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Shortly after my son turned 18 and finished school, I noticed he was starting to pull away from me – he didn’t want to eat meals at the table with his father and I, he never watched movies on TV with us anymore, and pretty much the only time he spoke to us was when he wanted a lift to a friend’s house, or home from the pub after a hard night drinking. As a self-described caring mother, it broke my heart to see my dear son turning his back on us family. I wanted- no, I needed to fix the situation and bring my baby boy back to his family. I suppose that, since he was my only son, I felt that without my son’s love for his family, I would have failed as a mother. My chance to fix my precarious family life came one Friday night (actually, Saturday morning), when Damien called me, needing a lift home from the pub.

When Damien called around 2:30 that morning, I answered and offered to pick him up, knowing that my husband had a long day at work – people think it’s easy being an accountant, but being a successful one is incredibly draining, I noticed. So I quickly threw that day’s clothes on top of my pyjamas and left to meet Damien at the pub.

The instant I saw him, I knew it had been a big night for him – the hand holding his cigarette was not still, and his black collared shirt was sticky and shiny from spilling however many beers on himself. When he recognised the car, he stomped out his cigarette and shambled over to the car and collapsed into the front passenger’s seat. “Thanks, mum,” he said, almost sincerely. That’s one thing that always impressed me about my son’s drinking binges – no matter how drunk he got, somehow his speech was never terribly affected.

Just over halfway through the drive home, I’d had enough of the awkward silence between us in the tiny hatchback I drove, so I pulled over and, with the car’s motor still running, blurted out my frustration, “You know what, Damien? Your father and I are more than a little tired of your attitude towards your family lately. Every day, you just hide in your room and sulk on the computer, you never eat meals with us, and the only time you speak to us is when you need help from us because of your selfish habits like drinking. I’ve tried leaving you alone, I’ve tried being understanding and patient, so now I have no choice but to ask you directly – why are you so damn moody and antisocial to us?! If it’s because you want to move out with your stupid friends, we’ve already been over this: you’re too young to be by yourself, and if you keep acting like this, there’s certainly no way your father and I will ever let you move out.”

Damien was shocked at first (to be honest, so was I – I had barely ever raised my voice at him). Eventually, he regained his “cool drunk” composure and said that he just wanted to move out with Kyle and Jake, two friends from school who were thinking of renting an apartment downtown. Then a sly smile came over his face as he said “You know, I probably wouldn’t want to leave so badly if I had a good reason to stay at home with you.”

Completely clueless as to what that meant I asked him to elaborate on that. His answer astounded me.

Damien unzipped his jeans and pulled out his penis, which was quickly on its way to being fully erect. “Jeez Damien!” I shouted. “Put it away! You must be even more drunk than I thought.”

“Well fine, I guess tomorrow I’ll text Kyle and ask if that place is still available.”

I know that many, many people will object to what I did next, but in my defence, those people can’t possibly understand a bond between a mother and her only child; sometimes, a mother will do anything she can to keep her family together. To this day, I know that I did the right thing in that car.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I’m about to do this…” I muttered as I reached over and softly grasped my son’s hard dick. No matter how many times I touch a man’s penis, I can never get over how rock solid and hot it is; my son’s erection was no exception. Up and down, I moved my arm, pulling softly on Damien’s dick, feeling it throb in my hand just as my own heart was pounding hard inside my chest. It had been years since I gave a hand job, but all the knowledge from years of experimenting with my husband came flooding back. I shifted my grip slightly higher on his shaft so that my hand would cover my son’s thick purple head on my upward strokes, using his “precum” juices as my natural lubricant.

“Ooh fuck yes..” Damien moaned. While I didn’t care for his language, I must confess that I enjoyed getting some positive feedback on my technique, considering how rusty I felt. With my son’s encouragement, I quickened my strokes, jacking his hot, hard, slightly-moist dick faster and faster. The car was filled with the vaguely wet sounds of my hand moving up and down my son’s throbbing erection, and the sound of us breathing faster and faster while he came closer and closer to orgasm while I worked his erection harder and harder. I’d forgotten just how quickly young men can cum, because barely five minutes into the hand job, Damien started moaning. “Mum… I’m gonna cum…”

Before I had time to think about what to do with his semen, Damien let out one more loud moan, and he started thrusting his hips, almost convulsing in his orgasmic state. Cum shot out of my son’s slippery purple head in rope after hot, sticky rope. Apparently I’d also forgotten how much young men can cum. His orgasm lasted over thirty seconds, and absolutely drenched my hand and his jeans in his semen. In all my focus on keeping my son from drifting away from his family, I guess I didn’t think through details such as “What do I do with his cum?” No sooner had I thought this before Damien asked, “So, what’re we doing with my cum?” He smiled at me, “Are you going to swallow it, mother dear?”

“What? Oh god no. Just, um, when we get home, put them outside your room and I’ll wash them in the morning. Besides, you stink of cigarette smoke anyway.” I realised that I was still holding his now-deflating penis, so I let it go and wiped my hands on his pants before I returned to the steering wheel and started driving. Judging by the look he gave me, Damien clearly wasn’t impressed by this. “Oh relax, you already had enough on your jeans before I wiped my hand on them. Now, I hope there won’t be any more talk of moving out with your friends for a while.” He agreed that there wouldn’t be. The rest of the drive home was just as silent as it was before our little… detour, but it was less awkward between us. I had said my piece, and Damien has a glimpse of what potentially could happen if he never left his family.

Still, I had very little sleep the rest of that night. I had performed a sexual act with another man, betraying my wedding vows to my husband. Even worse, the other man was our son! Sure, by doing what I did, I was doing a mother’s duty to keep her family together. But was a hand job enough to keep Damien from moving out? What if he wants more? What if he thinks that tonight is the start of something more? I sincerely hoped that my son had drunk enough that night so that he’d forget ever getting a lift home from the pub. That was my best case scenario for keeping that filthy act a secret.

Actually, despite being a smoker and heavy binge drinker, Damien is a very handsome boy. No, handsome MAN. And god, there was so much cum… I always did love making my husband cum, and watching it shoot out of his hard dick. But now he was snoring beside me, dead to the world. And I was starting to get aroused. As my hand grew a mind of its own and found its way inside my underwear, my mind couldn’t stop returning to Damien and his big, young dick. I guess some small, sick part of me was turned on by what my son and I did tonight, I thought. My fingers rubbed my clitoris side to side as I wondered what my son would look like naked. I hadn’t seen Damien nude since before he went through puberty. And if he wasn’t my son and I saw him on the street? I know I would’ve had a quick look at his young, broad chest and his lovely, young, square jawline and dark eyes and hair, not to mention having a peek at his ridiculously symmetrical smooth young arse. And even though I was approaching 50 years old, he was happy to receive a hand job from me. He was hard before he even suggested it. And he was definitely checking out my breasts. I know I’m not beautiful, but so many men have called me “very cute” and men and women alike have admired my chest; my C cups are still perky even after breastfeeding Damien. Damien, who is such a good-looking young man, his beautiful eyes and chest. And, oh god, tonight, his dick, all that cum… My fingers brought me to an incredibly intense orgasm that shook my legs as I climaxed, leaving me breathless and shuddering as I rode the wave of pleasure that my fingers and uncharacteristically explicit (and incestuous) thoughts had unleashed upon my body. Once the orgasmic wave had subsided, I was finally able to sleep.

The next day, I washed Damien’s jeans while he was still asleep. The rest of the weekend was surprisingly uneventful, and when Damien and I chatted, he was more friendly than he had been in over a year; my husband and I both noticed the change and happily accepted it. When he asked me if I had any theories about Damien’s “attitude transplant”, I told him “Something over the weekend must have changed his mind about the way he treats his family, I guess.” By Tuesday, I started to think that Damien had either forgotten about our incident in the car, or he’d remembered it but didn’t want to talk about it, perhaps because he was embarrassed. That was, until I was tidying up some of the clutter on the coffee table in the living room and felt two hands grab my breasts hard, quickly followed by what could only have been an erection pressing hard into my arse. Naturally, I jumped and gasped. He obviously didn’t care that he startled me, and only squeezed my breasts harder. “Y’know, mum, I was thinking about moving in with Kyle and Jake again, then I remembered our little discussion from Friday night, and, well… I think I might move in with them, unless you can think of a good reason for your baby boy to stay here with you..?” He thrust his hips again, ensuring I could feel his erection straining against his jeans and pressing against my dress. His hands rhythmically massaged my breasts through my bra.

Amongst several other reasons for being shocked, I was alarmed at how forward he was with his lust. Even in our honeymoon phase, my husband and I were never as blatant about our desires as Damien was being with me. I knew my son wanted an answer, but I struggled to think of one. It’s one thing to give a hand job to your son, but he clearly wanted to have sex, which is another thing entirely. Then the sick part of my mind spoke up, reminding me that I enjoyed the forbidden nature of our car encounter, that I got a special kind of thrill from cheating on my husband, no matter how good and he’d been to me. The sick, demented part of my psyche was much louder and convincing than my rational mind, no matter how hard I tried to fight it. “Taboo,” it kept yelling as I felt myself becoming aroused and moist. “Incest, god yes.” Once my decision was made by my perverted consciousness and shamefully lustful body, I finally gave Damien an answer by rubbing my arse against his hard dick. I think I whispered something like “Give it to me” as I did so, but I wasn’t really paying attention to what was coming out of my mouth at that point.

Clearly delighted with my answer, Damien told me to bend over. Giving me no time to do so of my own volition, Damien grabbed one of my hips with one hand and pushed my back down with the other hand. I had nothing to hold on to for balance, and could only rest my hands on my knees to keep from falling down. I had such little confidence in my own sense of balance that I didn’t dare turn around to look at my son for fear of toppling over. Damien, unaware of how precarious my position was, lifted my dress above my arse and pulled my panties down, my arse pointed up at him, my moist vagina aching for my son’s hard dick to enter me. Without a word, he unzipped his jeans and let them fall to his ankles, followed quickly by his boxer shorts. Thank god I was already aroused and lubricated, because what happened next would never have been possible otherwise. He took a moment to line his throbbing hot and hard head against my opening, then he forced himself inside me, hard. Damien was taking no prisoners today.

“Oooooh fuck, it feels like I’m coming home,” he moaned as he went as deep inside me as he could go on the first thrust. “God-fucking-damn it, mum, you feel incredible.” He was no virgin, but at least my son knows how to make a woman feel special. He grabbed my hips and started thrusting, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises that lasted 3 days. He fucked me hard and fast, moaning loudly with each thrust. It didn’t take me too long to get into his rhythm and start rocking my body backwards to meet his thrusts. I half-moaned, half-squealed each time our bodies slapped together, his dick brushing against my cervix. I’d never had sex like this before – primal, no communication apart from pleasure-moans. It was definitely something I could get used to. We kept at it for a minute or two, simply moaning as we thrust towards each other’s body, until Damien pulled out and told me, “Suck my cock, mum.” Again, I was powerless to resist thanks to my son’s undeniable (if demanding) natural charm and good looks, not to mention my own corrupted mind.

He remained standing still, with his pants and boxers still around his ankles as he waited for me to turn around and get on my knees in front of him. With one hand, I gently held his now-familiar cock (no pun intended), and couldn’t help but notice it was dripping in my own juices. With the other hand, I satisfied my own curiously sinful desires and grabbed one of his arse cheeks. Soft, springy, warm, slightly hairy. In a word, perfect. While I’m no stranger to blow jobs, I was quite nervous about performing oral sex on my own son. While it was roughly the same length, Damien’s dick was noticeably thicker than my husband’s, and mine is certainly not a large mouth. Plus, I can’t remember the last time I’d tasted my own juices before that day. But, I was doing this for my son and my family, so I had to make sure I did my best. I opened my mouth and took as much of my son’s dick into my mouth as I felt I could handle, wrapped my lips around his hot, wet, hard dickskin to make a seal, pressed my tongue to the underside of his erection and slowly started moving my head away from his body, never releasing my lips’ seal around my son’s most impressive body part. From the tip, I moved down his dick again, taking in slightly more than I started with. The taste of his dick, his precum and my own juices all combined to create a deliciously unique taste. The salty-sweet, sensual, sinful taste of my son’s dick covered in the fluids of my own arousal filled me with an insatiable desire to masturbate as I sucked Damien’s dick. I reluctantly released my grip of his arse, and reached for the zipper at my back, unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. Almost 40 years’ experience allowed me to unhook my bra with one hand, and soon that was on the floor. With my panties already around my knees, I was the most naked I had ever been in front of Damien. His moan of “Fuuuck, lookin’ good, mum” filled me with such delight, I had to suppress a smile as I continued my slow sucking motions. I found my clitoris and rubbed myself as I gave the most enjoyable blow job of my life. I quickly felt the pressure building up inside myself; I knew I was close, and so did Damien.

“Oh fuck, you’re a good mum,” he moaned as he brushed my hair out of my face. Hearing those words, I felt like I was going to explode with happiness and orgasmic delight. The familiar wave of pleasure was now more like a tidal wave, causing me to spasm as I came harder than I ever had before, all while I was still sucking Damien’s delicious dick. As a way of thanking him for the biggest compliment he’d ever payed me, I increased the speed at which I was sucking his dick. Before I knew it, my mouth was sliding up and down his dick almost as quickly as my hand was on Saturday morning. Damien’s moaning grew in intensity and frequency, and I knew he was going to cum very quickly. Apparently, so did he. He quickly (but surprisingly gently) placed his hands either side of my head and pulled himself out of my mouth, panting, “Sorry mum, but I was gonna cum real soon. Jesus Fucking Christ, that felt incredible though.”

“Thank you, Dami–” was all I managed to say before he yanked me to my feet and led me to the family room and shoved me backward onto the good couch. This time, I was ready for him. I spread my legs and, with a massive lustful grin, looked up at my son, who was now taking his shirt off. His broad chest was just starting to sprout hair in the middle. Judging by his nipples which already had a fair coverage of dark hair, he’s definitely going to be a hairy man before he turns 30. The few red pimples dotting his chest weren’t so much a turn-off as they were a reminder of my son’s young age. “Oh my god,” I thought, “he’s still not even old enough to drink in America, and we’re about to… fuck?” That thought would normally freak the hell out of me, but because it was my son, the thought somehow only managed to turn me on even more. I then realised that he’d complimented my body, but I was yet to return the favour. “Wow, Damien, I can’t believe what an incredibly hot young man you’ve grown into… God, I want you, honey.”

For the thousandth time that day, Damien surprised me by apparently waiting for permission to resume the sex. “I want you too, mum,” he informed me before climbing on top of me. This time, I took the initiative and grabbed his dick and guided it “home”. We both let out a long moan as he slid inside me and I moved my hips to accommodate his thick dick, which we both knew was ready to burst. I looked deep into his eyes as we started thrusting in unison, slowly building up speed. Once again, I took the opportunity to grab Damien’s arse – both cheeks this time – while he used his hands to prop himself up. I dug my fingernails in, partly playfully, and partly as payback for his hands grabbing my hips so hard (god, how I hoped my husband didn’t notice them). He looked down at my chest, staring at my breasts as they bounced with each thrust. After 20 years of marriage and a few boyfriends before my husband, I was used to men staring at my breasts while they fucked me. But this time, I felt the need to put on a show, so I (again, reluctantly) let go of Damien’s arse and held each breast, caressing them, massaging them, and playing with my nipples to get them erect. Damien’s increasingly enthusiastic thrusting informed me that my show was appreciated. And god, didn’t he feel incredible inside me. I’ve always loved the feeling of my husband’s dick inside me, but the extra girth my son possessed made me feel more full as I was able to feel each vein, the ridge where his head stopped and his head started, and where his unkempt pubic hair began. Never one for dirty talk, that day I couldn’t help myself.

“Oooh god, your dick feels so good inside me, so damn hard, so damn thick!” I moaned in his ear. “Mmmmmmmmfffff, fuck me, Damien…”

This was one conversation Damien was willing to have with me. “Fuck, mum, you’re so fucking tight… And god, your tits are great, so big…” His pace quickened to a pace where I struggled to match him. I did the best I could, but in the end I had to give up and let him fuck me at his own pace.

“Oh fuck you’re going fast, Damien! God it feels good, baby,” I encouraged with no exaggeration; even in his prime, Damien’s father was never this fast. “God, fuck me as hard as you can!” I surprised myself by how much I enjoyed dirty talking.

Damien looked deep into my eyes, and I was simultaneously too turned on and too scared to look anywhere except his dark, beautiful eyes. “Mum, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum! I’m gonna cum insideooooooh fuuuuu–” he cried before he stopped speaking real words and we both just started moaning/yelling as his dick seemed to get even thicker inside me as it shot a seemingly endless amount of cum into the very passage through which I delivered him over 18 years ago. He shuddered and shuddered, his dick shooting my insides full of his genetic code, half of which I was responsible for. And god forgive me, but I loved it. I wrapped my legs around his to keep him in place, and I wrapped my arms around his back as best I could so I could feel his body pressed into me as he came inside me. Sure, he was my son, but now he was so much more. He was my beautiful young lover and the feeling of his dick filling my insides up with cum was too sexy for words. And I had done it, I had transformed him from this surly, rude, mean teenage cliche into this incredibly powerful lover, to whom I just happened to give birth 18 years ago.

Once his amazing orgasm had finally subsided, he collapsed onto me, seemingly depleted of all energy. I turned my head to face his, and finally kissed him the way no mother should kiss her son. Thankfully, he wasn’t totally out of energy and kissed me back with equal passion. I held his head as our mouths opened, I moaned softly when his tongue began probing my mouth, and I felt his moan fill my mouth when my tongue ventured into his mouth. His lips were so warm, so moist, but oh so very manly. He grabbed my breast – thankfully softer than he did in the lounge room – and massaged it as we kissed. Over a minute of incredibly passionate kissing, my jaw began to tire and I reluctantly broke our kiss. It was time for me to put my feelings out there; I just hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep.

“Oh Damien, honestly, that was… probably the best sex I’ve had since the night you were conceived. I love you so much, I love you infinitely more than a mother should love her son. If this is what it takes to keep you from leaving me and our family, I’m happy to do this as often as it takes, honey. Even before this stuff started, I always felt that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I suppose that’s why I’m so reluctant to let you leave. I’m seriously just not ready for you to leave me, Damien. And honestly, I don’t think your dad is either. He puts on a brave face, but like me, he feels that you’re the glue that keeps this family together. Without you, sweetheart, it just won’t be the same. So I’ll say it again and then I’ll shut up: I love you more than ever, and I really, really don’t want you to leave me or us.”

“Well, mum, if things continue like they did today, I can’t see any reason I’d want to leave.” He kissed me on the cheek, then noticed the clock on the wall, which read 4:48pm. “Oh crap, almost five… I could’ve sworn it was only 3 when I grabbed you in the lounge room. We’d better get moving before dad gets home.” I thought it was closer to 1 when he grabbed me, but I agreed that we’d better clean up. When I got out of the shower, I noticed something rather unusual: the clock in our bedroom read 3:57pm. Surely he didn’t just move the clock forward to keep from talking about our relationship? Surely…

The rest of that day went smoothly. I didn’t confront Damien about his manipulation of the clock, and when my husband came home, I did my best to act normally, but Damien didn’t. Instead, he acted even nicer than usual, asking his dad about his day, and if he’d want a beer before dinner. He declined, but wow, it was amazing to see that my efforts to cheer up my son and reconnect with my family were working so well. I made a note to thank Damien for his efforts the next day. Thankfully that night, my husband wasn’t feeling particularly randy, so I was able to avoid explaining my hip bruises to him. Plus, after that afternoon’s activities, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little sore down there. By the morning, my pain had subsided, so I decided to pay Damien a visit after his dad left for work. Wearing nothing but a smile, I headed to Damien’s room and knocked gently on the door. No answer, naturally; the boy could sleep through armageddon. So I quietly opened the door and stepped into his (messy) room. Sure enough, Damien was on his stomach, sound asleep. He’d kicked the sheets off during the night, and so I was greeted with the sight of his amazing arse framed perfectly by his silk boxers. How could I resist?! I climbed up from the foot of the bed onto my hands and knees, pulled his boxers down as best I could without disturbing him, straddled his legs, and started massaging his arse cheeks. God, they were so round, so symmetrical, so springy and youthful. I leant over and started kissing his back, which was also showing signs of future hairiness, which is always a turn on for women like me who love their men with rugged bodies. He smelled so amazing, I noticed as I kissed between his shoulder blades. By the time I’d kissed down to his lower back, not far from where his arse crack started, I was impatient. I crept back up to his ear, leaned over and informed my sleeping son, “Morning, darling. Mum’s got a lovely present for you today.”

That did the trick. Damien woke with a start, and when he realised who had woken him, he chuckled. “Well now, I could get used to being woken up like this, mum. Even if it is-” he looked at his bedside clock “-9:30 in the morning? Fuck, you must be desperate, woman.” His smile tried to assure me that he was joking, but to this day I’m not entirely convinced he was kidding.

“I wouldn’t say that, baby. Let’s just say I’m eager to reward you for your exceptionally good behaviour with your father last night; that was so incredibly sweet how you offered him a drink and everything, Damien. Made me so proud of you.” He tried to hide his reddening cheeks, but a mother always knows. “Hey now, no need to be embarrassed. You behaved like a real adult, and you deserve a very …adult reward for that, sweetheart. Now roll over for me.” I repositioned myself so that he could, and apparently I didn’t need to do much work downstairs to get him ready for the morning’s activities. “Well now, I know someone else who must be desperate for it, babe.”

“You and I both know that guys wake up with their cocks hard, mum. But still, today it is awfully convenient.” He put a hand on the back of my head and pulled me in for a kiss. Despite the morning breath, I still loved the taste of his tongue in my mouth as we defied evolution to express our desires for one another’s bodies. I swirled my tongue in a circle around his mouth, and he showed his appreciation by grabbing my crotch and rubbing my clitoris. I moaned loudly and involuntarily into his mouth and grabbed his dick and started pulling at it slowly. Damien decided his hand wasn’t going to do the job as fast as he wanted, so he broke our kiss and motioned for me to lie down on my back. Once I was comfortable, he kissed my cheek, down to my neck, down to the middle of my chest. Here, he made a slight detour and began sucking my nipples. So very different to when he was a baby when it was all about nutrition, Damien was all about pleasuring us both as he used his tongue to draw circles around my nipples, sucked at them eagerly and squeezed the other breast while he sucked. Still, I held my son’s head lovingly, as I had done for the first 3 years of his life when he’d drink my milk. I moaned when he sucked hard, even enjoying the sensation of him using his teeth to lightly tease and scrape against the tips of my nipples. Eventually he’d had enough of my breasts and continued making his way down my body, kissing my stomach and eliciting a few surprisingly girlish giggles from me when his stubble tickled my sensitive stomach. This only encouraged him, and he kept kissing me until I begged him to stop. Soon, his handsome young face was between my legs, staring at my neatly trimmed bush. He gently nudged my legs apart wider, and leant in, breathing my scent in deeply. “Fuck, if you taste as good as you smell, dad and I are very lucky men, mother dear.” With that, he started licking up and down my already-moist opening, deliberately avoiding my clitoris for the moment. Still, his wet, warm tongue felt amazing down there. For an 18 year old, my son definitely knew what he was doing down there. Eventually, he’d had enough teasing me and decided to get serious. His tongue found my clitoris with expert ease, and he started licking it side-to-side, just as I do to pleasure myself. Another involuntary moan escaped me; this only encouraged Damien to lick my clitoris faster. Soon, I was breathing heavily, my own son between my legs, bringing me to orgasm with his tongue.

“Oooh fuck!” I cried. Damien knew I was close. He switched from licking my clitoris to sucking on it. The sensation was almost too intense, but I never wanted it to stop. I grabbed his hair and held his head in place while I started to grind my crotch into his face, fucking a man’s face for the first time in my life. He responded by sucking harder and faster, and before long I was screaming “Fuck yes” and once again riding my tidal wave of incestuous pleasure. I felt my face going red, my stomach tightening and releasing in a rhythm entirely its own. When I finally settled down, I eventually remembered to release Damien’s hair from my tight grip. He looked up at me with a massive grin, clearly proud of his tongue’s work. His cheeks and chin were glistening in the morning light, covered in my juices. “Fuck me, Damien, you’ve definitely earned it now,” I said, foolishly trying to catch my breath before the real fun started.

He simply nodded, lifted my legs onto his shoulders and once again took control of what I decided to call “coming home”. Again, his insertion didn’t disappoint on the forceful front. I moaned for more, and he delivered. Using my legs for purchase, my son started fucking me so fast, anyone watching would think he was in fast-forward. Once again, his fingers dug into my pale skin but at that moment, I couldn’t care less. In fact, I kind of enjoyed it, and wondered what my husband would do if he saw me covered in bruises from being fucked so hard. Knowing how much he enjoyed it the day before, once again I started playing with my breasts while Damien watched. “I fucking love watching you play with those big tits, mum,” he panted, then seemed to think for a second. “God, I’d love to cum on them, mum, cover you in my fuckin’ cum.” I didn’t object, and I suppose this was my reward: he let go of one of my legs and once again, his hand found my crotch. Still thrusting in and out of me as hard as he could, Damien started rubbing my clitoris with his thumb. It was harder than I could stand, but my cries of “stop” went unheard. He kept rubbing and fucking me, either not hearing but likely ignoring my pleas for less intense stimulation. Thankfully, before long he informed me that he was going to cum.

He withdrew from me as quick as lightning, and scrambled so that he was straddling me, one knee either side of me, just above my waist. He was masturbating furiously, using my juices as a rather effective lubricant. I was relieved to be free of his intense thumb, but even more than that, I was actually eager to watch him spray me with cum, so I offered some words of encouragement as I rubbed my nipples and jiggled my breasts for him. “Oooh, good boy, sweetheart, cum for me, cum all over mum’s big tits. I love you so much, Damien, I’ll do anything to have to remain my baby boy. Now cum all over me and my breasts, babe.”

I guess any amount of cum would have been disappointing after how much he filled me with the day before, but when Damien came that morning, I couldn’t hide my disappointment. After some intense buildup, Damien finally brought himself to orgasm, and his dick shot out three wads of cum, all of which landed right on target, on my chest, just underneath the bottom of my neck. “Oooooh fuck yes, play with it, mum.” I did as he asked, but I didn’t enjoy it anywhere near as much as I would have with Friday’s or Tuesday’s loads. I smeared my son’s cum over my breasts and rubbed it in until it was dry and began to flake on me. Putting my disappointment aside, I thought Damien deserved some credit.

“God, Damien, you making me cum with your mouth… that was amazing, I’m almost scared to ask where you learned to do that, and so young!” He was about to answer, but I honestly didn’t want to know, so I cut him off, “Anyway, I just wanted to remind you that, if this is what it takes to keep you from moving out, baby, I’m all aboard.”

“Thanks, mum. Love you too.” He kissed me and massaged my breasts a little more. “Say, mum, you don’t mind if I head out pretty soon, do you? Just wanna hang out with some friends. Seems like ages since I’ve seen some of them, y’know?”

What kind of mother/lover would I be to deny the boy that? “Sure, honey, have a great time! Just, um, …oh god, this is awkward.”


“Just, you won’t tell anyone about this, will you? I mean, about us and what we do?”

“Oh fuck no! God, nobody will know what to think. No offence, mum. Actually, some of the guys think you’re pretty sexy, but still, this sort of …arrangement isn’t exactly approved of, so our secret is safe, don’t worry.” At least I raised a sex-crazed boy with some sense, I guess. “I’m gonna get dressed now; enjoy your shower, mum.”

“Thanks, Damien, I will.” I headed out, my head still swirling at just how naughty I was being with my son.

That day, when Damien’s dad came home, he again offered him a beer and listened intently about his day in accounting. Damien even cleared the table after dinner!

After dinner, Damien told us that he had something he wanted to tell us. Apparently, that day, he went out with Kyle and Jake, and they found a good 3 bedroom apartment across town, not far from the university where his friends were going to study next month. My husband was surprised, I was devastated. My husband admitted that he was reluctant to let Damien move out, but after admitting he’d noticed a real change in his attitude in the past week, he felt Damien really was mature and happy enough to move out on his own. I was still too shocked to speak.

“Don’t worry, mum,” Damien reassured me. “You can still come and visit me any time you like!”

“Oh,” was all I could reply. “I guess that’s a positive, huh?”

Damien started discussing logistics with his father, such as how they’d move all his stuff, and when he would start looking for a job to support himself. I took that opportunity to leave the room, just in time before the tears started rolling down my cheeks. I cried into my pillow for a good 20 minutes while I thought about the past few days. It had all just been an act, a ploy to get us to agree to him moving out with his friends. The perverted part of my mind once again spoke up. At least he thought of me, instead of moving out underneath our noses, Damien had done exactly what I’d wanted of him – he was now acting mature, he was once again a part of our family, and my husband and I both loved him more than ever. In a demented sort of way, I guess I’m glad that my son used sex with me as a means of getting what he wanted… it shows he was thinking of me in his dark, antisocial period. And really, I should take it as a compliment that he found me attractive enough to seduce; it shows I’m still kind of desirable despite being 6 months away from 50. Damien may have been incredibly selfish, deceitful and manipulative, but he was the best son I could have ever asked for. I always considered it a mother’s duty to keep her family together and happy, and I honestly can’t say I’ve failed. Damien may be moving out, but he’s more a part of this family now than he had been for the past year before that night in the car.

The next morning, I decided to tell Damien all my feelings, and reassure him that, despite all the lies and manipulation, I wouldn’t exchange the past week with him for anything in the world. He kissed me the way no son should kiss his mother, and reminded me that he was serious about his invitation to visit him any time I liked – “After all,” he said, “I need somebody beautiful to come and christen the bed with me, mum.”

Six years from that day, I still “visit” my son in his apartment. And, dear reader, we christened the hell out of that bed, I can assure you.

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