The Friday night silence was heavy. I was sunk into the couch in my joggers, some random show glowing on the TV. The shower had washed away the day’s sweat, but not the low, humming misery. I cracked open a beer, hoping it would drown out the past few days.
Things with Sarah were bad. She’d been distant for months. We hadn’t had sex in seven months. Seven. The frustration was a constant ache. Every woman on the street, in an ad, on this damn TV, made my mind wander to places it shouldn’t. It all started when she got friendly with that Dave from her college. I’m not an idiot. I know something’s up. Every time I tried to close the gap—suggesting sex, a hand on her ass, a brush against her breast—she’d just shrug me off. “Not tonight, Carl.”
The living room door opened. It was Mum. She was wearing this short, purple nightgown, the kind that dipped low in the front. She sat down right next to me, the couch cushion sinking under her weight.
“Hey honey,” she said, her voice soft. She pulled a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it with a sharp click. “How was your day?”
I kept my eyes locked on the screen. “I’m… I’m fine.”
She took a long drag and let the smoke out slowly. “Mmm. You don’t look fine. Or sound it.” She turned to face me. “You know you can tell me anything, Carl.”
My gaze flickered away from the TV. For a split second, it dropped. I saw the curve of her breasts, the smooth skin of her cleavage showing above the silk. I could tell she had no bra on as her nipples were straining against the material. A jolt went through me, hot and undeniable. I felt myself getting hard, a slow, betraying pressure in my joggers.
I blushed, turning back to the screen, my voice tight. “Honest, Mum. Trust me. You can’t help with this. And you… you really don’t wanna know.”
She put her cigs and lighter on the table as she then crossed her legs. I stared at the hem of her nightgown and her thick thighs. She exhaled a puff of smoke and caught me looking at her legs and said, “try me hun, honest it can’t be that bad. Is it… sex related as I can see you got a… erection. Don’t be shy.”
“Sorry, it’s just doesn’t help you wearing that thing,” I said blushing red.
“This old thing?” she finally said, her voice still that same soft, calm tone. It wasn’t upset. It wasn’t shocked. It was… considering. “It’s just comfortable, Carl. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled again, the word useless and small. “It’s just… it’s been a while. With Sarah. You look great in it, it’s just my frustration. Very frustrated it is making me look at things I shouldn’t. Sorry I shouldn’t be looking you in perverse way.”
The silence that followed my words was thicker than the smoke from her cigarette. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of shame. I’d said it. I’d laid my frustration bare, and I’d pointed it directly at my own mother. I braced for it—the gasp, the slap, the horrified recoil. The storm of rightful anger that would shatter this awful, tense silence.
It didn’t come.
Mum didn’t move. She just sat there, one leg crossed over the other, the hem of that purple nightgown riding up her thigh. She took one last, slow drag from her cigarette, her eyes never leaving me. Then she leaned forward and stubbed it out in the ashtray with a deliberate, final press.
The action was so calm. So measured. It was the opposite of everything I was feeling.
“Don’t be sorry for being a man, Carl,” she said. Her voice was still that soft, low hum, but it felt different now. It wasn’t just comforting. It was knowing. “It’s a natural reaction. Biology. There’s no sense in apologizing for it. I am kind of flattered as my body is awful and never see anyone look any more. Not like I am a sexy model that you young lads look at on Instagram.”
I was shocked she said that, without thinking I started at her tits and just came out with it, “are you joking mum you are so fucking hot. My friends use to always tell me you was a MILF.”
“Did they now?” she said, her voice still that impossibly calm, low hum. It wasn’t angry. It was… curious. “I suppose that’s a compliment, in a strange, modern way.”
I could only stare, my mouth dry. The pressure in my joggers hadn’t lessened; if anything, her eerie calm was making it worse. This wasn’t the script. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
“I… I shouldn’t have said that,” I stammered, forcing my eyes back to the glowing screen. A car was selling itself to a laughing, perfect family. “I’m sorry. Again. I’ll just.”
She stared at my jogging bottoms again, “take it the little fellow… won’t got down.”
I giggled, “cheeky, little. It ain’t little. Trust me.”
Mum arched an eyebrow, a slow smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “Oh, is that so?”
I swallowed hard, the air between us suddenly charged. This was dangerous territory—joking, flirting, whatever this was. But the way she looked at me, the way she didn’t shy away, sent a rush of heat through me that I couldn’t ignore.
My hand drifted, adjusting myself out of reflex, and Mum’s gaze flickered down. “Hmm,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”
I took a deep breath and said, “What… want me to prove it.” I pulled at my jogging bottoms and my boxers and my cock sprang free. Hard and long.
“Oh, Carl,” she murmured. Her eyes, still wide, took in the sight. They weren’t judging. They were… studying. A tiny gasp escaped her lips, almost soundless. “It really is… impressive. You weren’t joking.”
“Jesus,” I muttered, my voice rough. “I shouldn’t have—”
But then her fingers brushed against me. Light, hesitant. A feather touch that sent a jolt straight through my spine. My breath hitched.
She wasn’t recoiling. She wasn’t running.
Her fingers curled around me, testing the weight, the heat. “So firm,” she murmured, almost to herself. “And… warm.”
I exhaled sharply, my body torn between shame and the raw, undeniable thrill of her touch. “Mum…”
She met my eyes then, her own dark with something I’d never seen in them before. Not anger. Not disgust.
Curiosity.
“You poor thing,” she said, her thumb tracing the tip. “So wound up. So… neglected.”
My breath hitched, caught in my throat. Her touch was everything Sarah hadn’t offered in months, warm and direct. The shame was still a dull ache, but the fire spreading through me was taking over. I could only stare at her, my mother, her hand wrapped around me. She started to move her hand up and down my cock as I reached for her thigh and higher.
My fingers found the soft skin of her inner thigh. The silk of her gown was cool, but her skin was warm. She didn’t pull away. Her hand on me continued its slow, deliberate rhythm, a rhythm that made my head fall back against the couch. My hand found the front of her knickers as my hand dipped inside of them.
My fingers slid against the damp silk of her knickers. Beneath the thin fabric, she was so warm. So soft. Her breath hitched this time, a small, sharp intake of air that wasn’t a protest. It was an invitation. She opened her legs a little as I got more access to her pussy. I dipped two fingers inside of her, I was now fingering my mum. She opened her legs even more.
“You’re so wet,” I breathed, the words foreign and electric in the heavy air.
“Mmm,” was all she could manage, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through me. Her hips gave a slight, involuntary roll against my hand, seeking more pressure. “It’s… it’s been a long time for me, too, Carl. I can’t believe you had the guts… to.. ahh f-finger me.”
I panted as she stroked me faster and my fingers went faster, “trust me… mum… I wanna do more than… finger your pussy… I am so damn horny. I wanna fuck it.”
The words hung in the air, raw and unbelievable. I wanted to shove them back into my mouth, to unsay them. But it was too late. The truth was out there, a beast I’d uncaged.
Mum’s hand on me stilled. For a terrifying second, I thought I’d finally gone too far. I’d broken the spell. I braced for the slap, the shout, the end of the world.
Instead, her other hand came up and cupped my cheek, turning my face to hers. Her eyes were dark pools, serious and intense. Her thumb stroked my jaw.
“I know you do, honey,” she whispered, her voice husky. “I know. But not here. Not like this.”
She slowly, gently, removed her hand from me and my hand from her. The loss of contact was a physical shock, leaving me cold and aching. I fumbled to cover myself, my face burning with a fresh wave of confusion.
She stood up, smoothing down her short nightgown. She looked down at me, a small, sad smile on her lips. “My room, Carl. Give me five minutes. Then come upstairs.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She just turned and walked out of the living room, her footsteps soft on the stairs. I was left alone with the blare of the TV and the frantic beating of my own heart.
What was I doing? This was my mum. This was wrong. It was the most wrong thing a person could possibly do.
But the memory of her touch, the heat in her eyes, the desperate, lonely ache from months of rejection—it all screamed louder than my conscience. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and part of me already knew I was going to jump.
The five minutes felt like an hour. I turned off the TV. The silence was absolute now, heavy and waiting. I paced the living room, my mind a warzone. This was a line you didn’t cross. There was no coming back from this.
But she had looked at me not like a mother looks at a son. She had looked at me like a woman looks at a man. And after feeling invisible for so long, that look was a drug.
I walked out of the living room and into the hall. The house was dark and quiet. I started up the stairs, each creak of the wood sounding like a gunshot in the silence.
Her bedroom door was slightly ajar. A soft, golden light spilled out into the dark hallway. I pushed the door open.
She was standing by the bed. The purple nightgown was gone. She wore a simple, black silk chemise now, longer, but somehow more intimate. The lamp on her nightstand was the only light, painting the room in soft shadows.
She looked nervous. I could see it in the way she held her arms, the slight tremble in her hands. It made her seem more human, more real. This wasn’t some fantasy. This was her. This was us.
“Close the door, Carl,” she said softly.
I did. The click of the latch was the sound of the world locking behind me.
I then made way towards the bed as we both got on it, she laid down and lifted her bum as she arched her back. She pulled her knickers off and threw them off the bed. I quickly got naked and got on the bed and between her legs. I kissed her neck and went down in a slow trail to her cleavage. I could feel my cock nestled against her bushy pussy.
Her hand slid between our bodies. Her fingers were surprisingly cool as they wrapped around my shaft, guiding me. She gave my heavy balls a gentle, knowing squeeze that made me gasp into her neck.
I pushed forward, a low groan tearing from my throat as the head of my cock parted her. She was so wet, so impossibly hot and tight. Her own gasp was sharp, a mix of pleasure and surprise that echoed in the quiet room.
“Oh, Carl…” she breathed, her head falling back against the pillows.
I sank into her slowly, an inch at a time, my entire body shaking with the effort to be gentle. Her inner muscles fluttered around me, pulling me deeper. I buried my face in her neck, breathing in her familiar scent that was now layered with something new, something forbidden. I was completely sheathed inside her, our bodies joined in a way that felt both terrifying and like the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment, neither of us moved. We just stayed there, locked together, listening to our ragged breathing. The only sound was the faint rustle of the sheets.
Then, she moved her hips. A small, experimental rock that made us both shudder. It was all the permission I needed.
I began to move, a slow, deep rhythm. The slide was exquisite, a smooth, wet friction that drove every other thought from my head. There was no Sarah, no Dave, no misery. There was only this feeling, this woman, this primal connection.
“Yes,” she whispered, her hands coming up to grip my back. Her nails dug into my skin. “Just like that, honey. Oh, God, just like that.”
I picked up the pace, my thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. The bed began to protest, the old frame squeaking in a steady, rhythmic beat that matched our panting. Each deep drive pushed a soft, wet sound from our joining, a lewd, intimate noise that thrilled me.
“Wait,” she gasped, her voice strained. “Carl, wait. I want to see you.”
I slowed, pulling back almost all the way until just the tip remained inside her. She whimpered at the loss. Her hands went to the thin straps of her chemise. She tugged them down, over her shoulders, and wriggled until the black silk was bunched around her waist.
Her breasts spilled free, full and heavy. They were so beautiful. I lowered my head and took one taut nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. She cried out, her back arching off the bed, pressing her breast deeper into my mouth.
“Suck them,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in my hair, holding me to her. “Please, baby. Your mouth feels so good.”
I worshipped her breasts, licking and sucking, while my hips began to move again. I was thrusting into her now, a steady, building pace. The squeak of the bed springs grew faster, louder. Our skin slapped together with each powerful thrust, a damp, smacking rhythm.
“You feel… so big,” she stammered, her eyes squeezed shut. “Filling me up… oh, right there… don’t stop…”
I was lost in her, in the sensation. I drove into her, again and again, each stroke pushing us closer to the edge. My balls tightened, a familiar heat coiling deep in my gut. I was getting close, too close.
“Mum,” I grunted, the word foreign and electric on my tongue. “I’m gonna… I can’t last…”
Her eyes flew open. They were glazed with lust but held a thread of command. “No,” she said, her voice husky but firm. She clenched around me, making me see stars. “Not yet. Slow down, darling. We have time. Take your time with me.”
She tried to sound composed, but her words ended in a broken moan as I hit a spot deep inside her that made her legs tremble. I obeyed, forcing myself to slow to a shallow, grinding roll. I circled my hips, feeling every inch of her cling to me.
“That’s it,” she whispered, her hands roaming over my back and shoulders. “Take your time. Make it last. Feels too good to end.”
I leaned down and captured her lips with mine. The kiss was deep and hungry, full of a passion I hadn’t felt in years. She kissed me back with a desperate intensity, her tongue tangling with mine.
I changed the angle, lifting her hips slightly. The new position made her gasp against my mouth. “Oh, fuck, Carl! Right there! Right there, baby, don’t stop!”
Her composure was gone. Her words were a ragged, pleading stream. I held her there and pounded into her, the force of my thrusts shaking the entire bed. The headboard knocked a gentle, persistent rhythm against the wall. The sounds of our bodies—our grunts, her high-pitched cries, the wet slap of skin on skin—filled the room.
I was a animal, all instinct and need. I watched her breasts bounce with every drive, and I reached down to grab one, squeezing it, pinching her nipple lightly.
“Yes!” she screamed, her body beginning to tense beneath me. “I’m close, honey! I’m so close! Don’t stop! Make me cum!”
Her words sent a fresh jolt of desire through me. I drove into her harder, faster, my own release building like a tsunami. Her inner muscles began to spasm around my cock, a violent, milking contraction that tore a long, shuddering cry from her lips. Her body convulsed, her nails scratching down my back as she fell over the edge.
The feeling of her pulsing around me was my undoing. With a guttural roar, I buried myself as deep as I could and let go. My orgasm ripped through me, wave after wave of intense pleasure pumping into her. I collapsed on top of her, spent and shuddering, my face buried in the sweat-damped pillow beside her head.
We lay there for a long time, our hearts hammering against each other’s chests, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The room smelled of sex and perfume and cigarettes. The real world, with all its problems, waited silently outside the door. But for now, it was just us, in the quiet aftermath of the line we had crossed together.