The rustle of the duvet was what first stirred me, a soft, almost imperceptible whisper in the otherwise silent house. I’d been drifting, somewhere between dreams and full wakefulness, but that sound, so close, pulled me back. My eyes remained stubbornly shut, heavy with a feigned slumber I hadn’t known I’d need to assume. Then came the warmth, a solid, unsettling heat against my hip, followed by the faint scent of my son, Ben. That familiar smell, a mix of his deodorant and something uniquely adolescent, cloying and comforting all at once, now seemed to press in on me, suffocating.
My heart began a slow, heavy thud against my ribs, a drumbeat of dread and a strange, unbidden curiosity. Was he just checking on me? Had he had a nightmare? I tried to regulate my breathing, make it deep and even, to truly be asleep. But the air around me felt suddenly thick, charged.
Then, a feather-light touch traced down my arm, just above the elbow. It lingered, hesitant, before moving lower, towards my hand. I felt the slight brush of his fingertips against mine, and then, slowly, meticulously, his fingers interlaced with my own. My breath hitched, but I managed to smooth it out. This was… odd. He was eighteen, nearly a man. This wasn’t how he usually sought comfort.
A shiver, not of cold, but of something else entirely, snaked down my spine when I felt the slight shift of weight on the mattress beside me. He was closer. Too close. I could almost feel the heat radiating from his body, a palpable presence. My mind raced, grappling with explanations, dismissing them one by one. This silent intimacy, this careful, deliberate closeness, felt… wrong. Deeply, unsettlingly wrong.
Then came the soft, almost imperceptible brush against my leg. He was sliding his hand, slowly, so slowly, up my thigh, under the thin silk of my nightdress. A gasp caught in my throat, swallowed before it could escape. My muscles tensed, every fibre of my being screaming to react, to open my eyes, to demand to know what he was doing. But the fear, a cold, sharp blade, held me still. What if I moved? What if I woke up? What would he do? What would I do?
His fingers grazed my inner thigh, sending a jolt of alarm through me, followed by a sickeningly familiar spark of something else. Something I hadn’t felt in years. Shame washed over me, hot and immediate. He continued his slow, torturous ascent, his touch light, exploratory. I could hear the faint, ragged sound of his own breathing, close to my ear, a little too quick. He was nervous. Was he? Or was he excited? The thought made my stomach churn.
His hand reached higher, pushing the delicate fabric of my nightdress up, bunching it around my hips. My legs were pressed together, clamped tight in an instinctive act of self-preservation. But his fingers were relentless, seeking, nudging. He wasn’t forcing, not yet, but the pressure was undeniable. A soft, almost silent groan escaped his lips, a low, guttural sound that rattled through me.
Then, the heat of his palm was flat against my knickers, pressing lightly against the mound between my legs. I could feel the thin cotton, already damp, sticking to my skin. Oh god. My own body was betraying me, reacting to this unbelievably forbidden touch. A wave of nausea, mixed with a strange, dark thrill, washed over me. This couldn’t be happening. Not with Ben. My Ben.
His fingers began to press, to rub, just lightly, over the fabric. Each tiny friction sent a jolt of perverse pleasure and profound horror through me. He was circling, swirling those fingers, mapping the contours of me through the cotton. My breath hitched and shuddered. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting the metallic tang of blood, anything to keep from making a sound.
Suddenly, the pressure shifted. He was pulling my knickers down, slowly, inch by excruciating inch. I felt the cool air against my bared skin, followed almost instantly by the warmth of his fingers reaching lower, parting my already wet folds. My body seized, a desperate, automatic clench. But his fingers were there, gentle but firm, pushing inside.
A choked whimper escaped my lips, barely audible, lost in the soft murmur of the night. He paused, his breath hitched. My heart hammered. Had he heard? Was this it? Would he stop?
But no. He didn’t pull back. Instead, his fingers deepened, one, then two, pushing gently inside me. My pussy, already slick with a mixture of fear and something unrecognisable, accommodated him. A low, throaty groan rumbled from his chest, right beside my ear. His fingers began to move, slowly, experimentally, circling, pressing against the sensitive walls.
“M-mum?” he rasped, his voice thick, barely above a whisper. “Are you… are you awake?”
I remained utterly, terrifyingly still. My eyes were squeezed shut now, a tremor running through my entire body. I focused on my breathing, making it even, deep, as if I were in the throes of a heavy sleep.
He took my silence as an answer. And with that, his movements became more confident, more urgent. His fingers inside me began to thrust, in and out, teasing, a slow, deliberate rhythm building. My hips instinctively began to rock, a subtle, almost imperceptible sway against the mattress. God, I hated myself for it. But my body, detached from my horrified mind, was responding.
“Oh, mum,” he breathed, the sound a ragged sigh. His head lowered, and I felt the warmth of his breath against my inner thigh, just above where his fingers were working their dark magic. Then, his tongue, hot and wet, licked a trail up my inner thigh, closer and closer to the wetness between my legs.
A gasp tore through me, and I couldn’t hold it back. It was a soft, choked sound, but it was there. He froze again. But this time, instead of retreating, he pressed his face closer, burying it in my already exposed mound.
My internal scream was deafening. My own son. My Ben. And then, I felt the wet heat of his mouth, his lips closing around my clitoris, his tongue flicking, tasting, drawing me in.
“Oh, fuck,” I whimpered, the sound escaping unfiltered, a raw, primal noise. I couldn’t fake sleep anymore. The sheer, overwhelming sensation, the combination of horror and undeniable pleasure, ripped through me. His mouth was incredible, sucking, teasing, his tongue swirling and pressing. I bucked slightly, my hips lifting just a fraction off the bed, a desperate, involuntary response.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and increased the pressure, sucking harder, his lips pulling at me, his tongue a relentless, maddening dance. “That’s it, mum,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against my pussy, “Let me… let me make you feel good. Please.”
My fingers curled into the duvet, clutching it desperately. My back arched, the strange, forbidden pleasure building with shocking speed. My breath came in ragged gasps, each one a betrayal. My entire body was alight, tingling, burning, as his mouth worked wonders. I could feel his hot breath on my inner labia, the suction of his lips, the sharp, exquisite friction of his tongue. He was going deep, his tongue swirling around my clitoris, then dipping to lap the opening of my pussy, sending shivers right through my core.
“Oh, G-god,” I stammered, my voice broken, completely unrecognisable to my own ears. “Ben… Ben, what are you… oh, please.” The plea was both to stop and to continue, a desperate, conflicting desire. My legs spread wider, almost unconsciously, inviting him deeper. He took the invitation, his mouth opening wider, taking more of me in, licking, probing, sucking with an intensity that made my head swim. My clitoris throbbed, swollen and sensitive, screaming for more.
He drew a long, wet groan from me as he started to suck my clit like a sweet, a deep, rhythmic pull that sent waves of pure sensation through me. “You like that, don’t you, mum?” he murmured, his voice slurred, almost indistinct from the wet sounds of him devouring me. “You feel so good. So wet.”
My fingers clenched the duvet tighter, my body beginning to tremble uncontrollably. My nipples, already hard, ached with a sudden, intense sensitivity. He was relentless, his tongue circling, flicking, then pressing firmly, teasingly, against my clit. I could feel the wetness, the heat, the slick trail he was leaving all over me. A desperate moan tore from my throat as he sucked harder, pulling me deeper into his mouth.
“Oh, Ben,” I moaned, my voice thick with a mixture of shame and undeniable arousal. “Yes… yes… please, don’t stop.” My hands, on their own accord, reached down, finding his hair, threading through the soft strands, pulling his head closer, pressing him harder against me.
He groaned again, a deep, satisfied rumble from his chest, and continued his work. His tongue deepened, swirling around my clit, then flicking rapidly, sending electric shocks through me. He was meticulous, thorough, not a single part of me left untouched by his hot, wet mouth. I could feel his stubble scraping lightly against my inner thighs, a rough, delicious sensation against my soft skin.
“Fuck, mum, you’re so wet for me,” he gasped, his words muffled by my pussy. “I can taste it. So sweet.”
My hips were rocking now, a frantic, involuntary grind against his face. My legs pushed against him, almost begging for more. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but my body was taking over, driven purely by the insatiable need for the pleasure he was so expertly providing. I could feel the delicious pressure building, a coil tightening deep inside me.
“M-more,” I whimpered, lost in the sensations, my voice barely a whisper. “Oh, god, yes. Harder. Please, Ben.”
He responded instantly, his suckling becoming more aggressive, his tongue plunging deeper, finding my G-spot, pressing against it with a devilish accuracy that made me scream into the pillow. “Yes, like that, mum? Right there?” he grunted, his voice thick with lust.
I was nearing the edge, my entire body vibrating with the intensity. My pussy was a burning, throbbing mess, his mouth a hot, wet inferno. I could feel the jiggle of my breasts against the sheets as I convulsed, a wave of shivers running through me.
Then, he pulled his face away, tearing a frustrated groan from my lips. “Hang on, mum,” he rasped, his voice raw, triumphant. “I need to be inside you. I need to feel you around me.”
I watched, dazed, as he quickly fumbled with his pyjama bottoms through the silence. My eyes, still blurry with tears of longing and release, focused on him. He was already hard, a thick, rigid shaft springing free, pulsing with a life of its own. It was bigger than I expected, thick and long, dark in the dim light of the room. A strange mix of pride and utter horror coursed through me.
He hovered over me, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes, dark and intense, fixated on my open legs. My pussy was slick, exposed, glistening in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. I could feel the heat radiating from his cock as he positioned himself between my legs.
“Ready, mum?” he rasped, his voice trembling with a raw desperation. “I need to get in.”
I could only nod, my throat too tight to speak. My gaze dropped, watching as he pressed the tip of his cock against my slick opening. It was huge, intimidating. My breath hitched. He pushed, slowly, carefully, his eyes locked on mine.
“Oh,” I gasped as the head of his cock slid past my lips, a slow, insistent stretch. “Oh, god. You’re… you’re so big.”
He grunted, a deep, guttural sound from his chest. “You’re tight, mum. So tight.” He pushed further, inch by agonising inch. I could feel the thick shaft slowly distending me, stretching me open. The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pain and profound, exhilarating fullness.
“Mmmph,” I whimpered, my hips automatically lifting, urging him deeper. He groaned, plunging forward with a sudden, powerful thrust that buried him completely inside me. My back arched, a long, drawn-out moan tearing from my throat. My pussy swallowed him whole, a perfect, impossibly tight fit.
“Fuck!” he cried out, his voice a raw explosion of pleasure. He paused for a moment, letting us both adjust, his cock pulsing deep within me. I could feel every ridge, every vein, pressing against my internal walls. The heat was immense, binding us together in a forbidden, grotesque union.
“Oh, Ben,” I gasped, my voice thin, almost broken. “Oh, fuck.”
Then he started to move. Slow, deliberate thrusts at first, withdrawing almost fully, then pushing back deep, his hips grinding against mine. The mattress creaked rhythmically, a shameful symphony to our illicit act. I could feel the jiggle of my breasts with each thrust, their weight bouncing as he pounded into me. My nipples, hard as pebbles, rubbed against the sheets, sending exquisite pangs through me.
“You feel so good, mum,” he grunted, his voice ragged with effort. “So fucking good.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. “Don’t stop,” I begged, my voice thick with lust and desperation. “Please, don’t stop. Go harder.”
He complied immediately, his thrusts becoming faster, more powerful. He was pounding into me now, a frantic rhythm that sent my internal organs vibrating. Each withdrawal was accompanied by a wet, sucking sound, each thrust by a deep, guttural grunt from him and a desperate moan from me.
I could feel my pussy clenching around him, gripping him tight, pulling him deeper with every thrust. The friction was incredible, hot and wet, building to an unbearable intensity. My eyes were squeezed shut, my head thrashing on the pillow, lost in the pure, unadulterated sensation.
“Oh, god, Ben, yes,” I whimpered, my voice rising in pitch. “That’s it. Right there. Oh, fuck!”
He pushed even harder, his body slick with sweat, his muscles straining. I could feel him pulling almost all the way out, then thrusting back in, deep, hitting my cervix with a dull thud that sent a shockwave of pleasure and pain through me. “You like that, don’t you, you little slut?” he growled, his voice low and filthy, a side of him I’d never known existed.
The vulgarity, instead of repulsing me, ignited something darker, hotter. “Yes!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Fuck me, Ben! Fuck me hard!”
He groaned in response, burying his face in my neck, biting lightly at my skin as he continued to pound into me. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy was deafening, wet and slapping. I could hear the rhythmic smack, smack, smack of his hips against mine.
I opened my eyes, my vision blurred, and looked down between our bodies. My nightdress was completely rucked up, revealing my pale thighs spread wide. His hips were a blur of motion, his hard cock disappearing and reappearing from my glistening, swollen pussy. It looked obscene, primal, utterly animalistic. The sight of it, his dark, engorged cock plunging into my wet, red pussy, sent a surge of pure, unadulterated depravity through me.
“Look, mum,” he breathed, pulling his head back slightly, his eyes blazing, “Look what I’m doing to you.”
I looked, and a moan tore from my throat. His cock was slick with my fluids, glistening as it plunged in and out, the head stretching me open with each thrust. My pussy lips were swollen, parted, glistening. The jiggle of my tits as he fucked me, the way they bounced with each impact, was mesmerisingly pornographic.
“Oh, god,” I cried out, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight. “My pussy… it’s… oh, Ben!”
He let out a deep, prolonged grunt, his body tensing, his thrusts becoming shallower, faster. “I’m almost there, mum,” he gasped, his voice strained. “So close. Oh, fuck.”
My own body was trembling, on the verge of splintering. The pressure in my core was unbearable, building to an exquisite, shattering point. “Me too,” I whimpered, my hips bucking wildly, trying to meet his every thrust. “Oh, Ben! I’m coming! I’m coming!”
He let out one final, guttural roar, plunging deep, holding himself completely buried inside me as my body seized, convulsing around him in shattering waves of pure, unadulterated orgasm. My screams filled the room, raw and uninhibited, as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me.
“Oh, fuck, mum!” he screamed, his own body jerking violently, his cock pulsing inside my spasming pussy, filling me with his hot, sticky cum. A deep, relieved groan escaped him as he collapsed on top of me, his heavy weight pinning me to the mattress, his cock still throbbing deep within my spent, still-clenching pussy.
Our ragged breaths mingled in the silence, the only sounds in the room the frantic thumping of our hearts and the slow creak of the bed. We lay tangled, glistening with sweat, bound by the raw, shocking intimacy of what had just transpired. The scent of our mingled fluids, of sex, hung heavy in the air. Then he just got out of my bed and went back to his room, what the fuck was that.