy.
I didn’t reply. I just stood there, phone in hand, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Slowly, I walked upstairs. I could hear Mom’s TV, the familiar drone of a detective explaining some gruesome murder. I paused outside her door, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“Come in!” she called.
I opened the door. She was sitting on her bed, the TV muted, a strange expression on her face. A mixture of nervousness, excitement, and something else I couldn’t quite place.
“Hey,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Hey yourself,” she replied, her eyes fixed on mine.
The air was thick with unspoken desires, with the weight of years of unspoken attraction. I walked over to the bed and sat down beside her.
“Mom,” I began, but she stopped me.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice husky. “Don’t call me Mom right now.”
She reached out and cupped my face in her hands. Her touch was electric.
“Michael,” she whispered, “I’ve been wanting this for so long.”
And then she kissed me.
The kiss was tentative at first, a hesitant exploration. But then it deepened, became urgent, desperate. Years of pent-up longing poured into that kiss, a torrent of suppressed desire finally unleashed.
We broke apart, breathless.
“This is crazy,” I said, stating the obvious.
“I know,” she said, “But does it feel wrong?”
I looked into her eyes. The answer was clear.
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t feel wrong.”
And then we were kissing again, clothes falling away, the hum of the refrigerator fading into the background as the world narrowed to just the two of us, lost in a moment of forbidden passion.
She wore a simple cotton nightie, the pale fabric clinging to the curves I knew so well, intimately. I reached out, my fingers tracing the delicate strap, letting it slip off her shoulder. The nightie slid down, pooling around her waist, revealing her smooth, pale skin. I cupped her breasts, their weight familiar and intoxicating in my hands. Her nipples hardened instantly, begging for attention. I leaned down and obliged, teasing them with my tongue, eliciting a soft moan from her lips.
My hands drifted lower, finding the hem of her nightie. I slid it up, inch by agonizing inch, revealing more and more of her until it was bunched at her waist. Beneath, she wore simple white cotton panties. My fingers hooked beneath the elastic, pulling them down, ever so slowly.
Her breath hitched as I slid her nightie up and pulled her panties to the side. Her thighs parted wider as I nudged my cock against her slick folds, the velvety lips of her vulva dark and swollen, a contrast to the pale skin of her inner thighs.
A bead of moisture glistened at the entrance and the scent of her arousal filled the air around us, musky and intoxicating. Inch by inch, I pressed forward, the head of my cock tracing the slick crevice, feeling the soft give of her labia minora yielding to my touch. The delicate flesh stretched around my girth as I pushed deeper, the tight walls of her pussy gripping my shaft like a warm glove, each millimetre drawing me further in. I watched transfixed as my length disappeared inside her, her labia stretched wide around my cock, the glistening pink of her inner walls visible with each inch I slid deeper.
“Oh god baby,” she groaned, her voice breathless and wanton, “Ahhh fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this baby, why did I come to your room, stupid text messages, oh fuck ummm,” her words a breathless rush against my ear as I slid fully inside, a perfect fit, hot and wet and utterly consuming. I could feel every clench of her pussy around me, the silky muscles rippling along my length.
“Fuck… Mom you feel so good,” I moaned as she took me deep inside her gash, so tight and perfect it was like she was made for me.
I felt her nails dig into my back, not in pain, but in a frantic grip as I pushed deeper, feeling the resistance of her cervix before I settled in completely. She was so tight around me, impossibly tight for a woman who had given birth, and the contrast of her soft, yielding skin against my hard, throbbing cock was electrifying.
“Oh, Michael,” she gasped again, her head thrown back, revealing the long, elegant line of her neck. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breasts heaving against the thin fabric of her nightie. I could see the outline of her nipples, hard and erect, pressing against the material, begging to be touched. I couldn’t resist.
My hands, which had been gripping her hips, moved upwards, sliding under the hem of her nightie. The fabric was cool against my skin for a moment before it warmed under my touch. I found the clasp of her bra at the back and with a practised flick of my fingers, I undid it. The bra loosened, and her breasts, full and heavy, split into my hands. They were even more beautiful than I had imagined, the nipples a darker shade of pink, puckered and eager.
“Michael… oh god,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. “Don’t… we can’t… but… oh god, it feels so good.”
Her words were a jumbled mess of protest and pleasure, and honestly, I wasn’t listening to the protest part. Her body was screaming yes, her pussy was gripping me like a vice, and her breasts were filling my hands, begging for attention. My own control was slipping away, replaced by a primal urge to bury myself deeper inside her, to feel her pleasure, to claim her completely.
I started to move, slowly at first, just rocking my hips against hers, feeling the incredible friction as my cock slid in and out of her tight passage. Each movement sent shivers of pleasure through me, and I could hear her breath hitch, her groans becoming louder, more unrestrained.
“Mom,” I murmured, my voice thick with lust, “open your eyes. Look at me.”
She slowly opened her eyes, her pupils dilated, dark and hungry. They were pools of desire staring back at me, all pretence of denial gone, replaced by pure, raw need.
“Michael…” she whispered, her voice husky.
“Tell me how good it feels, Mom,” I urged, continuing to rock slowly inside her, drawing out the pleasure, building the tension. “Tell me you like it.”
She closed her eyes again, her head lolling back against the headboard as a shudder ran through her body. “Oh god, yes,” she groaned, “it feels… it feels… everything. Too good. It’s wrong, but it’s… oh god, it’s so right.”
Her honesty was a further turn-on, the acknowledgement of the taboo making it even more exciting, more forbidden. I increased my pace, my hips moving faster now, deeper, harder. The room filled with the sounds of our ragged breathing, her moans mingling with my gasps.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I encouraged, my voice rough, “let it out, Mom. Let me hear you.”
She complied willingly, her moans growing louder, and more frantic. Her hands moved from my back to my shoulders, gripping them tightly as she met my thrusts with her own movements, arching her back, and pushing herself up against me. I could feel her pussy clenching around my cock, a tight, rhythmic pulse that drove me wild.
I focused on her breasts, kneading them, squeezing them, tugging gently at her nipples. They were incredibly sensitive, and each touch elicited a sharp intake of breath, a higher-pitched moan.
“Do you like that, Mom?” I asked, my mouth close to her ear, my breath hot against her skin. “Do you like it when I touch your tits?”
“Yes,” she gasped, “oh god, yes. Harder, baby, harder.”
“Harder?” I echoed, a smirk playing on my lips. “You want it harder?”
“Yes, fuck, yes!” she cried, her inhibitions completely gone now, replaced by pure, unadulterated lust.
I took her at her word, increasing the force and depth of my thrusts. I grabbed her thighs, lifting them higher, spreading them wider, giving myself even better access to her core. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me in tighter, her pussy gripping me like a velvet vice.
“God, Michael!” she screamed, her voice cracking with pleasure. “You’re killing me… it’s so good… too good…”
I plunged into her again and again, faster and harder, the rhythm building, the tension mounting. Sweat slicked my forehead, and I could feel her body slick with moisture beneath me. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, filling my senses, and driving me closer to the edge.
I looked down at her breasts as I pumped into her, watching them bounce with each thrust, her nipple’s hard peaks begging for attention. I leaned down, taking one swollen nipple into my mouth, sucking and teasing it with my tongue.
“Oh, fuck!” she shrieked, her body arching off the bed. “Michael! Right there! Yes!”
I suckled harder, my hand still kneading her other breast, my cock pounding into her pussy with relentless force. I could feel her getting closer to her orgasm, her body tightening around me, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Come on, Mom,” I urged, “let go. Let it all go.”
She started to pant, her body trembling violently beneath me. Her moans turned into wordless cries, her nails digging deeper into my back. I could feel her pussy clenching around my cock in a series of intense spasms, pulling me deeper inside her.
And then it hit her.
Her body went rigid, her back arching again, her head thrown back against the headboard. A strangled cry ripped from her throat, a long, drawn-out sound of pure ecstasy. Her pussy clenched around me with incredible force, waves of heat radiating outwards, engulfing my cock in a tidal wave of pleasure.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Michael!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and broken. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Her orgasm washed over her in powerful waves, her body bucking and shuddering beneath me. I rode the wave with her, my own orgasm building rapidly, fueled by her intense pleasure. I thrust into her one last time, a deep, powerful lunge, and then I exploded inside her.
My own orgasm was like a volcanic eruption, a torrent of pure sensation that ripped through my body. I groaned, my head falling forward onto her shoulder as I emptied myself into her hot, tight pussy. Waves of pleasure continued to wash over me, mingling with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
We lay there for a long moment, panting and gasping for breath, our bodies slick with sweat and intertwined. The only sound was the ragged rhythm of our breathing, and the faint thump of my heart in my ears. Slowly, gradually, our breathing returned to normal, the tremors subsided, and the world around us began to come back into focus.
I lifted my head and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed, her lips swollen and parted. She looked completely spent, utterly ravaged, and impossibly beautiful. A small smile played on her lips.
She opened her eyes slowly, her gaze soft and languid. She looked up at me, a hint of mischief flickering in her eyes.
“Well,” she murmured, her voice still husky, “that was… certainly something.”
I grinned down at her, feeling a surge of triumph and something else, something deeper, something that went beyond just lust and physical pleasure. Maybe it was the forbidden nature of it, maybe it was the sheer intensity of the experience, but something had shifted between us, something had changed.
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice still rough, “it was.”