I don’t usually wear dresses like this—short, tight, gold and glittery like champagne fizz caught in the moonlight—but tonight was a celebration. It shimmered against my skin, soft and snug around my hips, plunging just low enough to remind me I still had it. My cleavage caught the ambient glow of the Vegas lights, reflected in every mirrored surface we passed. I wore heels too high and lipstick too red, but I felt alive again—almost wicked, almost twenty-one myself.
And beside me, my son was smiling like he hadn’t smiled in years. Maybe since before his father left.
“Jesus, Mom,” he’d said when I walked out of the hotel bathroom earlier. “You look like…a Bond girl or something. If you wasn’t my mom I would smash… sorry.”
I winked, grabbed my clutch and said, “Well, you only turn twenty-one once, love. Let’s raise some hell. Smash is that what you boys call it these days.”
We started on the casino floor of The Venetian—opulent, absurd. He couldn’t stop gawping at the painted ceilings and soft-lit glamour, the chandeliers dripping like frozen honey. His hand clung to my elbow like he was seven again. I liked that. I liked feeling needed.
His first drink was something silly and strong—an Old Fashioned with a twist, the orange peel catching fire as the barman prepared it. I had a martini, extra dry. He sipped, pulled a face, then grinned. “That tastes like success and poor decisions.”
I laughed, warm and real. “Exactly right.”
Then came the slots, the blinking symphony of colours and digital promises. I let him try first—his fingers hesitant, then bold. He won fifteen dollars on a machine with dolphins on it and shouted, “We’re rich!”
By the time we reached the poker tables, his cheeks were flushed and his movements looser. He tried bluffing against a Texan in a ten-gallon hat. Lost, of course. But the whole table clapped his beginner’s bravado.
By 1 a.m., we were drunk and giddy, laughing too loud, shoes in hand, my gold dress hitched just a little higher so I could walk. We spilled into the hotel elevator like kids caught out past curfew. His arm slung around me for balance, or maybe something more affectionate than that. He kept saying, “Best birthday ever,” with the kind of sincerity only alcohol and joy could produce.
Room 1817 was too white, too still. We tumbled in, and I caught myself on the armchair, laughing as he threw himself backwards on the bed, limbs akimbo.
“Why does it feel like the floor’s moving?” he muttered into the duvet.
“Because you’ve had five cocktails and a shot of tequila, that’s why.” I pulled the bedspread straight, half-heartedly. He was still in his shirt, half-buttoned wrong, his belt twisted from the restroom earlier. His eyes glittered—still wide open, still too awake.
Then he started singing.
Not just humming—singing, loud and proud, one of those half-remembered pub songs his dad used to play in the car. He was off-key, grinning, eyes shut as if he were performing at the O2. I collapsed onto the bed beside him in hysterics my dress rode up and showed my black panties.
“I’ve created a monster,” I whispered.
He rolled towards me, suddenly serious, but his eyes still sparkled. “You made this night magic.”
And there was a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just thick with everything left unspoken. A quiet hum behind the noise of the city outside. We lay side by side, fully clothed but dizzy from the nearness. His hand brushed mine. Not deliberate. Not not deliberate.
“Mom,” he murmured, soft, drowsy.
“Yes, love?”
He smiled and closed his eyes. “Never change.”
“You’re so sweet honey, I remember I used to get drunk with your dad. I would be all horny and we get to bed and boom he be asleep.” Not sure why I told him that.
“Haha, mom too much information. Anyway, I bet I could get it up, like perform with a hot woman even with a drink in my system.” He said boldly.
I felt my cheeks flush at his bold words, a mixture of embarrassment and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge. I sat up abruptly, smoothing down my dress.
“Okay, that’s enough of that kind of talk, mister. You’re still my little boy, remember?” He laughed, a low, husky sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Little? Mom, I’m six feet tall. I think I grew up a while ago.”
I stood up, putting some distance between us. “Well, I don’t care how tall you are. You’re still my son, and I don’t want to hear about your… performance abilities.”
He grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my impressive sexual prowess to myself. But for the record, I think you’re pretty hot in that dress. You should wear it more often.”
I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks at his compliment, a flutter in my stomach that I quickly suppressed.
“Oh, stop it,” I said, trying to sound dismissive. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”But even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride at his words. It had been a long time since anyone had called me hot.
He sat up, his eyes locked on mine, a playful smirk on his lips. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make it any less true.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up to face me. “You look amazing, Mom. Like, seriously stunning. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
His hand rested between my legs as my panties were showing. He put his hand on my panties and started to rub my panty-covered pussy.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat as his hand pressed against the thin fabric covering my most intimate area. A rush of conflicting emotions flooded through me – shock, embarrassment, and something else, something I dared not name. I knew I should push his hand away, and put an end to this inappropriate touching, but I remained rooted to the spot, my body betraying me with a traitorous shiver of pleasure.
“We… we shouldn’t be doing this,” I lay there just letting him.
“I want to make you feel good Mom. Can I keep going?” He smirked rubbing harder.
“I don’t know.” But my body reacted as my leg flopped open. “Ok, but no sex. God, I can’t believe I am letting you.”
His fingers pressed harder against the damp fabric, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through me. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my hips instinctively tilting up to meet his touch. This was wrong, so wrong, but it felt too good to stop.
“You’re so wet already,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.”I can feel it through your panties.”
I blushed furiously, embarrassed by my body’s betrayal. “It’s just the fabric… it’s rubbing against me…” I trailed off, unable to deny the evidence of my arousal.
Then he stretched my panties to the side, “Honey, what are you doing? I thought you just were going to rub me, I said no sex.”
“I am not having sex with you. I… I just want to finger you and lick it, wow mom your hairy,” he said smirking again as he lowered his head between my thick thighs.
Part of me screamed that this was wrong, that I should push him away and end this madness. But another part, a part I had long suppressed, yearned for his touch and craved the forbidden pleasure he offered.
“Oh god,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “This is insane. We can’t… I am also hairy as never needed to shave. As I have no reason to.” But my words trailed off as his tongue flicked out, teasing my folds. A jolt of pure electricity shot through me, and I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire.
“Shh, just relax,” he murmured, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh as he munched on my cunt. “Let me make you feel good.”
His tongue delved deeper, exploring my intimate folds with a curiosity and enthusiasm that made my head spin. I tangled my fingers in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. The sensations were overwhelming, pleasure building with each flick and swirl of his tongue.
“You taste so good, Mom,” he murmured against my skin, the vibrations sending shivers through me.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice muffled against my flesh. “And hairy. I love it.”
His words sent a shiver through me. No one had ever talked to me like this, touched me like this. It was dirty, forbidden, and utterly exhilarating. His fingers joined his tongue, sliding easily into my slick heat. I bit my lip hard to stifle a moan, my hips moving instinctively to meet his touch. He curved his fingers just right, hitting that spot that made my vision blur.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my control slipping. “Don’t stop.”
“You like that Mom, you’re making me hard,” he said as he continued.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. My son, my sweet baby boy, was pleasuring me, bringing me to the brink of orgasm. His fingers pumped in and out of me, his tongue lapping at my clit, his words dirty and encouraging. I was lost in the sensations, in the forbidden thrill of it all. Then I couldn’t take it no more I just came out with it.
“Do you wanna fuck me,” I said panting as he had got me so damn soaked and horny.
I had never seen him move so quickly in my life. He took his pants off and boxers and got stuck in instantly. He lifted my legs and put one over each shoulder and sunk his cock into me without hesitation. He started to pump in and out of my wet cunt. He held my thighs tightly to his body with each of my legs over each shoulder.
He thrust into me with a fervour I hadn’t experienced in years, his young, virile body driving me wild with each powerful stroke. The sensation of his thick cock stretching me open, filling me completely, was exquisite. I wrapped my legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, urging him on.
“Yes, fuck me,” I moaned, all inhibitions forgotten.”Harder, baby. Fuck your mommy harder.”
His hips slammed against mine, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. My tits bounced with each thrust, the gold dress riding up to my waist. He gripped my thighs tighter, his fingers digging into my skin as he pounded into me. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
“Fuck, Mom,” he grunted, his face contorted with lust. “Can I suck your tits?”
I nodded, my breath coming in short gasps as he continued to thrust into me. He leaned down, pulling the neckline of my dress down to expose my breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard as he continued to fuck me. The sensation of his hot mouth on my sensitive flesh combined with the feeling of his cock stretching me open was almost too much to bear.
“Yes, suck them,” I moaned, arching my back to give him better access. “Play with my tits while you fuck me.” He obliged, his hand coming up to knead my other breast roughly as he sucked and bit at the nipple in his mouth.
His movements became more erratic, his thrusts harder and deeper as he chased his release. I could feel my own orgasm building again, my body tensing, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He released my nipple with a pop, his eyes locking with mine. “Mom,” he groaned, his voice strained. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come inside you.”
“Yes,” I hissed, my nails digging into his back. “Do it. Fill me up. I want to feel you’re hot come inside me.”
With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside me, his cock pulsing as he spilt his seed. I cried out, my own orgasm crashing over me, my body convulsing with the intensity of it. We stayed like that for a moment, locked together, our bodies trembling with the aftermath of our passion.
Finally, he collapsed on top of me, his face buried in my neck.
He lay there, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close as we both came down from the high of our forbidden encounter. The reality of what we’d done began to sink in, and a pang of guilt pierced through the haze of pleasure. But as I looked into his eyes, seeing the love and affection mixed with the lingering desire, I knew I couldn’t regret it. Not completely.
“Mom,” he murmured, his voice soft and sleepy. “That was… incredible.” I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
“It was, ah fuck I needed that,” I agreed. “But we need to be careful. This can’t happen again.” He nodded, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes.
“I know. I just… I don’t want to lose this feeling. Being close to you like this.” My heart ached at his words. I understood the sentiment all too well. “Best birthday ever Mom, and don’t hate me for saying this but that is the best pussy I have had.”
I looked at him, my heart racing, my body still tingling from our encounter. His words hung in the air between us, a mixture of tenderness and crude honesty that summed up the complexity of our situation. I knew I should be offended, should scold him for his crude language, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not when he was looking at me with such open vulnerability, such raw emotion.
“You’re impossible,” I said instead, shaking my head with a fond smile. “But I love you. And I’m glad I could make your birthday special.”
He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You did more than that, Mom. You made it unforgettable.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. It was a gentle kiss, devoid of the hunger and desperation from earlier, but no less meaningful. It was a kiss of gratitude, of affection, of a bond that went beyond the physical.