I’m Diane. Forty-eight, divorced, and living with my eighteen-year-old son, Eddie, in a quiet two-bedroom house on the outskirts of town. I worked full days at the hospital—long shifts that leave me exhausted. But for months now, sleep hasn’t been restful, not since Eddie started sleepwalking.
It didn’t happen every night, but often enough that I learned to recognise the shuffling footsteps down the hall. The creak of my door. The dip of the mattress as he climbed in beside me. He never spoke, never seemed fully aware—just a shadow moving on instinct. Most nights, I’d wake to find him curled near me, his hands twitching as if he were searching for something in his dreams. Gently, always gently, I’d guide him back to his own bed.
But then, things shifted.
A few nights ago, I woke to warmth—his arm draped over me, his fingers grazing my collarbone before slipping lower. He cupped my breast through my nightgown, his grip firm, rhythmic, like his dreaming mind had conjured something far more intimate than sleep. My breath caught, my body tensing. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, I told myself, peeling his hand away before leading him back to his room.
Still, unease settled in my gut.
Last Friday, I came home from the hospital, dragging my feet, my shoulders aching from another double shift. The hot shower helped, but not enough. I tugged on my usual sleepwear—soft cotton most nights—but tonight, I was too tired to dig through the laundry. Instead, I slipped into the red lace panties and matching bra I’d bought on a whim months ago, then pulled a sheer purple nightie over top. It was just for me, something to feel a little less invisible after years of being only a mother, only a nurse.
Before bed, I checked on Eddie. His door was cracked open, his breathing deep and even. Good. Asleep.
I collapsed into my own bed, flicking off the lamp and curling onto my side, my back to the door. Within seconds, I was gone.
Then—pressure.
A weight is dipping behind me. A warm body pressing close. I stirred but didn’t wake, my exhaustion too heavy.
Fingers traced my hip. So light it could’ve been a dream. I just drifted off into a deeper sleep state. That was my mistake, not waking up to stop him.
1 hour later, I couldn’t help but wake. I found myself moaning; the bed was slightly swaying. He was panting behind me, so I put my hand between my legs. Omg, my panties were pulled to the side, and he was… fucking me from behind, spooning me, his cock sliding in and out of my pussy. Not gonna lie, it felt so good. I just put my hand over my mouth as my muffled moans continued.
“Mmmpphh,” I tried to be quiet.
The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming. I couldn’t believe this was happening, that my own son was inside me, his hips moving with a rhythm that felt instinctive, primal. I bit my lip hard to stifle a cry, my hand still pressed to my mouth as the other dug into the sheets.
In the darkness, all I could focus on was the sensation of him filling me, stretching me in ways I hadn’t experienced in years. It was raw, carnal, and yet there was a tenderness to it as well, the way he held me close.
I was vaguely aware of the sounds we were making – the soft slap of skin on skin, the heavy breathing, the low, muffled groans. They only added to the intensity, the forbidden nature of what we were doing.
As the waves of pleasure began to crest, I tensed, clenching around him. I couldn’t bear for him to feel my climax, to know that I had enjoyed this, that some part of me had craved it. With a strangled gasp, I pushed back against him, trying to dislodge him, to end this before it was too late.
But he only seemed to increase his pace, his thrusts growing harder, more urgent. I was caught in a maelstrom of sensation, torn between the need to push him away and the desperate hunger for more.
And then, just as I thought I might lose myself completely, his movements slowed, his breathing steadying. He slipped out of me, leaving me empty and aching. I felt cum dripping out of my pussy.
For a long, fraught moment, neither of us moved. I was afraid to turn around, afraid of what I might see in his eyes, what he might say.
Finally, with a quiet rustle of the sheets, he got out of bed and padded back to his own room. The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left alone with my racing heart and the echoes of what had just happened.
In the days that followed, Eddie had no memory of what happened. One night, it was very late again. I lay on my side in bed, and I heard my door open. I pretended to be asleep. I was wondering if he was going to help himself to my pussy again.
I felt the bed dip as he got in behind me. It didn’t take him long to have his hand slide up my nightie. His hand against my panties as he rubbed my pussy. He then slid them to the side, and then he shifted behind me. Then I felt the head of his cock push into my labia.
I couldn’t prevent the soft whimpers that escaped my lips now as his hardness pressed against my entrance. The head of his cock nudged forward, breaching me with a gentle slide. I bit my lip, muffling my moan. Then he started to slow fuck me, fuck my pussy felt so good.
“Ahh god,” he started pounding me hard. His dick is pumping in and out of me.
I felt him tremble behind me, his breath hot against my ear as he picked up the pace. His hips snapped forward, each thrust deep and unrelenting. I whimpered, a sound muffled by my lips as I bit down to stifle my cries. The pleasure was overwhelming, a blinding, all-consuming force that threatened to consume me whole.
“Ahhhh, that’s… fuck mommys pussy,” I accidentally blurted out.
“Ok, I will,” Eddie said clearly. He wasn’t sleepwalking. OMG. He was intentionally fucking me. His MOM. “Unnnngh, your pussy feels good, so good… ah fuck. Y-You like… that.”
His cock throbbed inside me, pulsing with each pump of his hips. “Mom, I’m close…” he panted, his voice thick with lust. “I’m gonna… ahh… cum in you…”
His words sent a shockwave of arousal through my body. The thought of my son, of Eddie, filling me with his hot seed… it was so wrong, yet so incredibly right. “D-don’t stop,” I managed to choke out, my fingers digging into the sheets. “Please, keep going…”
Eddie’s thrusts became even more frantic, his balls slapping against my clit with each deep stroke. I could feel his orgasm building, feel his cock twitching and throbbing within me. “Here it comes… Mum… ah! Ahhh!”
With a guttural cry, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted, his seed flooding my pussy in hot, pulsing spurts. I cried out, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, my body arching into his as I came around his throbbing cock.
As our orgasms subsided, we both collapsed, panting and sweating, his softening member still nestled deep inside me. For a long moment, we just lay there, trying to catch our breath, the only sound the heavy thud of our hearts.
Finally, Eddie shifted, his hips easing out of mine with a soft slick sound. I felt his cum trickle out, mixing with my own arousal on the sheets. He slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Once he was gone, I rolled over and stared at the spot where he’d just been, my mind reeling. What had just happened? How could my sweet, innocent son, who only a few months ago had still been playing with toys, suddenly become a sexual being, let alone one consumed with a desire for me?
And yet, as I looked down at the dampness between my thighs, at the evidence of our forbidden coupling, I couldn’t deny the truth. I had wanted it, craved it, even as my mind screamed at me that it was morally, ethically, and legally wrong.
For now, I pushed the turmoil to the back of my mind and focused on the task at hand. I couldn’t let Eddie find out what we’d done, not until I had a chance to process my own feelings and figure out what to do next.
But as I drifted off to sleep later that night, my body still tingling from our shared climax, I knew one thing for certain. Our secrets would only lead to more, and I was terrified – yet exhilarated – to see where this forbidden road would take us.