I walked in from a long day at college and I had such a migraine it felt like my head was splitting.
“Hey honey, have a good day at college,” Mum shouted from the kitchen as she was cleaning.
“It was… long,” I managed to croak out, the sound reverberating unpleasantly in my skull. I winced, pressing my fingers to my temples. Each pulse of blood felt like a tiny hammer blow.
Mum must have heard the pain in my voice. She appeared in the doorway, dish towel in hand, her brow furrowed with concern. “Whoa, you look awful. What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Migraine,” I groaned, barely louder than a whisper. “Feels like someone’s taken a jackhammer to my brain.”
“Want some painkillers?” she asked, her voice laced with sympathy.
I nodded weakly. “Please. And maybe… maybe just a dark room?” The brightly lit hallway felt like a personal affront.
She reached up to a cupboard to get some pills, she could barely reach let alone see the labels. She wasn’t even paying attention. She came back and gave me the pills and water. When she went back to cleaning I looked at the two tablets, ermm weird, why are they blue? I shrugged it off and took them.
I swallowed the pills with a gulp of water, the liquid doing little to soothe the throbbing in my head. I focused on moving, one foot in front of the other, and stumbled towards my bedroom. The dim light filtering through the curtains was still too much, so I pulled them shut, plunging the room into near darkness. I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow, trying to shut out the world.
As I lay there, waiting for the painkillers to kick in, a strange sensation began to creep over me. It wasn’t the familiar dulling of the pain I usually experienced. Instead, it was a… buzzing. A low, almost imperceptible hum that seemed to vibrate through my very bones.
Then the colors started. Swirls of vibrant, impossible hues danced behind my closed eyelids. I lifted my head, cautiously opening my eyes a crack. The muted shapes of my room seemed to shimmer and distort, edged with neon outlines. My hand, resting on the duvet, appeared to be glowing with an inner, otherworldly light.
Panic started to bubble in my chest. These weren’t ordinary painkillers. These weren’t even ordinary migraine symptoms. What had Mum given me?
I sat up, the movement sending a fresh wave of nausea through me. I needed to find out what I’d taken. Stumbling out of my room, I made my way back to the kitchen. Mum was still there, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the counter.
“Mom,” I said, my voice trembling. “What were those pills you gave me?”
She turned, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Just the usual migraine medicine, honey. The ones in the orange bottle.”
“But… they were blue,” I said, my voice rising with a note of hysteria. “And they’re making me see things. Colors, and… buzzing.”
Mom’s face paled. She rushed to the cupboard, frantically searching. “The orange bottle… where is it? Oh god, no…”
She pulled out a small, unmarked vial. It was empty. But a faint residue clung to the inside, a telltale shimmer of blue. My cock went instantly raging hard in my jeans.
“Oh, sweetie,” she whispered, her voice laced with horror. “I think… I think I gave you…
“It was… long,” I managed to croak out, the sound reverberating unpleasantly in my skull. I winced, pressing my fingers to my temples. Each pulse of blood felt like a tiny hammer blow, a red, throbbing protest against the light.
Mum must have heard the pain in my voice. She appeared in the doorway, dish towel in hand, her brow furrowed with concern. “Whoa, you look awful. What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Migraine,” I groaned, barely louder than a whisper. “Feels like someone’s taken a jackhammer to my brain.”
“Want some painkillers?” she asked, her voice laced with sympathy.
I nodded weakly. “Please. And maybe… maybe just a dark room?” The brightly lit hallway felt like a personal affront.
She reached up to a cupboard to get some pills; she could barely reach, let alone see the labels. She wasn’t even paying attention. She came back and gave me the pills and water. When she went back to cleaning, I looked at the two tablets. Ermm, weird, why are they blue? I shrugged it off and took them.
I swallowed the pills with a gulp of water, the liquid doing little to soothe the throbbing in my head. I focused on moving, one foot in front of the other, and stumbled towards my bedroom. The dim light filtering through the curtains was still too much, so I pulled them shut, plunging the room into near darkness. I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow, trying to shut out the world.
As I lay there, waiting for the painkillers to kick in, a strange sensation began to creep over me. It wasn’t the familiar dulling of the pain I usually experienced. Instead, it was a… warmth. A flush spreads from my chest to my ears, making them burn. My vision sharpened, becoming almost painfully acute.
Then, it happened. A throbbing, undeniable pressure built in my groin. A pressure that quickly escalated into a full-blown, steel-rod erection. It was intense, pulsing with a life of its own, straining against the fabric of my jeans. Not just a little morning wood; this was a goddamn redwood, demanding attention and refusing to be ignored. My face flushed redder than before and my sinuses started to congest.
Panic, mixed with a strange, unsettling arousal, started to bubble in my chest. These weren’t ordinary painkillers. These weren’t even ordinary migraine symptoms. What the hell had Mum given me?
I sat up, the movement sending a fresh wave of nausea through me, along with a dizzying rush of blood to my head. My heart pounded in my chest like a trapped bird. I needed to find out what I’d taken. Stumbling out of my room, I made my way back to the kitchen, trying to keep my runaway erection hidden beneath a strategically placed pillow. Mum was still there, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the counter.
“Mom,” I said, my voice trembling. “What were those pills you gave me?”
She turned, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Just the usual migraine medicine, honey. The ones in the orange bottle.”
“But… they were blue,” I said, my voice rising with a note of hysteria. “And they’re making me feel… weird. Hot, flushed, my heads pounding, and…” I stopped, unable to articulate the full extent of my predicament.
Mom’s face paled. She rushed to the cupboard, frantically searching. “The orange bottle… where is it? Oh god, no…”
She pulled out a small, unmarked vial. It was empty. But a faint residue clung to the inside, a telltale shimmer of blue.
“Oh, sweetie,” she whispered, her voice laced with horror. “I think… I think I gave you… your dad’s… Viagra.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a knife. My eyes widened, my face now a truly impressive shade of crimson. I glanced down, silently cursing the unforgiving cling of my jeans.
Finally, I managed a weak, embarrassed laugh. “Well, this explains a few things. Like why I suddenly feel the urge to chop wood and build a log cabin.”
Mom’s expression shifted from horror to something resembling amusement, though laced with a healthy dose of mortification. “Oh, honey,” she said, shaking her head. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Your father is going to kill me.”
“Yeah, well, try explaining this to my prospective girlfriend,” I retorted, gesturing vaguely south. “Think she’ll buy the ‘migraine medication mix-up’ excuse?”
Mum snorted, a genuine laugh escaping her lips. “Maybe. Or maybe she’ll just be impressed. Although, I wouldn’t recommend leading with that.” She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Although, I guess you could say you’re having a really hard time right now?”
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Mom! Not helping! Argh I am so turned on. These pills don’t help when you’re in that skirt. This is your fault, so you can help by getting rid of it for me.”
She sighed and faced the sink slightly bent as she washed up the plates. She started talking while not turning to face me. “I can’t believe I am saying this, just do what you need to with me if it helps, like you said it is my fault.”
“Mom,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Are you sure? This… this is crazy.”
She didn’t turn, but I saw her shoulders tense slightly. “No, I am not sure… Just… just get it over with,” she said, her voice barely audible above the sound of the running water. “Before your father gets home.”
I got behind her, I undid my jeans and pulled them down with my boxers. My cock sprang and it looked HUGE and swollen. I lifted up her skirt and yanked her knickers down a bit. I was about to take my mum doggystyle. “I can’t believe I am letting you have sex with me, this is wrong.”
I held her hips and I bent her over more and I pushed my cock into her mature pussy.
She gasped as my cock slid in, a tight, wet heat enveloping me. “Oh, Jesus,” she breathed, her voice catching. Not a moan, not yet, but a sharp intake of breath that spoke volumes of the unexpected invasion. Her arse, still fleshy and round despite the years, felt soft against my hands as I gripped her hips, grounding myself, grounding us both in this utterly bizarre and forbidden moment.
“Is that alright?” I said, my voice thick with a mixture of lust and disbelief. The Viagra was singing in my veins, making every nerve ending hum. It felt… intensely wrong, and yet, undeniably, incredibly right at the same time.
She didn’t answer with words, just a guttural “Ugh,” as I pushed deeper. Her head lolled forward, her hair falling over her face as she leaned more weight onto the sink. I could see the pale nape of her neck, the way her skin stretched slightly. I wanted to bite it, to taste her saltiness there.
“You’re so tight still, Mum,” I murmured, the words leaving my lips before I could censor them. Shame, a flicker of it, threatened to surface, but the Viagra steamrollered it flat. This was happening, and I was in it, deep inside my own mother, and the sheer transgression of it was like a drug in itself.
“Don’t call me that now,” she hissed, her voice strained, and I could hear the beginnings of a moan creeping in. “Just… just fuck me.”
So I did. I started slow, feeling her body adjust, the muscles of her pussy clenching and releasing around my cock. She let out a small, whimpering sound with each slow thrust, “Mmm… ahh…” Her hands, still damp from the washing up, gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. I could see goosebumps rising on her arms, even though the kitchen was warm.
“Like that?” I asked, pushing in a little harder, feeling the head of my cock bump against something deep inside.
“Yesss,” she sighed, a longer, drawn-out sound this time. “Harder.”
Harder. The word was like permission, like an accelerant poured onto the already blazing fire in my groin. I picked up the pace, my hands moving from her hips to her arse, cupping the rounded cheeks, feeling the soft give of flesh. With each thrust, her arse slapped against my thighs, a wet, fleshy sound that echoed in the small kitchen. Smack, smack, smack.
“Oh god, oh god,” she groaned, her moans getting louder, more insistent. “Fuck, fuck, fuck me.” She was starting to move with me now, rocking her hips back to meet each thrust, her breathing ragged. “Deeper, yes, deeper there…”
I tried to follow her cues, angling myself, pushing in as deep as I could, feeling the stretch of her inside, the slickness of her juices. My own breath was coming in ragged gasps now too. The Viagra was making me feel like a machine, all power and no release. It was incredible, frustrating, and intensely arousing all at once.
I kept going, slamming into her, brutal, relentless, the kitchen filling with the sounds of our bodies – the wet slaps of our skin, her increasingly loud moans, my own grunts of exertion. “Ugh… ahh… fuck… mmm… harder… please…” Her words were a jumbled mess of plea and command.
I grabbed her hips again, holding her still, and really started to bang into her, each thrust a brutal jolt that sent vibrations through my bones. Her head was thrown back now, her neck arched, and she was letting out full-throated moans, primal sounds that I’d never heard from her before. “Aaah! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! Yes! Like that! Don’t stop!”
“Unnngh… Fuck… I wont mum,” I panted as I kept ramming my cock into her.
“Stop… stop calling me mum while… while your fucking me,” she managed to get her words out.
“Right, right, sorry,” I gasped, immediately dropping the ‘Mum’. The word felt like grit in my teeth now, corrosive against the raw, animalistic pleasure of this. “Just… you feel so fucking good.” My cock was slick with her juices, sliding in and out with a wet, sucking sound that was both disgusting and utterly captivating.
I drove into her again, harder than before, feeling her arse cheeks spreading wider with the force of it, the skin hot and slick against my palms. Smack, smack, smack. The sound resonated in the room, punctuated by her ragged breaths and my own strained grunts.
“Aaaah, fuck,” she moaned, her head lolling further forward, strands of hair catching on the tap. “Don’t stop… please, don’t bloody stop.” Her voice was thick with need, a desperate edge to it that was even more potent than the Viagra. This wasn’t just about releasing tension anymore, for either of us. This was something else, something twisted and thrilling and completely, utterly wrong.
I kept slamming into her, each thrust a deliberate act of transgression, a rebellion against everything I’d ever been taught. Her pussy was so tight, so hot, gripping my cock like a vice. I could feel the friction burning, a delicious ache that spread through my groin and down my thighs. “Fucking hell,” I groaned, my voice cracking, “you’re taking it all, aren’t you? Every fucking inch.”
“Mmmph, ye-essss,” she sighed, a long, shuddering exhale. “Take it… take everything… deeper… harder…” She arched her back slightly, pushing her arse out further, offering herself up to me fully. The kitchen sink dug into her stomach, pushing her tits forward, the outline of her nipples hard against the thin fabric of her top. I wanted to grab them, to pinch them, to bite them, but my hands were locked onto her arse, holding her steady, guiding the brutal rhythm.
“Is this… is this too much?” I panted, even though I already knew the answer. Her moans were saying everything.
“No!” she yelled, her voice breaking. “No, fuck, don’t you dare stop now! Harder! Fucking harder!” She started bucking against me again, meeting my thrusts with a frantic energy that fuelled me even more. Her moans turned into gasps, then into short, sharp cries with each brutal slam. “Uhngh! Aah! Fuck! Oh, god… oh, god…”
I could feel my own orgasm building, a pressure cooker in my balls, pushing against the edge. The Viagra was a hammer, driving the intensity to a fever pitch. “You want this, yeah?” I grunted, my teeth clenched, my vision starting to tunnel. “You want me inside you like this?”
“Yessss!” she screamed, a sound that ripped through the quiet suburban house, a sound that was both agony and ecstasy. “Fuck, yes! Don’t stop… don’t you bloody dare stop… I’m… I’m… oh, Jesus…”
And then she came a sudden, violent shudder that ran through her entire body squirted over my dick and the kitchen floor drenched. I felt her pussy clench around my cock, milking me, pulling me deeper, making me lose control completely. With a guttural roar that ripped from my chest, I unloaded in her, a thick, hot flood of cum exploding inside her, filling her, marking her in the most forbidden way imaginable. I kept thrusting even as I came, slamming into her again and again until the last spasms subsided, leaving me panting, sweating, and utterly, irrevocably changed.
The world seemed to tilt back into focus, the kitchen re-emerging from the red haze of passion. My breath hitched in ragged gasps, and hers were no less erratic. I stayed buried inside her, my body still vibrating from the release, the aftershocks of my orgasm rippling through me. Her back was still pressed against the sink, her head lolled forward, strands of damp hair sticking to her neck. The silence in the kitchen was thick, heavy, punctuated only by our harsh breathing and the drip… drip… drip of water from the tap. And something else… a wetness spreading on the linoleum floor, a puddle glinting under the kitchen light.
Slowly, cautiously, I started to withdraw, the suction of her pussy reluctant to let go. As I pulled out, I saw it clearly – a glistening pool of liquid around her feet, spreading from between her legs. It was… a lot. More than just my cum.
I stared, dumbfounded. “Mum…” the word felt foreign, wrong, even now. “Did you… did you just…” My voice trailed off, unable to articulate the question properly.
She finally straightened up, turning slowly, her face flushed, eyes still glazed over. She glanced down at the puddle, then back up at me, a mixture of shock and something else… something akin to wonder in her expression. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh my god, I… I can’t believe…”
My brain finally caught up. “You squirted,” I blurted out, the words sounding ridiculously inadequate for the sheer, visceral reality of what had just happened. “You really… I… I made you squirt?” The Viagra had certainly done its job, and then some apparently.
Her cheeks flushed even deeper crimson. She looked anywhere but at me, her gaze darting around the kitchen, landing on the dirty plates in the sink, the spice rack, the clock on the wall – anything to avoid my eyes. “Well,” she mumbled, picking at a loose thread on her top, “it… it appears so.”
An awkward silence descended again, heavier this time, laced with the lingering scent of sex and… something subtly metallic from the liquid on the floor. I felt a blush creep up my own neck, mirroring hers. What do you even say after that? “Good job?” “Congratulations?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, still holding my jeans around my waist, feeling utterly exposed and ridiculous. “So,” I began, my voice cracking slightly, “that was… intense.”
She finally met my gaze, her eyes searching mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. “Yes,” she agreed softly, “intense is… one word for it.” She took a shaky breath, then added, almost to herself, “Definitely intense.”
Another silence. I could hear the distant hum of the refrigerator, suddenly loud in the quiet kitchen. I needed to say something, anything to break this suffocating awkwardness. “Um… sorry about the mess,” I gestured awkwardly towards the puddle, “didn’t… didn’t expect that.”
She actually gave a small, hesitant laugh, the sound brittle and nervous. “Don’t… don’t worry about it. I’ll… I’ll clean it up.” She took a step towards the sink, then stopped, turning back to me, her expression shifting, becoming more direct, more… vulnerable. “But… um…” She hesitated again, her eyes darting down and then back up to mine. “But… for what it’s worth…” She took another deep breath and finally said it, her voice barely a whisper, laced with an unexpected tremor of genuine emotion, “for it… for that…” She met my eyes fully, a faint, almost embarrassed smile playing on her lips. “That was… the best sex I’ve ever had.”