My sixtieth birthday was creeping up. Not exactly a thrill. Birthdays just lose their shine, don’t they? Especially when you’re knocking on sixty. Ben, my son, usually sorted me out with a gift. He was thirty now, a good lad. Always tried hard. I still remembered his room, plastered with those pin-up girls. All curves and tight clothes, some barely there at all. He always had a thing for big chests, and for, well, mature ladies. That never really changed.
He called me the week before. “Mum, what do you fancy?” he asked.
“Oh, anything, dear,” I said, trying to sound breezy. “Just your company.”
That was a lie, of course. I always wanted something. But I liked a surprise. And maybe, just maybe, I liked being looked at. Even by my son, in his own peculiar way.
My birthday dawned, a Saturday. Ben arrived bright and early. He had a big cake, and a gift bag. A nice blue one, crisp.
“Happy Birthday, Mum!” he boomed, stepping in. His eyes, quick as a flash, did their usual dip. Down to my chest, then back up. He always did that. It was unconscious, I told myself. A habit. Still, I felt a familiar warmth spread.
He leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. His gaze lingered a second longer than it should have, just a flicker, on the curve of my neck, then lower.
“Thanks, love,” I said, trying to ignore it. “You didn’t have to.”
We had tea and cake first. Simple, sweet. My daughter, Sarah, FaceTimed from Australia. She sang ‘Happy Birthday’ off-key, which made me laugh. All the while, Ben sat opposite me, and I could feel his eyes. Every now and then, I’d glance up and catch him. His gaze would drop, a quick, almost imperceptible flick, to where my blouse wasn’t quite doing its job. I pulled my cardigan a little tighter against the chill that wasn’t there.
Then it was time for presents. Ben pushed the bag towards me. “This is from me,” he said, his voice a touch eager. “Hope you like it.”
I reached in. The bag was deep, and my fingers brushed against something. Silky. So soft. Delicate. My eyebrows furrowed. What on earth?
I pulled it out. And my breath hitched.
It was a bodysuit, the kind they call a teddy. A deep, passionate ruby red. And it wasn’t just my size. It was enormous. Full and generous, designed for curves. My face flushed hot, a blush I hadn’t felt in years.
“Oh,” I whispered. The word barely left my lips.
Ben was beaming. His eyes, of course, were fixed on the silk and lace I held up. “It’s a good one, Mum! Silk and lace. From that fancy shop in town. They said it was top quality.”
My hand still held it, suspended in the air. The material was abundant, soft, flowing. The lace, intricate and suggestive. It was clearly expensive. But it was lingerie. From my son.
And he was looking at me, waiting. Expectant. His gaze kept drifting from the garment in my hand to my own ample chest.
I fumbled, trying to shove it back into the tissue paper. My fingers felt clumsy, all thumbs. My cheeks were burning, a deep, tell-tale red.
“It’s… it’s very… thoughtful, Ben,” I managed, my voice tight, reedy.
“I know you always struggle with finding good ones,” he said, and then, without a single shred of self-consciousness, his hand made a vague gesture towards my bosom. My very large bosom. The one I’d had since I was a girl, the one that made bra shopping a lifelong torture. He wasn’t looking at the lingerie now. He was looking at me.
“I overheard you talking to Auntie Carol the other day,” he continued, completely oblivious to the heat radiating from my face. “You said you needed new support. And how hard it was with your… frame.” He nodded, as if confirming a major anatomical discovery. His eyes held mine for a second, then, almost hypnotized, they dipped again. Just below my chin, right to the swell.
He still didn’t get it. Not really. He was being helpful. That was the truly awful, unbelievably helpful problem.
“So I went to Ann Summers,” he went on, proudly. “The one with all the pretty things. Very tasteful, Mum. Not like those trashy places.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor. He went to Ann Summers. And discussed my bra size. With a sales assistant. Probably some young girl. Oh, dear God.
“They helped me pick out the right size,” he said, sounding like he’d just landed a moonwalk. “They said red is a good colour for you, Mum. Brightens you up. Oh, did I get the wrong size? I thought you were a 34 DD.” He frowned, genuinely worried now. “You do like it, don’t you? I know it’s like a leotard type of lingerie, but I wasn’t sure if you wore them.”
My own brow furrowed. 34 DD? How in the bloody hell did he know that? Had he been that observant? Had he… measured with his eyes? The thought sent another wave of heat through me, a strange mix of mortification and something uncomfortably close to… flattery.
“Ben, sweetheart,” I began, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “This is… very generous of you. But perhaps next time, we could just stick to chocolates or flowers? I know you mean well, but it feels so… strange. You buying me sexy lingerie.”
He just kept looking at me, at the almost-spill of my chest, a puzzled expression on his face. He didn’t seem to get the “sexy” part, not really. Not the awkward sexy part. Just the “helpful” part. But his eyes… they still kept dropping, just a little. He was obsessed with tits, and big ones.
Hours later I was a little tipsy from the birthday drinks as I slurred my words, “I… I can’t believe… believe no one else… turned up.”
Ben looked up from his phone. He’d been scrolling through something, probably sports scores or car parts. He blinked, his face softening slightly with concern. “Oh, Mum. Don’t say that. Sarah called. That’s something.”
“Sarah’s in Australia,” I mumbled, waving a hand vaguely. “Doesn’t quite count for a proper sixty, does it? A big one. The big six-oh.” I hiccupped. The wine had definitely loosened my tongue, and my usual filters felt a bit frayed.
“It’s just… people are busy,” he said, and for a moment, he actually looked quite young, a boy trying to make his mum feel better. “It’s a Saturday, after all. And a lot of your friends are a bit older, aren’t they? Maybe not up for a big party.”
He meant I was old. And my friends were old. He didn’t say it meanly, just matter-of-factly. Still, it stung a little, even through the wine haze.
“Still. You’re here,” I said, trying to be appreciative. “That’s… something.”
“Of course I’m here, Mum,” he said, putting his phone down. He even smiled, a genuine, warm smile. “It’s your birthday. Wouldn’t miss it. You look so good in that dress, here let me pour you another drink.”
It was an old dress, flowy and comfortable. Nothing special. But he said it with conviction. His eyes swept over me. Slowly. Taking me in. Up and down.
“Oh, this old thing,” I slurred, a silly giggle bubbling up. “Just… comfortable.”
He sat back down, leaning forward. He was close. Closer than usual. I could smell his aftershave, fresh and woody.
“It suits you,” he said, his voice lower. Almost a murmur. “You have a… a nice shape, Mum. Always have.”
My cheeks flushed. Not the wine this time. It was the way he said “shape.” The way his eyes drifted. They landed, inevitably, on my chest. Resting there. Not a quick flick away. They just… stayed.
I took a long gulp of wine. It burned.
“Ben,” I started, trying to sound firm. My voice wavered. “You’re being silly.”
He tilted his head, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Silly? No, Mum, I’m just being honest.” His gaze, still fixed below my collarbone, held a strange intensity. It wasn’t predatory, not exactly. More like deeply, unsettlingly focused. “I am surprised your still single.”
I sighed, “look at me who would want this, besides the only thing I use that for down there is for peeing.” Shit I said a little to much. But it was true I hadn’t taken a good hard dicking for over 10 years. I was so drunk and I started to feel a little turned on.
His eyes widened for a split second. A surprise. Then a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. It wasn’t a malicious smile, but something… complicit. Like he’d just found a secret doorway.
“Mum!” he chuckled, a low, throaty sound. He leaned even closer. I could feel the warmth from his body. “You really do say the darndest things when you’ve had a few.”
I covered my mouth, a gasp catching in my throat. Shame washed over me, a hot tide. “Oh, Ben,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by my hand. “I’m so sorry. The wine. I shouldn’t have…”
He reached out, his hand gently pulling my own away from my face. His fingers were warm against mine. He didn’t let go. His thumb softly stroked the back of my hand.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, his voice soft, almost soothing. “It’s okay. Honesty is… refreshing.” His gaze dropped again, lower this time. Not just to my chest, but to my lap, where my hands were now clasped, his still resting on top of one.
“You look beautiful tonight, Mum. Really beautiful.” His thumb continued to stroke. It felt strangely comforting. And unsettling.
My mind was a muddle. The wine was singing in my ears. The room seemed to tilt slightly. I wanted to pull my hand away. But I couldn’t. It felt too heavy. Or maybe I didn’t want to.
“You’ve always been such a good looking woman,” he continued, his voice a low hum. “And you’re right. It’s a shame. All that… wasted.” He squeezed my hand lightly.
My breath hitched. Wasted? Was he talking about me? My body? My… needs? The thought, once unthinkable, now felt like a warm, dangerous current.
“Ben,” I whispered, the name barely audible. My vision was swimming. His face was a little blurry, but his eyes, those intense, dark eyes, were clear. Focused right on me.
He slowly moved his hand up my arm, his fingers tracing a path over my skin. A shiver ran through me. Not from cold.
“You deserve to feel good, Mum,” he said, his voice gaining a soft urgency. “To be desired. Don’t you think?”
I stared at him, my mouth slightly open. Desired? By who? By him? The thought was scandalous. Horrible. But the alcohol had dulled the edges of my alarm. It had made me soft, pliable.
“I… I don’t know,” I slurred, shaking my head slightly. It felt heavy on my neck. “It’s been… so long.”
“I know,” he said, his voice laced with understanding. He moved closer still, his knee brushing against mine under the table. The contact sent a jolt through me. A strange, confused jolt.
He took my other hand, holding both of them in his. His thumbs were stroking the backs of my hands, a steady, rhythmic motion. “It doesn’t have to be, Mum. You’re still amazing. You’re still… all woman.”
His eyes were locked on mine, but I could feel his gaze, even through the blur, dipping and returning. Always returning to the generous curve of my chest beneath the old dress. It was like a magnet.
“You just need someone to see it,” he murmured. “Someone to appreciate it. Really appreciate it.”
I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry. The room was silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
“Remember that bodysuit?” he asked, his voice even lower now, almost conspiratorial. “The red one? It would look incredible on you. It would hug all your curves. Show them off.”
My cheeks flushed again. The lingerie. The Ann Summers shop. My son. My brain was trying to put the pieces together, but they kept slipping.
“Ben, that’s…” I tried to protest, but the words got stuck. My tongue felt thick.
He squeezed my hands. “It’s just a gift, Mum. A way to feel good about yourself. To remember what you have. What you truly have.” He glanced down at my chest, a lingering, appreciative look. “All of it.”
His hands were still holding mine, but now they began to move, gently pulling me forward, ever so slightly.
“You’re tired, Mum,” he whispered, his face now very close to mine. I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. “Let me help you.”
Before I could process what he meant, he was gently guiding me up from my chair. My legs felt shaky, like jelly. I swayed.
“Whoa there,” he chuckled softly, his arms coming around me, supporting me. His hands settled on my waist, then slid upwards, just under my arms, brushing against the sides of my breasts. My skin tingled.
“Let’s get you comfortable,” he guided me, his body pressed against mine as we shuffled towards the sofa. Every step was an effort. My head lolled slightly.
I leaned heavily on him, my hands gripping his shirt for balance. The scent of his aftershave was all around me. It was intoxicating.
He eased me down onto the soft cushions of the sofa. I sank into them, feeling utterly drained, but also strangely warm. He didn’t let go immediately. He knelt in front of me, his hands still on my waist, his eyes searching mine.
“You’re so soft, Mum,” he murmured, his thumbs gently stroking my sides. His gaze was intense, unwavering. “So warm.”
My eyelids felt heavy. I struggled to keep them open. The world was fuzzy at the edges.
“Ben,” I managed, a sigh escaping my lips. It was meant to be a protest. It came out as a plea.
He leaned in closer. His face was inches from mine. His eyes, dark and deep, seemed to hold a world of secrets. And desires.
“I can help you feel better, Mum,” he whispered, his voice a silken thread, weaving into my wine-addled mind. “Just let me.” His thumbs moved, just slightly, upwards, brushing the underside of my breasts through the fabric of my dress.
A jolt, stronger than before, coursed through me. My breath hitched. This was wrong. So wrong. But my body, heavy and sluggish with wine, didn’t respond. My voice was trapped. I was powerless. And the strange, forbidden warmth was spreading, chasing away the shame.
His hands, those strong, capable hands, slowly slid up my sides. The fabric of my dress bunched under his touch, inch by inch. My breath caught in my throat as his thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts again. This time, there was no denying the intent behind the gesture. “Ben,” I whispered, or tried to. His name was a breathy sigh on my lips. A warning. A plea.
He paused, his eyes searching mine. There was a flicker of something in their depths – hesitation? Concern? Or perhaps just the faintest glimmer of doubt. “It’s okay, Mum,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. Let’s get you out of this dress, I am going to show you mum, your pussy isn’t just for peeing.”
Ben’s hands, trembling slightly, reached for the hem of my dress. He hesitated, his eyes flicking up to meet mine, silently seeking permission. I was frozen, caught between the fog of alcohol and the sudden clarity of his words. My pussy… not just for peeing. The thought sent a shiver through me, a mix of disgust and something else I dared not name. “Ben…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “We shouldn’t…”
But even as I spoke, I didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed against my thighs as he slowly lifted the fabric, revealing more and more skin. The cool air hit my legs, raising goosebumps on my flesh. He threw the dress on the floor and took my bra off followed by my knickers as he laid me down.
He opened my legs and I blurry stared as he took his jeans off and boxers. He then laid in between my thighs. He spat on his hand to lube the head of his cock and then pushed it into my labia.
Ben’s thick, throbbing cock pushed against my slick folds, parting them with ease. He groaned as he felt my warmth enveloping him. “Fuck, Mum,” he breathed, his voice strained with desire. “You ok?”
I nodded weakly, my eyes wide as I stared up at him. The sensation of his hardness pressing against me, inside me, was overwhelming. It had been so long since I’d felt this way. So full. So… alive. Ben began to move, slowly at first, his hips rocking gently as he slid in and out of me. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through my body, chasing away the last vestiges of my inhibitions. My hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as I clung to him.
“Oh God,” I gasped, my head falling back against the pillow. “Ben… oh fuck…”
Ben’s movements grew more confident, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder.The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with our heavy breaths and muffled moans. He leaned down, capturing my lips in a fierce kiss as he drove into me, over and over.
His hands roamed my body, squeezing and caressing every curve. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. “You feel so good, Mum,” he panted against me. “So fucking tight.”
Ben’s words, laced with lust and affection, sent a shiver down my spine. I arched into him, my hips lifting to meet his thrusts. The pleasure was building, coiling tight in my core. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, ready to tumble into oblivion.
“Yes,” I gasped, my voice barely recognizable. “Oh God, Ben… don’t stop…”My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer into my big tits. I needed him. Needed this. “Ahh my pussy yes, don’t stop.”
Ben’s hips snapped forward, his thick cock plunging deep into my pussy. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious stretch that bordered on pain. I cried out, my nails digging into his back as he filled me completely.
“Yes,”I gasped, my voice trembling with pleasure.”Fuck me, Ben. Harder.”
He obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. The couch shook beneath us, the rattling hard against the floor with each powerful drive of his hips. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading them wider as he pounded into me.
“Oh god,” I moaned, my head thrashing on the cushions. “I’m…I’m going to…”
Ben leaned down, capturing my lips in a fierce kiss as he continued to fuck me mercilessly. His tongue plunged into my mouth, mimicking the actions of his cock below. I surrendered to him completely, lost in a haze of sensation and desire. His cock full on hammering in and out of my cunt.
Ben’s thrusts became erratic, his breathing ragged against my lips. I could feel him swelling inside me, his cock throbbing with impending release. “Mum,” he gasped, his voice strained. “I’m…I’m gonna…”
My pussy clenched around his throbbing cock as he slammed into me, his hips pistoning wildly. “Yes,” I screamed, my voice hoarse with pleasure. “You… you can cum inside me.”
Ben’s eyes widened at my words, a primal growl rumbling in his chest. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside me, his cock pulsing as he spilled his hot seed into my waiting womb.
“Fuck,” he gasped, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. “Mum…oh god…”I clung to him, my own climax crashing over me like a tidal wave. My pussy convulsed around his spurting cock, milking him for every last drop. Stars burst behind my eyelids as I screamed my pleasure into the night.
Slowly, our movements slowed, our bodies slick with sweat and spent passion. Ben collapsed on top of me, his face buried in the curve of my neck. We lay there for a long moment, our chests heaving as we struggled to catch our breath.
Finally, Ben lifted his head to look at me. “Do you feel any better Mum.”
I stared up at him, my chest still heaving, my body trembling with aftershocks. The room spun slightly as the reality of what we’d just done began to sink in. I’d just had sex with my own son. My son had just cum inside me. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of horror and forbidden pleasure.
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and barely audible. “I…I think so.” Ben smiled softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek.
“Good,” he murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to my lips. “You deserved it. Fancy round two, but in your bed?”
I stared up at him, my mind reeling. Round two? In my bed? The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through my body, despite the lingering shame and disbelief. I was drunk, exhausted, and utterly spent. And yet, the idea of more… it stirred something deep within me.
Ben’s eyes searched mine, a mixture of desire and tenderness in their depths. His hand trailed down my side, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip. “What do you say, Mum?” he murmured, his voice low and persuasive. “Let me take care of you tonight. Really take care of you. I will even carry you to bed.”
I nodded weakly, my body still tingling from our encounter. “Okay,” I breathed, the word barely audible. Ben’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. He leaned down, scooping me up into his strong arms as if I weighed nothing. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest as he carried me towards the stairs. What started off as a weird birthday present turned into something much darker.