Wash Me
When the water heater breaks, mom and son have to... adjust.
All characters in this work are over the age of 18.
A Quick Note to the Reader:
If you're looking for the Brazzers model of erotic incest stories, you're going to be really disappointed with this one.
One of the things that I aim for in my stories in a healthy degree of buildup. It's a lot slower, take a lot more time, and develops the struggle a lot more fully than most erotica bothers to put forward. In my stories, you'll never read a ridiculous quickie where a mom and son initiate their relationship with a flimsy excuse like 'mom, my penis hurts.' 'oh honey, let me fix it with my pussy.' 'okay, thanks mom.'
That'd be crazy. And unrealistic. And dumb.
Frankly, it's the internal struggle that makes the story so fucking sexy.
If you want to see a mother and son, unbearably horny, fighting their desires because they're afraid of the taboo world, but who keep thinking that maybe it'd be so delicious to give in and to kiss, to touch, to fuck, to breed, to satisfy each other in the way mom and son could, then...
Enjoy.
-fake flower
Chapter 1
Mom lit the candles with the kind of care that was rare in a person. Tonight, the night I turned eighteen, she moved slowly, letting the flame on the match determine the pace of her light fingers. Her hands moved gently, slowly. While she was mostly the kind of woman that moved with efficiency, purpose, elegant speed, tonight she was making careful time lighting the candles on my birthday cake.¬
The lights were off. All there was to brighten the room was the match and the growing blossom of light from the candles. She gave a little smile, said, "happy eighteenth," and then presented it: the dainty dessert for two that she baked herself. A smiling face in red frosting fit neatly under the candles.
She got close, her clothes smelling like cinnamon.
Her chest, like milk.
Mom was pretty tonight. The candle flame lit up the gold in her hair and flickered across the clean lines of her corporate uniform. The light and her smile were warm. She was soft.
We cut the cake and talked about what it was like to be adults. While she spoke, her fingers would rest alongside her temple, she would look up and into the corner of the room, her graceful neck delicately straight, and she would gently narrow her soft eyes. Every time she said something important, she appeared so focused, thinking, capable. When combined with her tall and elegant figure, you almost felt like you were getting the wisdom of several generations at once from a modern queen. She really did have that effect.
Especially in those moments.
You really had to be lucky to have a mother like her. Annie was the kind of woman that ran a perfectly clean house, cooked like a professional chef, worked a full-time corporate job, half taught me all my schoolwork herself, and managed to seize promotions at every corner.
All without a husband.
Not that he's dead, or anything.
Just kind of an asshole.
It was the kind of situation growing up where you didn't really have to worry about not having a dad around -- having Annie for a mom was enough. More than enough. She was mentor, caretaker, confidant, cook, disciplinarian, and anything else that the best pair of parents could collaborate to manufacture, and she was all of it, all at the same time.
You would have thought I'd show a bit more respect on the daily. Or that night, for that matter. Stealing her alcohol probably wasn't the most thankful way I could repay her for helping me survive into adulthood.
But then again, I was now an eighteen-year-old guy with an entire basement full of wine my mom had yet to drink.
Maybe it wasn't right of me to go digging around down there, and maybe it wasn't what I'd be proud of when I was a parent myself, but I wanted to celebrate my legal adulthood for me. A little show of rebellious independence was the perfect gift from me to myself. Just a couple bottles from way, way in the back, something she wouldn't miss, labels with words in French I didn't understand.
They got the job done.
I watched some bad porn and jerked off, blisteringly drunk, and then passed out.
I woke up the next morning, officially an adult, murderous headache and all. Being eighteen started with a bang and a whimper.
It started with a hell of a lot more too.
Especially when it came to my mom.
While I cursed myself that morning and asked why I'd drink by myself instead of going to a movie or something with my friends, I realized we were out of aspirin. I guessed pharmaceuticals were a part of being an adult too, so like the grown up and responsible person I was, I decided the best thing to do was to explore my mom's medicine cabinet.
And while I thought that it wouldn't be a big deal, since Mom was supposed to be at work before I woke up, I barged right into the bathroom, rifled through her pills, ignored the tampon boxes, and then turned right around so that I could get out of there. It was my own personal contribution to keeping her privacy private.
As any reasonable and respectful son would.
But the quick steal didn't happen the way I wanted it to. The privacy wasn't as private as I hoped. And mom wasn't at work.
She was in her bathtub.
It was one of those tubs that seemed to double as a jacuzzi. It was more than wide and large enough to allow her the luxury of stretching out, the full length of her body in a beautiful line, from end to end.
Now, I have to admit that I've always known my mother was pretty. Sometimes I admitted to myself that she was good looking. Beautiful, even.
And every once in a blue moon, when my friends would tell me how fucking hot my mom was, and that she was the posterchild of hot blondes, and how she had gorgeously heavy looking tits, and how she had long legs that they just wanted to lick at, and how she had an ass that always managed to press itself against the back of her skirt, and how she was the kind of hot boss or sexy schoolteacher archetype that could have made millions in porn, then I could internally, maybe, almost see where they were coming from.
In that instant, my mother, bare from head to toe, suspended nude in the warmth of her luxurious bathtub, proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that my friends were a hundred percent right.
Even if she was my mom.
Breasts. Heavy. Pale and shimmering and wet. Pushed up by her delicate arms, practically floating in the warmth. My mother's pale nipples, pearly pink. Peaks glimmering under the surface. Flush cheeks, a flush chest, her eyes closed, her lips barely parted, red with heat and something I had never, ever seen in her before.
It was arousal.
In my mother's hands, she clutched a silvery shower head, its hose drifting past her long, long, smooth legs, her dainty feet in a slight curl.
My perfect mom was masturbating.
The shower head was pressed somewhere. Somewhere just above her thighs. Just over a pale, golden patch, barely visible, growing more visible as she lifted one knee and as her legs started to part.
Mom really was a true blonde.
The sprayer gushed against her golden, triangle sculpted apex. Pubic hair in a neatly tended shape, a rush of water moving over a bit of soft pink beneath it. Mom's leg kept moving, her legs spreading wider. Her eyes, pressed closed, lashes draped over colored cheeks, her brow furrowed as she focused, hard, on something, some scenario playing in her head. Headphones sealed over her ears, playing music or an audiobook or something -- explaining perfectly how I somehow managed to get into her bathroom as she pleasured herself without being noticed.
This moment completely knocked my life upside down, erased the entire old reality.
Who was this person? This was my mom. This wasn't my mom.
Was it?
The woman before me panted, the spray of water directed by trembling hands between her legs, her red, full mouth parted in the gasps I never knew she could make, that elegant, sexual nymph was the woman I knew my entire life. I watched her, stuck, unable to look away from her glistening, beautiful body.
And then she opened her eyes.
And then looked right at me.
Her mouth snapped closed, her eyes opened wide, the rest of her body froze, shower head included. The flush of color on her cheeks brightened as the sound of the rushing water seemed to multiply in the deafening silence. But what affected me most was the tone of my name in her mouth, that stammering name that was said with a shocked, scared breath, the note of pleasure filtering through it despite her shock. "A-Anthony?"
My mind connected a single, dirty thought in that instant, one that resonated through me more loudly than any thought ever did before.
I knew that it was how she would say my name.
If we were fucking.
If I was inside her. If my cock evoked my name from her begging, panting lips, it's how she would say, Anthony, as if she were begging for more, as if I had forced my name from her mouth by filling her with cock, with ecstasy. If my own mother would let me.
In that instant there was something hard, painfully hard in my pants, pressing straight through.
Then she said my name again. Not with pleasure this time.
This time, it was because she yelled at me and threw the shower head at me while violently covering herself, her hands covering her chest and the little golden triangle at the top of her legs. The spray of the warm shower water and a small wave from her tub splashed against me while I tried to dodge and then sprinted out of her bathroom, stolen painkillers in hand, and tried to make it to my bedroom before mom could yell at me anymore.
How was I supposed to know she took the day off? How was I supposed to know she had a surprise outing planned for my eighteenth and that's why she was at home, enjoying her morning, waiting for a convenient time to take us to my favorite restaurant?
Instead, I was grounded. Then she found the wine bottles and I was grounded some more.
Easily the most awkward birthday I've ever had.
And the best.
Chapter 2
You don't forget a sight like that.
But we lived almost immediately afterward as if it was forgotten. I don't think mom held it against me that I walked in on her. I don't think she could tell that I now had a very new, and very concrete fantasy that seemed to intrude into my head every single time I saw her. It suddenly got hard to listen to her talking about work, while her body turned to the side every time she prepared food, while the heavy, teardrop breasts under her shirt bounced as she's made up and down movements over a cutting board.
I could see, vividly, the exact color of her nipples in my mind, the way her breasts pushed together in the tub while her arms mimed a similar movement while she kneaded fresh bread. It was even worse whenever she'd say my name. Every time she called it, all I could hear was the way she said it in her bathroom that day.
"A-Anthony." Gasping.
It was worse when I'd end the day, go to my room, and hear the shower turn on in our main bathroom. Or if she spent a long time in her own room, morning or night, and I'd wonder if she were taking a soak. Or every time we went shopping and she'd pick up some new scent of bubble bath soap. I'd start dreaming again, having to fight my body trying to betray me with an erection.
Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice my obsession.
Or that I was now jerking off to the thought of her, to the fantasy of her, multiple times a day, that my wastebasket was filling up with cumrags produced to the thought of her voice as she said my name, her body's pleasure coursing through it, accompanies by the thought of her heavy, hanging breasts, slick with water.
I felt ashamed.
Embarrassed even, that I was now attracted to my mom, my actual mom, not even a stepmom, and that a huge reason I was trying so hard to keep from disappointing her was I somehow wanted her to only say my name for, you know, positive reasons.
So life went on and I started a degree at the local college, and picked up a corporate internship thanks to some well-placed phone calls by my mother. It looked like I would follow a fairly similar track to her if her connections had anything to say about it. All I had to do was show up, well groomed, shuffle papers four times a week, and if I graduated and still held the internship, then I was guaranteed a cushy job with an office and the promise that I wouldn't have to do a single truly productive thing for society for the next forty years.
All I had to do was not fuck that up. At all. Mom's emphasis, not mine.
It almost looked like I was set up for a conventional, healthy life with a decent job and only a secret kink that made talking to my gorgeous, single, sex symbol mother awkward. I thought that maybe my life would turn out mostly normal after all.
Until weeks later, our water heater broke.
I could tell something was very, very wrong by the way mom's face darkened at the plumber. When we called them out because we suddenly didn't have any hot water, I thought that maybe it was just a little issue with the water heater. Nothing that couldn't be solved by the magic of a $500 bill from Versa Plumbing. But unfortunately, the visit was running a lot longer than I thought it would, and mom was on the receiving end of what looked like very, very bad news.
When mom's eyes widened and she suddenly shouted, "A whole week?", my stomach dropped out from under me. Mom only looked that upset, or yelled, when things were serious.
After a short exchange, the plumber gave a shrug and turned to leave. Mom's arms were folded, and I saw her looking into the water heater closet, angry as hell. As the plumber passed me on the way out, he tried making eye contact with me and said, "I don't know what else to do for you guys. It's like everybody in the state wanted a new water heater all at once. You'll have to wait."
"We need a whole new heater?" I asked, incredulous.
The guy shrugged again. Like a plumber. "I'm not even sure we'll be able to install it for you right away. We'll call you in a week. Or if that's not good enough you can try calling around. If you can get anyone else in a week, I'll be surprised."
Now it made sense why mom was so pissed off about it. There was a massive snow front coming in-- by Tuesday we'd get several inches at once and everyone was preparing to enjoy a few weeks of being snowed in.
It meant that most companies were going to be harder to reach -- they'd be busy with winter repairs; burst pipes, frozen lines, and the million other emergencies that had to be fixed, icy roads or not.
"By the way," the plumber leaned a little closer to me. "Your mom. She's single, right?" I noticed his eyes looking a little too closely at her legs.
"No," I lied, pissed. "Does your boss know you cruise for dates on the clock?"
The plumber shrugged, again, and smiled as he walked off. "Sometimes, for a beautiful woman like that, it's worth asking. See you in a week, kid. Enjoy your cold water."
He drove off, and I wondered if maybe there was any wisdom in asking lonely housewives if they were single.
Inside, mom wasn't any happier. If we were out of hot water, it meant a few things. It meant no hot water to wash dishes. It meant our dishwasher was probably going to be nearly useless. It meant washing our hands was now going to be an ordeal. It meant...
"Mom?" I asked. "How are we going to shower?"
Mom looked up at me distractedly, still bent over and looking at some of the connections on the water heater. Her back was arched forward, her legs and bottom were tight against her leggings.
I completely understood why the plumber was staring at her earlier. I was doing the same thing, but made sure to look away respectfully. At least, once she turned around.
"Oh. Showers. Sure." Mom stepped back, rubbing her temples. "He said the heating element's barely working. It's warming everything, but slowly. Not enough for full on baths, but it might be enough to shower if we ration it."
Mom looked at me and said sternly, her pretty lips drawing thin, "which means you're going to keep your showers to a couple minutes. Maximum. No more of these thirty-minute soaks you've been taking recently."
"Alright," I said, trying not to think too hard about it, as if mom would somehow read my mind and realize I was jerking off in the shower.
I was definitely using the shower to recreate the fantasy environment where I saw her in the nude, suspended in the warmth and steam of her tub.
After seeing what I saw, who wouldn't?
"So, it sounds like we're just going to make do, huh? Conserve or something?"
"Something like that," mom groaned, mourning the loss of her own bath time, and left for her room. "Go ahead and shower. We've got work in the morning. Just leave some warm water for me, alright?"
I really did try to comply with her request and made my shower as short as possible. The water started out nice enough, but by the end of a minute, I could tell that the water tank was dipping low. I toweled off, dressed for bed, and texted mom that I was done while I went back to my room. The plan was that she'd have to use the shared shower in the center of the home -- the one I used, just because it was right next to the water heater and it was our best bet for keeping as much of the warmth in it as possible.
I tried to put the idea out of my head that my mother was now nude, in the very space I was just minutes ago.
But then I heard mom scream from our bathroom.
Genuinely thinking she was in danger, I sprinted out of my room, and smashed into the bathroom, ready to defend her against burglars, or whatever danger she was in. But she wasn't in danger. Not in real danger, at least.
But she was cold. The hot water ran out and the temperature halved in seconds. That'd cause anyone to scream. But I didn't think about that. Didn't have time.
Right as I crashed in, I saw the flash of her skin, of her smooth and heavy tits accentuated by nipples that were red, sharp and hardened, covered in little goosebumps that gave her a patterned look. Her shaking, her trembling burned into my eyes and tucked away into my mind as another unintentionally sexy image. And as I crashed into bathroom, her eyes turned to mine, our eye contact an instant flash of fear, and mind-numbing surprise.
But now that she saw me, she was angry.
"Are you..." I sputtered, still not understanding, "are you alright?"
I barely managed to dodge a bar of soap as I ducked out, slamming the door shut.
Chapter 3
I don't know why mom was so forgiving with me. I'm certain that in other families, walking in on a nude relative would have been punished by months of awkwardness at minimum, an eternity of shame at its worst.
Considering how much pleasure I was getting from every glimpse of her, I should have been getting a little more of a punishment. Maybe a suggestion that I go to therapy. But all I got that evening was a stern, "learn to knock," and then mom was back to business as usual. At least, after she got warmed up again. The coldness of the water was practically the temperature of the snow that was falling outside.
"Obviously," she lined out for me, wearing a bathrobe as we mentally recovered at the kitchen table, "we're going to have to make a few adjustments to our lifestyle to make this work. I've already called around and all the other plumbing companies are saying the same thing -- nobody's got the water heaters, they'll be in after a week, and we'll either have to hire a handyman or install it ourselves." Mom's fingers drummed on the table, her gaze like a hawk while she stared out the window, where the cold was settling in over our home.
"And obviously, trying to take showers, one after the other, that's not going to work. Even the few minutes you spent took up the rest of the tank." Her fingers lifted from the table, and a couple of them rested on her round bottom lip. Her soft eyes narrowed. "And trying to heat water on the stove for a bath won't work. That'll take way too long. So, we're going to have to make sacrifices."
My mind tried to connect the dots. A picture I didn't expect was forming. I half whispered, "we're going to... shower together?"
Mom stared at me as if I had just recommended that we kill ourselves. "What? No."
While I blushed harder than I ever did in my entire life, my whole face getting hot enough to heat all our showers for the rest of our lives, mom continued. "One of us is just going to shower in the mornings. The other can keep their evening shower. We'll make it simple by saying you can do evenings and I'll take mornings from now on. Sounds good?"
I nodded and tried not to make eye contact with her as she got up and went to bed.
"Anthony," she sighed, the smooth curve of her hips swaying as she walked down the hall, "I don't know what has gotten into you, but you need to try thinking before opening your mouth."
The next morning, as I was dressing for work, I had a knock on the door of my room.
"It didn't work," mom announced, not even waiting for me to get to the door. "The hot water is barely warm. If I showered now there definitely wouldn't be enough for you by the time you get ready for bed."
"So what are we going to do?"
"Maybe we'll boil water on the stove. So we can take a teacup sized bath." Mom sighed as she left my doorway. "God, that's going to be a pain. Or maybe we'll just have to bite the bullet and shower every other day." Her voice carried over from the kitchen as she got her work supplies together. "But that won't work either. I've got to look totally presentable for work. And so do you. These things aren't negotiable -- even if the circumstances are this bad."
"Maybe we can call in sick?" I asked.
Mom walked all the way back to my room to give me a stern look.
"Sorry I suggested it," I said.
"You and I don't have a choice," mom said as she walked back off. "Attendance is everything to your boss. Stevens won't hesitate to fire you, snow, or sick, or not, and that's the end of that once in a lifetime internship. And I've got a promotion I'm trying to land at my job, and playing sick is going to kill that. Sorry, hun, there's just no avoiding it. We're going to make it work, somehow."
She stopped somewhere in the kitchen while I straightened my tie like a ridiculous peon. "Hey," she came back around and started to laugh, her bright, soft eyes shining, "maybe we'll have to shower together anyway. Not like you haven't seen it all by now. Ha!"
While I stammered and tried to look like there wasn't any truth to it, she continued, moving quickly. "Oh, cheer up. We're family; this kind of stuff is alright if we're adults about it. I'll see you tonight. Love you." Like a whirlwind, she had her stuff gathered, kissed me on the cheek, and then disappeared outside.
Just like that, she consented to us showering together.
Was she serious?
If I knew my mother at all, I could tell she was dead serious and had no idea that I lusted after her. She had no clue that some of my recent masturbation fantasies very literally included fucking her in the shower, being put together with ridiculous, flimsy excuses like not being able to wash my back, or that both of my arms were broken and I needed her to gently wash my cock.
But being together with her, naked, in that little cramped space was actually going to happen.
Was it?
I couldn't imagine it happening in any of the way I had been fantasizing about it. Mom was single minded and was probably going to make an entire system about it -- we'd be in and out in three minutes, mentally and maturely chaste, cleaner than we'd ever been, and we'd have enough hot water left for a bedtime coffee.
But still.
We were going to be naked with each other.
I went to my internship and fought my erection all day as if it were trying to kill me.
--
I got home just after some night classes and found mom in the shared bathroom, staring at the layout of the shower.
"You're going to make a system, aren't you?" I groaned, realizing her type A personality was about to make this as efficient and mechanical as a factory floor.
"We likely have five minutes of hot water, so we have to do this correctly," she said, cooly. "It takes a little longer for me to do my hair, so you'll hang back here while I shampoo. Once I'm done, you'll take the shampoo while I go around you and lather up with the soap." She pointed out our positions as if she were dictating where exactly a set of files went, speaking faster than I could pick up. She lost me and then finished, "...and then I'll do my final rinse, and then we're done!"
The way she explained it could have made sense if I was able to visualize it, but all I could put together was that she was dead serious about being together in the shower, merely switching off under the stream until we were done. It meant we were going to be close -- very close, passing by each other, back and forth.
When I looked at the shower, I could tell she wasn't considering the fact that we'd practically have to rub against each other.
Very, very closely.
"Alright," she concluded, pressing her hands together. "Let's have dinner, then we'll get this over with. If we stick to the plan and practice, we'll be able to get through the week without too much suffering."
While we ate our dinner, the snow started. Mom dreamily looked out and started talking about hot chocolate, unaware that I was staring at her uniform, going through some of what was about to happen in my head. She was going to take it off. All of it. We were going to be close together. Wet. Touching ourselves with soap.
Judging by how fucking hard my cock was under the table, there was no way in hell I was going to get done with that shower without her realizing exactly what my body wanted.
It was going to be very stiffly obvious.
The plates were clear. It was about to happen. I choked down the last bit of my food and went to my room, halfway hoping a miracle would fix the water heater.
"Anthony!" I heard a call from the bathroom.
No miracles today, I guess.
I made it to the entry of the bathroom, pajamas in hand, towel slung over my head, my mind heavy with the worry that even though I was about to witness the naked gloriousness of my mother, she was about to understand exactly what I thought of her.
"Hey," I ventured, saying through the cracked open door, "I think maybe I'll just risk it tomorrow. You go ahead and shower, I'll just go to bed and --" The door swung open, and mom stood there, shirt gone, only in her pants and a bra. Her blonde hair was draped along her shoulders, free from the way it was tied up through her workday.
Mom's breasts were so... full. Even under the bra I could tell they were still heavy. Hot. Plush soft.
But her eyes were daggers.
"You're going to shower, Anthony. Just look away if you're going to be such a prude about it." She turned, scoffing, and her hands went up behind her back. "I thought you were mature enough for this."
The clip slipped sideways beneath her fingers.
It was moving too fast. There wasn't any time to think.
I blinked and the bra fell. My mom's back was now bare. I looked to the side where the mirror was and saw that same pink color, I noticed the times I walked in on her in the shower.
Pearly pink.
Nipples with heavy, curved areolas. Breasts so large, so bountiful that for an instant I thought about what it would be like, drinking milk from them. The curve swept down elegantly, her breasts still somehow so full and so abundant and heavy it was a wonder that she was in her forties. Nobody would have believed it.
But then my mother's hands went down to the sides of her pants and pulled down in a swift tug, and in the span of a blink I saw a voluptuous white -- my mother's legs, her ass, firm and round and pale. Her legs were so, so long, and the way her pink panties hugged her bottom revealed the cumulative effort of innumerable squats and thousands of hours on an exercise bike.
There was no denying it.
My mother was in her sexual prime.
Her hands went to her panties last.
I held my breath.
She pulled her hands down, down, down, and then there it was.
A little glimpse of blonde.
And pink.
Mom looked at me, oblivious to the way the blood rushed toward my waist. "You know, we'll have to start this shower sometime. Come on."
I took off my clothes while mom did a final double check, entirely nude, making sure she had all her soaps, her shampoos all lined up underneath the shower. The way she bent gave me a full look between her curvy legs -- the pinkness of her pussy was so bright between the whiteness of her skin, the lips were full, taut, firm looking.
They looked delicious -- I wanted to kneel while she bent, moving around her soaps, press my face between her legs and lick into her, to taste my own mother.
Holy shit, I was crazy.
Mom's arm stretched out one last time, toward the handle. It turned slowly and the water started. Her fingers moved up, tested the stream coming from the shower head, her head craned upward while her body was bent over, her ass arched upward. As if she were presenting herself.
As if she were giving herself to me.
Obviously, she wasn't. Obviously, she was innocently believing that her son had absolutely no desire for her, and that the way she was leaning over wasn't causing any issues for us at all, but I was panicking. My erection was starting, despite every effort I took to think of something else, anything else -- to pinch my arm, to flex my thighs, to recite the alphabet backwards, every possible trick that I learned over the course of Junior High.
And maybe it would have worked, if the steam didn't start rising from the water, and if mom didn't step inside, face the water, direct it to pour all over her heavy, gorgeous breasts, if she didn't close her eyes and make a blissful moan at the heat and wet.
My cock rose. And I had to get in there, not just because the shower had to happen, now, but also because my cock itself demanded it.
It was too late for me.
I stepped in, torn between distress and awe.
Mom bent over for shampoo while I stood behind her, the curves along her back and her legs like a piece of art. She stood straight up and started to work it into her hair, bringing the whiteness of suds and a rich, delicate smell of berries and tea into the bathroom. With her arms up, I saw her tits draw tight, changing their shape from teardrops to full mounds.
"Alright," she said, eyes closed, "your turn for the shampoo." She stepped to the side, only a few inches worth, and started to edge closer to me, intending for me to move past her in the tiny, tiny space of the shower.
How the hell did she expect this to work again?
I started to move, but I could see it, even if she couldn't. My cock was engorged, the space was too small. We were going to have to touch, to brush past each other. There was no escaping it.
I moved my hands down and pressed my cock upward, moved past her as carefully as I could, but there was no escaping it.
As she moved back, as I moved forward, our bodies made contact. The back of my hands, my hip, they all brushed against her firm, beautifully round, unbearably soft bottom. She was already a little slick from the shampoo sliding down. My cock strained against my hands, fighting to get closer to her, and at the same time my mind was screaming about how close she was, how it would only take a little 'accidental slip' to end up in the kind of situation that made for great porn.
I shook my head and bit my lip, hard, trying to keep from thinking about this too hard. I might have been crazy, and I might have been attracted to my mother, but I was going to shower and be done with this.
Fuck. Who was I kidding?
How the hell was I going to make it through the next week?
"You alright?" Mom asked.
"I just got some shampoo in my eye, no biggie," I replied as quickly as I could.
"Oh. Sorry." Mom patted me on the back, the slick sound of the water and the feeling of her hand making my cock surge.
I shampooed and tried to meditate on the whiteness of our bathroom, but it wasn't enough. My cock, free, was still pulsing with strength, only encouraged by the hot water running down and over its length. If I turned around, it wasn't going to take much for mom to notice it... at all.
I could hear her hands, moving over her body behind me. She was already lathering up, undoubtedly pressing on her tits, along her legs, between them, moving over the ample flesh of her ass and pressing into them. I hurriedly rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and tried to move onto the soap next.
"Switch up," mom said, suddenly. She was moving.
I turned to face her so I wouldn't lose my balance or accidentally bump into her and cause us to fall over since the space was so small, but unfortunately, I made a huge miscalculation. I expected us to go the same way as last time, with her facing away. But this time, she wasn't.
Mom and I were now face to face, moving past each other, mere inches away, covered in soap, smelling like flowers and fruit and lemongrass.
And what was worse. I was still erect.
I snapped my hands down to cover myself, to move it upward so it wouldn't touch her.
But there was no covering what was happening to me. My cock head was colored, engorged, my hands pressing it to me nowhere near enough to hide it from my mother.
As we moved within inches of each other, she looked down.
Her eyes went to my cock. Then they went wide.
"Oh." I heard her say through the noise of the water. It wasn't even an exclamation. More of a statement.
And then as we moved completely to our spots, my mother facing away from me under the shower head, myself behind her, I heard her again, "oh..."
That was the sound of a realization -- a very sudden one.
Immediately, the firm, stoic and concrete attitude of hers crumbled. My mother wasn't any longer the corporate woman with the power of a company in her grasp. She was a woman. A very shocked, very surprised woman who was staring at her son's cock.
She looked up at me, shocked, her mind finally clicking with the understanding of why I was so hesitant, piecing together the sight and proximity of her body with the physical evidence I had between my legs. Suddenly, she realized that it wasn't a matter of maturity that made me so nervous around her like this. It wasn't because I was icked out by nakedness, not because I thought it'd be awkward to be nude around family.
My mother realized that I wanted her. Her son wanted her.
And there it was. My mother knew.
Her certainty crumbled some more.
She knew exactly what my hard, erect cock meant in this context. Her eyes looked into mine with a lot more understanding than they had before. Not the good kind of understanding, either.
Then our eye contact broke.
With the knowledge out there, she was silent for the rest of the shower, rushing through the last of the soap, rinsing stiffly.
For me, the crushing weight and embarrassment was too much. I wanted to stick my head underneath the stream of water and inhale it until I could have been a drowning victim.
Eventually, after an agonizing eternity, mom was done, and she stepped out, not looking at me, her eyes fixed wide, wide open in shock and disbelief. She quickly wrapped a towel over her hair, patted herself off with another, and then left.
I was alone under the stream, only having washed my hair after all that struggle.
It was starting to get cold.
Chapter 4
"I'm sure it's natural," she said, no longer shocked, while we sat at the kitchen table. I didn't want to be here. I went straight to my room after I got out, and tried to come up with a plan to run away to Thailand or something, but mom knocked and insisted that I come out and at least talk about it.
"Look. It's biological, I'm sure. There's no need to be embarrassed." Mom spoke, her trademark certainty back. "I get it. Men are just that way. You see anything with two legs and you're going to start feeling things. I certainly don't hold it against you." Mom tried to engage eye contact with me. "Anthony?"
"I'm just embarrassed as hell," I said, refusing to look her in the eye. I couldn't believe I was talking with my mother about this.
"Don't be, it's not like women aren't similar," she said, laughing. "It's the same with me. While I guess other women don't really get sidetracked like that, but me, I'm not nearly as much of a prude. I start thinking things when I see, you know, an erection." Right after she finished speaking, her mouth clamped shut. As if she realized what she had said exactly.
Then we made eye contact. I was looking at her with a little bit of shock. She was looking at me with a little bit of surprise at herself.
"Not that I thought anything when I saw yours," she said, quickly, her cheeks reddening, "it's normal to, for me to, but when... Well, I didn't. I really didn't think anything about it. I mean, I'm your mother."
Then it was silent. And her turn to be embarrassed. The façade cracked.
But then I had a realization of my own. My mom saw it. She saw my cock, full mast. She knew for a fact that I was aroused, that I wanted her. What did she think when she saw it? Did it arouse something in her? Anything?
It was hard to tell, but her embarrassment was triggering a very weird train of thought.
It led into a weird little logical string that said that I was sexually aroused by my mom. And that she might have just been a little sexually aroused by me. That kind of mutual desire was...
Possible?
Did my mom see my cock and...
...like it?
Mom stammered some excuse about work and went to her room, leaving me with a lot more questions and a much stronger hard-on than before.
We both got home at around the same time, the snow confounding both of our commutes into a game of slip and slide. We ate dinner, and I notice mom only looked at me periodically, looking immediately away whenever we made eye contact.
I wondered what was going on inside her head. It couldn't have been easy, or quiet. It was probably just as loud and confusing in her head as it was mine. But there was the new and emerging question going on -- with all her work, her overtime, her manic obsession with a clean house, and the continual tutoring she gave me throughout high school...
...how many men had she been with since dad?
There was never a single occurrence of her coming home with a guy, introducing him as 'her nice friend'. There was never a single time where she called to tell me she'd be home late with a strange or breathless tone. There was never, ever a single time where she stayed anywhere else overnight, except for a business trip that was more of a 'women's conference'.
So how many men had she been with?
Had she been with anyone at all?
And what happens to a woman way too busy to have sex, but who clearly enjoys masturbating in the bath?
If my own hormones were any indication, that level of pseudo chastity would drive somebody crazy. The fact that I hadn't looked at porn in a couple weeks was driving me crazy, so how was my mom faring?
Was my cock the first one she had seen up close since dad?
It had to have been.
"Well," mom said, hesitantly, breaking through the depth of thought.
I immediately noticed that her cheeks were a little flushed, and that she was nervously looking to the side. She stammered, "I think it's time to address the elephant in the room."
I nodded and tried to look calm.
"Clearly..." She looked the other way, "there's something going on. With you. But we're going to be, you know, adults about this." Then she was silent for a long time. I didn't know if I was supposed to respond to this, but I don't think I would have had any words even if I did want to say anything.
"So," she continued, nervously, her hand going up to her wavy blonde hair and curling it around her fingers, "let's bite the bullet. And we're going to get cleaned up. And if you, uh, feel uncomfortable, just turn around. Sound good?"
She looked up and we sort of stared at each other. The clock audibly ticked above us, and the snow outside started falling more heavily.
"Alright," she said, finally, getting up.
We went to the bathroom and sort of stood there awkwardly for a second. Mom's hands went to the buttons that went down the center of her shirt and toyed with them. I made a point of looking away from her. If there was one thing that was obvious, it was that she was nervous. Uncomfortable. And I knew that it was my fault.
Not that I was in control of what turned me on, but I couldn't imagine being my poor mother in that second, hesitating and deliberating as to whether to undress in front of her horny son. Whether she herself was horny, whether she liked the way her son's cock looked, the weird new dynamic we had that made it difficult to just be ourselves.
"Mom," I said, trying to offer some semblance of hope, "maybe I can just do some cold showers, or something. There's research about them on the internet that says you can--"
"If you show up at your workplace with greasy hair, that's the end of you," mom said, curt. "He's fired for less. Remember our deal? You show up groomed. Always."
And that was the end of my own last-ditch attempt to salvage whatever relationship I had with my mom.
What was going to come after this?
Was I going to have to move out? I couldn't imagine anything but that being the case -- there was no way we'd be able to live together in good conscience.
I heard her take a deep breath. It was slight. Shaky. In my peripheral vision I could see her chest, swelling out, shrinking back, her breasts lifting and dropping.
"Okay," mom said, her voice brushed thick with fake confidence. "Let's get this over with like adults."
Her fingers went to work -- fast. They went down the buttons in a fast and practiced line, and then she pulled off her dress shirt in a fast motion, throwing it onto the floor, her upper body now only covered by a cute white tank top and bra. Her hands went around her waist and pulled down her pants in a single, smooth motion. Her legs went up, were free, were smooth and long and curved and white. Her cheeks were contrasting with the color of the rest of her body -- a burning pink.
Watching her undress was... bliss.
Her hands reached under her tank, lifted it up, and now she was only in her underwear. Her bra barely contained the lovely voluptuousness of her breasts, her panties were tight around something cute and plump between her legs. Her hands went behind her. A swift flick and the bra was free. Her breasts let go, made sharp tear drops with pointed, deliciously puffy nipples.
Then she leaned over, her fingers hooked into her panties, her breasts hanging, suspended, heavy and sharp and pointed with yummy pinkness I could almost taste. She stopped for a split second. Glanced at me. Saw me fully clothed. She blinked.
I didn't realize I was staring.
I yanked off my pants, my shirt, my socks and underwear. As my cock pulled free from my boxers, it sprang straight up, rigid and throbbing. Her eyes glanced at it, darted away. I saw her breathing a little more deeply, her eyes flicking up, then down, over and over.
Then her own hands started to pull downward on her soft white panties.
The fabric gently drifted down.
Past her thighs.
Her little sculpted, blonde triangle emerged. The hint of pink underneath it was pretty. It looked... soft.
She stepped out of her panties and we looked at each other for a brief second before she moved, awkwardly, toward the handle. The water went on. We looked at each other in brief glimpses until the steam started to rise. The way her eyes lingered on my cock made my heart skip beats. She seemed so nervous.
Mom went in first. The way her legs opened as she stepped over gave me a fuller glimpse of what was between her legs, two juicy looking lips pressed tight by two plump mounds, a delicate color between them.
I followed her, got in. While she lathered up her hair with the shampoo, I tried again to keep focused, to avoid looking at my mother, to keep from being so fucked up. But the knowledge that she might have been even a little hot and bothered by the sight of my nakedness was forcing my cock up, hard, straight, rigid, and I knew all it would take was another glimpse my way for her to really, really understand how badly I wanted... something.
Her ass was so... full. And with every movement to the side, with each sweep of her arms as she worked the lather into her long, blonde hair, her ass gave a firm jiggle. I wouldn't be caught dead saying it out loud but... I wanted to just push my face between her cheeks and to just... taste her.
Fuck.
She passed the shampoo behind her this time, choosing to opt out of us pushing against each other to swap places. Enough of the water was moving past her that I got to lather up. I took care of my hair and thought that maybe, if she didn't watch the way my cock twitched and jumped with every movement of her full, plush ass, then maybe we'd get out of this with a shred of our dignity intact. Maybe.
After a minute of me looking longingly at her butt, she passed a soap bar behind her. I took it and started to wash myself, starting at the top and moving down.
But as I started to get close to washing my privates, I felt this extreme urge. The urge to touch myself around her, to use the soap as lube and to jerk off. She was right in front of me, her beautiful ass was right there and the way it glimmered in the steam and the water was so tempting.
I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, and decided that I wasn't going to go that far.
But it was tempting. And it did raise the question -- how the hell was I supposed to wash my junk without making her more uncomfortable?
I got lost in thought about it. Way lost. It was a full-on debate going on in my head, trying to define masturbation as either a physical activity, or maybe an emotional one. It was so engrossing that I just kind of... washed myself without thinking too hard about it. Obviously since I was erect, and since my mom was there it looked, and felt, fucking fantastic. But the debate raged on.
Until I noticed mom looking at me.
Maybe it was because my head was pointed down. Maybe it was because my mind was so thoroughly entrenched in the question of how to clean my cock without making mom feel too bad about our proximity. Maybe it was because I still held onto the soap and she hadn't had a chance to use it yet.
But just then I noticed she was looking at me.
And then she looked down.
Her bright blue eyes took a careful look at my length. At how close it was to her bottom. At how my cock throbbed, the head swollen with desire. Desire she knew without a doubt was for her.
She knew it was the desire that a son should never, ever have for his mother.
My mother looked at my hand on it. On the shaft, on the bubbles and the soap that coated me. I stopped washing my cock, froze, but her eyes watched my hand go back and forth before I stopped moving completely.
Then she looked at me again. Just her eyes. Just the blue eyes, wide, her pink cheeks and the heat and steam hiding the rest of her expression.
I didn't know how to react.
Mom saw it. She was seeing it. She was looking at me, at my cock, at the way my hand moved over its length.
Her hand reached out and held itself behind her.
"Honey," mom said, her voice a little strained.
"I need the soap."
"Oh. Right." I placed it in her hand and watched as it retreated in front of her.
And then I watched her wash herself. The water moved past her in sheets that helped rinse me, but too slowly for me to make an exit. Instead, I watched her helplessly, observing her hands moving over her shoulders, her arms, her fingers pressing into her soft flesh, smoothing down her waist in slick movements, pushing into the ample flesh along her hips... Her hands then slid down, massaging her legs. Her lovely, curvy legs, the kind that men drooled over, the kind that I couldn't help but stare at, stunned as she leaned slightly over, pushing her ass out as if she were shyly preparing herself for something to go... between her legs.
I had to get the hell out. I was going insane. My mother was so beautiful and sexy, and despite how fucked up it was for me to want her that way, the physical sight and the closeness and the delicious, floral smell of her soap was making my cock throb. The way she bent over was too much. My cock was humming, my mind was screaming at me, begging me to move closer to her. To press into her. To take her.
The most insane decision went before me. I could make a move. See if she'd let me. See if there was even a little bit of her that wanted it. It was the kind of choice that could destroy everything I had, but fuck, the way my mom looked was so tempting that I wanted to try, I wanted to risk it and see if she'd consent.
If in the tiniest miracle she was somehow as crazy as me... then I'd have her. I'd have bliss. I'd feel the sensation of penetrating my own mom, entering the very place I had come from.
Mercifully, somehow, she finished washing herself, and then rinsed off with efficiency, all the soap running down her in a perfectly straight horizontal line as if rinsing were an Olympic sport, and within seconds, she was done. She turned her head to the side, and then stepped out.
Breathing heavily.
I felt almost dizzy. I was breathing heavily too.
I saw through the shower curtain that mom was a little dazed. Her steps were uneven. Her hands reached out for her towel and she took it, her head shaking, her eyes closed, her lips barely moving as if she were saying something to herself.
With the rest of the water to myself, and with the temperature starting to go colder, I hurried up and rinsed myself completely off. Once I finished, I turned it off, stepped out, and saw her, standing next to the sink, wrapped tightly in her towel, her wet hair trailing down her back and making dark, wet lines in the cotton.
Her head was slightly down. She was staring into the sink, still distracted by whatever was going on in her head, still kind of out of it. I grabbed my own towel and started to wrap it around me. I would have finished. Except that mom's own towel was far, far, far too high up on her.
Her bottom, the curve at its base, was visible. Her cheeks were sitting, a plump pair, tight and heavy and beautifully round and smooth just underneath the edge of the towel. And from where I stood next to the shower, with mom leaned over, with her just far enough away, I could see...
The yummy pink of her pussy.
Just underneath her cheeks, the little hint of pink was covered by shadow, but not enough of it -- in the brightness of our bathroom I could see the color change, I could see the lips.
And a little bit of shine.
I didn't know if it was from the water. I didn't know if it was because she was wet. I didn't know, and almost didn't care, she looked wet, she looked so insanely hot, and the way she bent over, barely miming what I saw in the shower, I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to do. My cock was still rigid, trying to cover it in a towel was just going to make a ridiculous tent. I could dry off, get dressed as fast as I could, and leave so that she had the place to herself.
I must have taken too long to figure this out.
Mom took a deep breath at the counter, and rubbed at the foggy mirror to see herself. But in the reflection, she looked toward me, and noticed where I had been staring.
Immediately, she straightened up, tugged her towel just a little farther down. Her eyes weren't wide, but they were looking at me, and her expression was something I really couldn't understand since the mirror was so fogged up.
But all I knew was that she saw me, again, staring, unable to look away.
She took her second towel in hand, grabbed her clothes, not bothering to wrap up her hair first, and strode out of the bathroom, past me, much faster than her customary walk.
I was in the bathroom by myself again.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Chapter 5
The next day, we ate dinner in total silence. Mom didn't seem to have much to say about anything the entire day -- not in the morning, not in the evening.
I didn't really want to say anything either. The whole situation was too much. I was already planning plane tickets to Mexico so I could disappear into a nameless town and be forgotten forever.
Once our plates were in the sink, she finally spoke up.
"I guess it's time." Her voice startled me. She was looking at me with a weird expression. One I couldn't quite read, one I didn't understand. All I knew was that my heart started throbbing uncontrollably, and that she was walking slowly, unsteadily toward the bathroom.
I followed her in. The scent of my mom's floral perfume drifted behind her, and I drank it in, breathing it as if it were the last air on the planet.
Then we stood next to the shower, staring at it. Mom cleared her throat. "Okay." Her voice was thin. High.
Her hands went to the bottom of her shirt.
In what felt like seconds, she undressed, her clothes disappearing off her, white skin replacing fabric, pink cheeks growing pinker, smooth legs joining at her hips, her cute bottom now visible in a delicious curve.
I took off my own clothes as quickly as I could as well. My cock was already thick, throbbing at the sight of her. It jerked up from my waistband, her eyes flicked to it and then left as quickly.
Then she straightened up. I did too. She looked at me. Cheeks red. Eyes blue.
Her chest moving, her hands pressing along the front of her hips nervously, rubbing into her soft skin, her fingers seeming to point to the lips of her pussy, to the blonde triangle above them.
She looked away.
Then she moved toward the shower. It went on. The steam started to rise. She moved, stepping in, her ass pointing toward me this time, the cute shape of her cunny visible as she lifted her leg and leaned forward to get in.
I stepped in next, the steam and heat and the dew from the shower washing over me. Mom's hair was already wet, her hands efficiently gathering shampoo, applying it through her long blonde locks.
The water streamed down her body. Rivulets, reflecting the paleness of her body, bent like a river along every curve.
She passed the shampoo behind her. I used it. My heartbeat was so loud in my ears.
I summoned a little courage to ask her for the soap.
There was no response. Her hands went up and into her hair, her shoulders lifting. I imagined the way her breasts must have lifted as well, what the sharp shape of her perky nipples must have taken on.
I imagined how she must have felt about all this. Wondered if she was so lost in thought she couldn't even hear me. It had to have been a lot she was dealing with, all at once.
But I needed the soap. "Hey." I said.
No response.
I could see it there, by her knee, just in the corner where it sat at the rim. Without thinking, and fuck me, I should have thought, I just leaned forward to get it.
And I leaned right into mom.
I didn't mean to -- if I really understood in that instant what the fuck I was doing, I would never have done it. It was too fucking crazy. It was the kind of move that would have taken the most far out person to consciously try. And I definitely wasn't that person.
But I did it without thinking.
And the first thing I noticed was the soft sensation of her skin, of her flesh, and how her body felt as I suddenly pressed against her, reaching for the soap.
The next thing I noticed was her gasp. I felt her body move with it, as she took in the air in a sharp breath. She wasn't expecting this to happen, and in my defense, I wasn't either. But it was happening. The water from the shower, the shampoo running down, the heat, it made us slide against each other, intimately allowing us to feel each other. Her back was so lovely, her body being the first feminine body I had felt since the end of high school, her breathing the first feminine reaction I created in another in months.
And the third thing I noticed was the sensation, sparking pleasure, all along the length of my cock, as I pressed against her ass.
Her ass was so round, soft, pillowy. My weight was already going that direction, and the momentum, the direction, it wouldn't let me stop. My cock pressed hard into the softness of her bottom, settling between her cheeks, rubbing against her lower back, the shampoo acting as lubricant, the sensation of her softness against my cock made me take a breath in.
I couldn't really believe I was feeling my cock against my own mother's ass. And I'm sure, neither could she.
But I had the soap in hand. And I drew back, not sure if I should apologize, if that would make everything more awkward. My cock slipped back, but as I drew backward, it drew along the line of her ass, the head of my cock tracing between her cheeks.
I opened my mouth to say I was sorry. To explain that I didn't mean it. To try and tell her that it was an accident, that I was sorry, and that I promise, I never would have done anything like that on purpose, that I knew it was crazy and that it was probably too much and --
Mom turned around. My mother carefully turned, her eyes looking at me with an expression that was hard to read. Her cheeks were redder than they were before, the heat of the shower and the steam rising around us in a dense cloud, the soft pink of her lips apparent, her mouth barely open as if she was about to say something. I couldn't tell if those words would have been accusation... or maybe... acknowledgement? Agreement?
...Consent?
But no words came out. Instead, her cheeks flushed, her breasts heaving before me, her nipples like flickable candy, my mother stared me in the eye while my heartbeat deafeningly in my ears. Her eyes went down.
Toward my thickly erect cock, throbbing in the water and the heat and the sight of my mom, staring, shocked, at her son.
In my hands I held the soap bar, nervously turning it around and around.
"I just..." I stammered, "I needed the soap... I needed... to wash myself."
Her mouth moved; her eyes still glued on my cock. On her son's cock. Her lips made an uncertain shape as she tried to make a sound. But she was silent. Entranced.
I didn't know how the hell to react. But something was very different, the steam and the heat and her eyes and the lingering sensation of what my mother's flesh felt like as I pressed against her from behind, everything was swirling around in my head and combining with the fact that mom was looking at my cock, stuck, her mouth parted and her breaths gasping and her chest heaving.
And her hands moving.
The only thing I noted in that instant were the suds along her hands. Her scented shampoo.
Her fingers moved forward.
Downward. Against everything my mind said would make sense.
And then they came close, dangerously close to me. I blinked, trying to make sure this was actually happening.
Mom's fingers came achingly close to my cock.
And then, her fingers traced in an invisible space, the little fraction of an inch, hovering over my shaft, so close I could feel the shelter of her hands, feel the heat from her fingers.
Then I felt one of her hands close around me. The warmth, the water, my mother's palm, they all pressed around my shaft. My mother's hands carefully took hold of my cock, the shampoo and my shock creating a blend of sensations that meant slickness, heat, and the sudden and extreme ache that only came with a hardon unlike anything I had ever had, my cock was positively throbbing for my mother's hands.
And then her hands started moving. Carefully, they pressed along the underside of my penis, her fingers gently feeling the shape, massaging the shampoo into my skin, all the while her blue eyes were staring straight down at her own son's cock while she washed it, mouth open, pulling down the skin as if she were jerking me off, slowly covering all of me with the soap and the suds and the soft, slick heat.
Mom washed me with the kind of care I knew only a mother was capable of, her beautiful, soft hands treating my cock with love, shock, surprise.
And then my mom looked up at me. Her blue eyes stared at me in tense shock, and her hands suddenly drew back, her mouth clamping shut.
I didn't know how to react either -- there was nothing we could have possibly said in that moment to deal with how she touched me, nothing that could have helped us to smooth it over.
The water temperature was starting to shift.
And then the spell was broken, the cooling water signaling an alarm, and we scrambled to cover ourselves with soap and to rinse off, frantically passing the bar of soap back and forth, working together to make sure we were able to get ourselves clean in the half minute we had left of warm water, our hands running over ourselves, our eyes sometimes looking at each other's bodies, at each other's faces. I didn't know what I must have looked like, but mom looked angelic, intensely sexy, her breasts moving, shifting, lifted and pressed down by her hands, her fingers pressing down between her legs, along her bottom, along the insides of her thighs and along her regally white neck.
And then we were done, the water started to turn cold, and mom turned around and slammed the handle shut, breathing heavily, shakily.
I stepped out before she did this time, similarly breathing heavily, the insanity of this shower too much for me to handle. I went to my towel, and buried my face in it. I could feel the heat from my own cheeks and tried not to think about it too hard, but it was impossible to hide from it. The picture of my mother's skin, her tits, her beautiful ass, the way it felt as I pressed against those lovely cheeks, the sensation of her hand as she... gripped me. As her hands ran up and down my cock as she washed me, entirely outside of what I expected.
I knew for certain now.
Everything I was feeling, mom was too.
Holy shit.
Mom was turned on. Enough to touch her own son's cock.
My mom and I were turned on, insatiably horny, unable to control what we touched. Both of us. By each other. My mom wanted me, washed me, ran her fingers up and down my length, washed my shaft with tenderness, desire, wanted my cock against every bit of sense and decency and rule I thought she had. I wanted the same, I wanted that first, I wanted mom to keep touching me, to feel my cock some more, to jerk me off, I wanted to violate my mother's body and to press harder against her and to feel her, slippery, soft under me and to take her.
I wanted to fuck my mother.
I bit the towel, hard, trying to shove this out.
But it was impossible. I drew it away from me and looked around to see how mom was handling all of this. But she wasn't even in the bathroom. I saw a trail of wet footprints, noticed her towel was off the rack, heard her footsteps moving down the hall.
I was way, way too freaked out to follow. Even if I wanted to follow her, all the way to her room.
To her bed.
Suddenly it all became very real. The idea that mom wanted it. The idea that it was possible, that it could happen, that maybe if I went to her room right now that there was a chance she'd want to do it too, if I went to her and pressed her against her sheets, she could spread her gorgeous, long legs and--
I slapped myself and tried to regain my composure.
It got cold in the bathroom way too quickly.
Chapter 6
The next morning, mom went to work before I could even get up. All I knew had changed, based on everything that happened yesterday. My relationship with my mom was likely over, not even in the idea that I had overstepped my boundaries -- the simple fact was mom had too. It was out in the open.
My mother stroked my cock last night. Was I dreaming? This kind of thing never happened. No mothers would willingly touch their adult sons, not like that. Not for so long. Not with that much interest.
The thought of how her hands felt sent my erection straight up, pulsing, my hips involuntarily pushing forward as if her hands were still there.
It was so hard to go to work.
Between the snow and the intense sense of dread, all I could think about was the feeling of her hands, slick with shampoo, and what I was going to have to do to adjust to all the changes that had happened.
Obviously, I had to move. Even though my mother had touched my cock last night, the simple fact was that no family relationship was going to survive that. To spare us some semblance of personal dignity, the right thing to do was to leave and never, ever come back. Could I even stay in this town?
Clearly, the fact that I was connected to my mom through my employer was an issue that had to be remedied. I envisioned telling my employer that I was quitting -- I wondered if he'd laugh at me if I said it was for 'personal reasons' and if I'd get blackballed from the industry.
I guessed it was time to move to a totally different state. Or to Mexico. Away from my lovely, sexy mom. Sweet fuck, this was so messed up.
The day went by in a blur of anxiety.
The drive home was worse. Every mile closer to home was a ratcheted increase in heartrate. Maybe, if I was lucky, mom wouldn't be home and I could pack and disappear before she even saw me.
But I wasn't lucky.
Her car was parked in the driveway. The pit in my stomach deepened as I parked, trying to figure out how I could quickly dip into my room, shove my most important stuff into a few old bags, and then disappear. Maybe if she was feeling half as embarrassed as I was then she would--
The door opened.
Mom was standing in the doorway, looking at me with an expression I could only describe as... warm. Not emotionally warm. As in temperature, warm. Embarrassed, maybe, but she was definitely very bothered about something, the color in her cheeks was there, her chest was moving with shallow, anxious breaths, her hands smoothing along the front of her legs.
Was she just trying to summon the courage to talk about this? Maybe since mom was a go-getter, power player she would somehow find a way we could put this behind us. Sanely.
Maybe.
The way she looked made it doubtful.
"Hey," she said, as I closed the car door. "Let's talk."
Oh boy.
We were inside, sitting at the kitchen table, trying to settle ourselves. Mom's hands were folded tightly on the surface, her fingers nervously intertwining continuously while she tried to sit up straight, to maintain her characteristic, stoic, businesslike attitude.
"Well," she said, words failing her. They didn't fail her often, if ever. Everything that had happened in the last few days must have been a lot, and how the hell could it not be?
I pressed against my mom in the shower. Then she stroked my cock. And we liked it. After days of trying to suppress it, ignore it, justify it, to try to hide it or accept it as natural, anything but embracing it, the way we touched yesterday evaporated all of it and left us with the stark realization that maybe, just maybe, we wanted each other much more intimately than a kid and his mom should.
Mom cleared her throat. As if that would wipe away everything, but it was obvious. What we did was way, way too much to ignore.
"I'm sorry," I broke in before she could formulate anything. "I didn't mean to get close. I just... I wasn't thinking, and it was my fault we're in this awkward... thing." I hoped my explanation could smooth things over, but mom seemed about as embarrassed as ever.
"I'm sorry too," she said, trying to keep her tone even. "Obviously we... overstepped a boundary. We don't need to say what it was but," she swallowed, "I think we can just understand each other. It'll help us process this and maybe move forward." She nodded before continuing, her cheeks pinkening, her eyes squinting shut as she tried to put the words in an order that made sense. "I guess I didn't realize, on my part, that I've been... you know... when you don't date for a while, and you forget that a girl just needs some... and I didn't know I wanted to... well. I've just been... thinking about... You get what I'm saying, right?"
Her words, despite being so halting and uncertain, hit me as if they were a truck. A girl just needs some... what? She's wanted to... to do what?
What else could she have been talking about? Instead of creating some kind of closure about this, it only made my head spin. Even if she didn't say it completely, she admitted that she was thinking about something, she was wanting something, needing something.
Her eyes opened and she looked up at me, blushing hard. My own mom, blushing, looking distressed by something happening between her legs. It wasn't the look of a person looking for understanding. I already understood. I understood about the hard red of the blush in her cheeks. About the way she was breathing, embarrassed.
I nodded. "Yeah," I said, trying to keep my own voice even. "I get it."
"Do you..." her voice was small now. "Do you want... to come with me to the bathroom? So, we can, well," she gave a small swallow, her eyes held on mine. "...so, we can shower?"
There was a long silence. Longer than I wanted it to be. But I couldn't respond, not after that.
My mom had just asked it of me.
I could feel my cock aching against my pants, pulsing with intensity and strength, demanding that I say yes.
Mom had just asked me, after everything we had gone through, if I would come with her, right now. To undress. To be naked with each other. To get close all over again.
To risk what we had done, all over again.
Of course, I wanted to.
I didn't nod, but I stood up. Without hesitation. The air felt different. Mom stood too, and we went toward the bathroom. She passed by me through the open door, the smell of her perfume wafting past me, the scent of yesterday's shampoo still lingering, making my heart skip.
Then we were in the bathroom together. Facing the shower, standing side by side. Mom's hands were around herself, her hands squeezing her arms. She was staring ahead, trying not to look at me. Both of us had to have been so uncertain, not sure about the wordless agreement, the way we both were here, both wanting something from the other. The way we said nothing to each other, the way we wouldn't name the unthinkable thing.
The thing we both wanted.
But here we were.
No denying it now.
Mom turned toward me, her eyes drifting down my chest, her lip caught in a little uncertain bite. Then her gaze went back to the shower, as if she was doing something very wrong by looking at her son.
I took off my belt. Mom closed her eyes at the sound of the buckle falling to the ground. Then opened them as her hands went upward to the edges of her pants. She started with the button in the center of her waist. I could hear it flicking free. Then the slight metallic sound of her zipper. Her fingers, pinched together, traced down her pelvis and then ended where her legs began. Where underneath, she hid herself. Something I could only imagine as wet.
My hands went down my shirt buttons. The shirt disappeared to the ground as mom slipped her thumbs to her sides and started to pull downward. Her pants rolled slowly down.
Milky, white skin. Legs so silky and smooth, I wanted to run my tongue up and down her soft, hairless thighs.
Panties. Mom's panties.
Red silk.
A little slope below her waist, where her cunny was clothed in the deeply scarlet silk of her underwear.
Mom's cunny.
My mother's legs that went on forever.
My heart was pounding through my chest. We were only this far, but it was beyond anything I could have possibly expected would happen. My mom was undressing. Knowing exactly what her son wanted.
What she wanted.
She gave a slight turn as she pulled upward, her hands along her shirt now, drawing upward and unveiling her cute, flat tummy, the little navel, the angle of her ribs and then -- breasts, barely contained in a bra that held up her lovely, ample teats. Mom let the shirt drop. As it connected with the ground, her eyes went to mine and her lips, scarlet next to her red cheeks, seemed to flare with color and with breath.
Then her hands went behind her. Her blue eyes were locked on mine, the movement of her chest under the bra was fast, faster, and the magic of the moment was the way she just looked at me, my mother, letting the clasp click between her fingers, letting it fall. My mother's tits emerged, free of the constraints, the natural weight and shape pulling downwards into teardrops, sharp with pink, pointed nipples that were so yummy and puffy that I just wanted to kneel before her, take them into my mouth, try again to see if I could suck milk from them, to bury myself in them and in the taste of her.
I pulled down my pants, boxers and all, and watched her gaze on my cock as it shot up, rigid and free. Pulsating. Her eyes widened, hypnotized by it, her glance breaking free in brief glimpses to look at me, at the way I watched her, before pulling back down to watch my cock, throbbing anxiously for her.
I was naked in front of her.
And mom only had the tiniest piece of cloth covering herself.
It was the last barrier. The last little wall. The last thin weave, the only thing keeping us from being completely naked together. Mother and son.
Mom's hands drifted along her tummy, slowly pressing along her hips and waist as they made their way to hold the sides, to pull them down.
She hesitated.
She stared at my cock. At the color of the head. She opened her mouth as if to ask a question. To see if we were going to0 far. To see if we should stop. To really make sure she, as a mother, was going through with undressing before her son, together, with full knowledge of the insane desires we had for each other.
She looked up at me.
Her voice was gorgeous and heavy with breath and hesitation.
"A-Anthony..."
Her mouth closed. It was as if she were asking me. Waiting for me to give some kind of negative, some kind of correction, some kind of sign that she shouldn't take off her panties in front of her son. That she shouldn't bare herself in front of her only child when we were so insanely sexually heated. That what she was doing shouldn't happen.
But I wasn't about to stop her.
I wanted her to take them off, so, so badly. "Please," I croaked, barely audible.
Mom's breathing quickened at that. Her lips pressed hard together, her cheeks now bright scarlet, her hands trembling as her fingers moved.
Into the waistband.
Around the little thin ribbon of fabric holding her pussy hidden.
And then she moved her hands down.
Her blonde pubic hair peeked, out, trimmed and orderly. Then there was a little thatch that was a different color, in the middle, where I knew her clit was hiding, where her pussy spread into labia. The fabric kept drifting. The labia were now clear, the shining and gorgeous lips sticky and wet.
Mom's panties kept moving down and...
There was a little liquid line, connecting the sweet, pretty lips of my mom's pussy with the silk of her panties. It drew out as her panties kept moving down, down.
My mother was soaking wet, aroused, her cunny begging and receptive and wanting something inside of her, juicing in preparation, in anticipation.
Mom was wet for me. For her son's cock.
The underwear fell, catching at her knees, falling from them, settling around her bare feet. She stepped daintily backward from them, and dazed, went toward the mirror. Her hands went to the edge of the sink, gripped it, as she leaned forward, looking at herself in disbelief, looking at her cheeks, her lips, the clear and insane sexual desire that was flooding through her right now, with her son just as naked as she was only feet away.
I was so drawn to her. To my mom. To her body, her gorgeous, smooth, curvy body.
I stepped forward. Before, it was an accident. Before I wasn't thinking. Before, when I pressed against my mother's back, felt my cock pressing between her cheeks, it was something I never would have had the courage to do.
This time, it was courage. And I thought about it, only doing it because I knew that she was wet, that she was staring at my cock, that she had touched me, massaged my cock last night. But it was also the insane sexual drive, increased by the knowledge that mom was feeling it too, that she was feeling something between her beautiful legs that called for what I had between mine.
I stepped forward. And then in a half second felt my mother's body against mine as I pressed into her from behind.
Mom's eyes went wide, not in shock. Her mouth opened in a soft gasp as our bodies connected, as I felt her warm skin, her back, felt the heat building where we touched, like a fever, felt my cock pressing at the base of her lower back. She could feel the throbbing length of it climbing up, settling between the mounds of her ass.
And then she said it again.
"Anthony." Surprised. Scared. Aroused.
Excited.
In that instant I knew. If somehow, I was misreading it, mom had her opportunity to end this. She could have said no, she could have pushed me off, she could have screamed and told me I was acting insane. My mom could have let me know in that instant that I had overstepped a boundary that may have been only violated by accidents, mistakes, maybe tiredness.
But mom didn't stop me.
She invited me.
Her ass pressed against me, her bottom gently molding to my legs, the feeling of her firmness, the sensation of my balls settling against her, they all dizzied me with the awareness that it was my own mother who was doing this. My mom's ass, pushing against me, as if she were inviting me to do more.
I felt myself shaking, going crazy, wanting nothing more than to enter my sweet, pretty mother's pussy, to take my mom from behind and to fill her up with what she gave me. I pulled back. Gripped my cock and pushed it down, tracing along her cheeks and then moving even farther downward, between her legs.
I lowered myself a little. Adjusted my angle. Moved forward, moved up, ground against mom's ass as I pushed my cock toward that little space between her legs. In my head, I felt like I was going crazy, doing something so insane, but when I looked in the mirror, I noticed mom's reflection, and her facial expression reflected the same, the look of somebody who knew they were going off the rails, going way too far, way too fast... but were way too desperate to make it stop.
I was moving my cock toward mom's cunny, about to penetrate my mother, even if it was crazy, I wanted to fill the place I was born from with just my cock, and judging by the way she was pushing herself backward, the way her breathing grew more and more tense, louder, the more her eyes widened in her stare between herself and me, the more I grew aware of how badly she wanted it too.
The heat grew as I moved closer to her, the sensation of her legs, of the slickness, suddenly touched at the head of my cock as I made contact, skin to skin, the head of my dick suddenly touching underneath her, touching her cunny, the lips of her pussy. I felt myself rubbing against her, pushing upward, feeling the slickness and a sudden division that let me push up and in and--
Mom suddenly jerked forward, gasping, and then spun around, her breathing panicked. This was it. She was throwing in the towel -- we had gone too far and too fast and now she was saying she wanted to call it quits.
What mother wouldn't? Her own son's cock was at her pussy entrance. I was just one thrust away from being where I began. How the hell was she supposed to deal with the fact that her own son was about to be inside her pussy, thrusting?
Mom leaned back, her chest heaving, her breasts moving up and down as she tried to regain her senses, her sanity, her eyes looking at me with shock as she started piecing together that what we were doing really was the craziest, most fucked up thing we had ever done in our lives. Her arms propped her up on the counter, the beautiful buds of her nipples moving up and down, little decorations, her back looking beautifully smooth in the mirror behind her.
Mom might have been having second thoughts but I wasn't.
I felt it, just a second ago. I felt the slickness. I felt the lips of my mom's pussy around the head of my cock -- I was so, so close to being inside her, I was aching for her, to move inside her, to claim her pussy as my own. I felt so desperate.
My hands went to her sides, to her waist, to her hips. They spread out and moved to her ass, and I grabbed her, gripped her, lifted her, despite the way she almost shouted my name, a sharp, "Anthony!", still tinged with intense arousal. I moved her up, sharply set her onto the counter, pressed her backward.
And then spread her legs.
Mom gasped my name, barely a whisper in volume, but her mouth moving in surprise. In excitement. Her pussy glistened below me, the little patch of hair above her labia a gorgeous gold. Below it was pink.
A rich, slick, pearly pink.
My cock moved forward.
Mom could have stopped me. Instead her arms went upward, wrapped around my neck, her hands pressing along my shoulders as I moved up, pressed my cock forward, my head touching at those beautifully pink, wet lips...
And then into my mother's deliciously hot pussy
Her eyes opened, her breath caught and then released in a moaning gasp as her grip tightened. Mom's breath matched the heat of her insides, hot, unbelievably hot, my shaft immediately welcomed in, simultaneously tight and inviting. I pushed in, feeling the walls of her insides, tighter than girls I knew at school. Her legs went up, wrapping around me, pulling me in further.
I couldn't help myself; while my mind screamed that I was inside my own mom, I started thrusting, and immediately the sound of her juices and the throbbing pleasure of my cock, sliding in and out of her sent shivers through us both as we accepted exactly what we were doing, her lips breathing noises of tight, straining pleasure.
Our faces were inches from each other, our breathing mingling, our eyes looking into each other and then down at our bodies and then down at where I was inside my mom, where her child was penetrating her, where our incestuous union was before us in undeniable evidence.
I felt her breathing. Felt the clenching tightness timed with her gasping. Felt the buildup in my core, felt her hips moving on the counter in response, as she didn't just let me fuck her, she moved on me too, giving in completely, no longer even shocked, just excited, just desperate. The more she gave in, the more her hips bucked, the more I felt not just the tightness within her, but he way her ass pushed against my legs, the grip of her hands, her arms, trying to pull me closer and deeper into her, as if she needed me, as if she needed her son.
Mom opened her mouth as I adjusted my angle, coming in from a little lower, aiming my thrusts toward the roof of her pussy where I knew there was a little spot, and then as I started to thrust up she threw her head back and let go of an uncontrollable whine, her hands letting go, moving behind her to prop her up on the counter as she leaned back to help me hit that spot, and that whine started to turn into a screaming cry, a begging one, not to stop. "Anthony!" Her voice was high and trembling with pleasure. "Fuck, Anthony!"
Down there, it was a powerful flexing sensation, my orgasm was building, growing, coiling and readying itself. It was like fire, the sensation of the walls of mom's pussy, the sound of her cries, the extraordinary disbelief as to what we were doing, all of it building in a spiral upward, my balls tightening, her hips thrusting and her legs pulling me tight into her. The buildup exploded upward, mom was rolling her head back, sighing in audible pleasure. I wasn't going to be able to hold it -- the power was sparking upward, I groaned and bit my lip and said I was about to come and mom moved on me harder and faster, her head now looking down at my cock slipping in and out of her.
"Hurry," she said in a desperate gasp, "cum on me here," she said pointing quickly toward her tummy as the flare of my orgasm went up and --
I pulled out right at the last second and unloaded, shot cum upward and over her navel in a long line, squirting heavy white fluid all over her pubic hair, up her hip in lines, thick drops spraying along her inner thighs and down onto the counter between her legs, each shot matching with a sigh from her as her hands touched and pressed at my shoulders and the back of my neck, her breathing sounding so.... Loving.
It was now just drops, slipping onto the bathroom tile. Mom stared at my cock, at the thick white fluid that clung to the head, at the cum that decorated her waist, her legs, her tummy.
At the way my cock was still intense and rigid.
She looked at it in wonder. A finger went down, and gently touched at the tip, gathering a little line of semen and drawing back, while the whiteness that I put all over her body dripped slowly down.
Mom gave a slight laugh of disbelief as she looked at her cum-decorated body. As she looked at me, at the cock that had just been filling her.
She slid down off the counter, her legs shaking as she unsteadily turned around to look at herself in the mirror.
There we were. Mother and son. Standing together nude, the evidence of our oedipal union all over her lower body, dripping down in little streams. Mom's hands went up and behind her neck as she nervously looked at herself. "Wow," she said, her tone uncertain. "I didn't know I... would like it that much."
Her words were barely audible to me. All I knew was that I was still hard. Still horny. And my mom still looked insanely incredible, her body and her ass beckoning me again. My hands went to her back, smoothing along her sides. Mom closed her eyes and leaned back onto me. "Ohh..." she said, closing her eyes and savoring the feeling of my hands.
She might have thought we were done.
But I wasn't. My hands moved up, to the back of her neck. They weaved trough her gorgeous, blonde hair, and I carefully positioned myself behind her, cock still hard and pressing along her bottom. As I pressed forward, pushing against her, pushing her into the counter, mom's eyes opened, her sighs stopped as she realized that I wanted nothing more than to fuck my own mother, again, right now, until I had used everything I had. My hands gripped her by her locks. Tight. Possessively tight.
"Anthony," my mom said. In awe of her little boy, all grown up.
I pushed her forward, and her hands went up, catching her on the mirror, her body pressed to it as her ass was now presented before me. "Oh," mom gasped, her trembling legs now spreading, as if subconsciously she were readying herself for me, preparing herself to be fucked again, filled with me.
Her cunny was still wet, dripping in fact, my cum from before dripping down between her legs. Mom was now breathing hard again, her hands pressing against the mirror, trying to find some kind of grip on the smooth, cold surface, her back arched and her footing unstable.
I didn't wait for her to find it. Her ass was so beautifully round, heart shaped. And decorating her ass, between her beautiful, round, smooth cheeks, her asshole was a dainty, infinitely tight little pucker. Mom was hairless from behind, the smooth and beautiful lips of her cunny now a rich, shining, vulnerable pink, slick and wet. And trembling.
My cock moved toward it as if drawn. Mom tensed up, her breathing almost sounding like begging as my cock touched at her labia, pressing between them, slipping in, the tightness forcing me to go in slow, the heat and slick engulfing my shaft. Every inch into her was an inch where her back made a clear and definite movement down, arching her beautiful body, submitting herself to my cock.
And then after agonizing, blissful seconds where I was inside her again, I let go -- and fucked my mom as if I were an animal.
And she responded in kind.
I noticed her making cries, loud ones with each thrust forward. I pulled her hair back, used it as leverage to thrust into her, harder, faster, the wet slapping noise of our bodies colliding in sequence driving me to move faster, to slam into her with all of the pent up sexual need she built in me, Her body, her breasts, they pushed up against the mirror, her breath fogging where her face was as she moaned as my cock plunged into her, took her, sent her breath high and desperate.
It didn't take long -- it was building up again, mom was crying out with pleasure, my name being said over and over in a spiral of pleasure, then shock, then surrender, then overwhelm. Mom's body was coiling up too, her own legs were starting to shake, her breath was getting tight, the sound of my name was getting quieter as I could feel her tenseness reaching new heights before she suddenly snapped, her hips thrusting backwards, her hands leaving the mirror and suddenly bracing themselves on the counter as her mouth opened in a wordless scream that grew into a crying moan. Mom's body shuddered and she shook, my own orgasm streaking upward as I mercilessly fucked her, harder, her moans now a scream.
My mother was screaming my name as her body thrashed backward in orgasm, I felt her shuddering, felt the sudden surge of heat and wetness as something between her legs let go and she started to squirt all over me, as my own balls tightened and then--
I came, explosively, my cock surging semen deep and up and into my mom and she gave a loud gasp as she felt it, her gasps turning into whimpers of delight as I pulsed inside of her, unloaded another throbbing stream of cum, this time deep into my own mother's womb.
I was home. I was back where I began, my semen slipping back into the deepest part of her beautiful, gorgeous, fertile looking, trembling body.
It took a minute for me to recover.
I was still inside her, her breath now the only thing I could sense, until I could open my eyes and see the breaths timing with a little fog on the mirror as mom's beautifully curved back forced her to look up, at the mirror, at me, at herself.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and orgasmic bliss.
Mom carefully straightened up, my cock pulled out in a slow, slick movement, my grip in her hair letting go, and in disbelief, she put her fingers down between her legs. Where my cum dripped from inside her. Her fingers drew upward as she stared at it, gathered on her fingers.
"Holy shit," she said, her voice almost silent with wonder.
Her body was so beautiful. Her breaths swelled, the semen from before still dripped down her in lovely, pale lines. Her cheeks, her nipples, her lips, were all a bright, sunshine red, heaving in the aftermath of what we had just done.
We were quiet together, catching our breath, spent. Mother and son.
"Maybe..." mom said, carefully supporting herself on the counter before stepping toward the shower, her voice, still shaking, but now a little more sure, more certain, a little more like that businesslike lady I always knew growing up. "...maybe we should wash all this off?"
Her beautiful hand turned on the water as she looked at me, her red lips moving as her eyes duskily narrowed, her lips curved in a breathless smile. "Together?"
The End.