I sit in my car outside our house, gripping the steering wheel like it's the only thing keeping me from floating away. Three hours with Sabrina somehow made the world feel almost normal again.
Burger King had turned into a walk around campus, which turned into coffee at some indie place with chalkboard menus. Sabrina talked the entire time about anime, her classes, her therapist, who's apparently "the shit," and how she's convinced raccoons have secret societies. Her mind jumps tracks faster than a derailed train, but somehow keeping up with her chaos helped quiet mine.
But now I'm home, and reality waits inside like a crouching predator.
Mom's car sits in the driveway, gleaming under the afternoon sun. At least she's not out... working. The thought makes my stomach twist with a confusing mix of relief and something darker I refuse to name.
"You got this," I mutter to myself, grabbing my backpack from the passenger seat. "Just act normal. Go to your room. Lock the door if you have to."
The walk to the front door feels like crossing a minefield. Each step bringing me closer to a conversation I'm not ready to have. I slide my key into the lock, the metal cool against my sweaty fingers, and push the door open.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. No TV humming in the background, no dinner sounds from the kitchen. Just silence that feels thick enough to choke on.
"Mom?" I call out, hating how my voice cracks on that single syllable.
Nothing.
I exhale slowly, shoulders dropping as tension bleeds from my body. Maybe she's out for a walk. Maybe I've got a reprieve, a few hours to figure out what the fuck I'm going to say to her.
I head up the stairs, each step creaking under my weight like the house itself is announcing my presence. The hallway stretches before me, my bedroom door at the end like a finish line. Just make it there, shut the door, and figure out the rest later.
I turn the knob, push the door open, and freeze.
Mom is sitting on my bed, her legs crossed at the ankles, white hair tumbling over her shoulders like snow. She's still wearing that silky blue nightgown from this morning, the one that barely reaches mid-thigh. The afternoon light filters through my blinds, casting golden stripes across her bare legs.
But it's what's in her hand that makes my blood run cold.
Her black panties, the ones I stole yesterday morning, the ones I was jerking off into to right before my first day of college, dangle from her fingers like a flag.
"Close the door, honey," she says, her voice honey-sweet but laced with something dangerous.
I stand frozen in the doorway, my fight-or-flight response screaming at me to run, but my feet seem rooted to the floor. My heart hammers against my ribcage so hard I'm sure she can hear it.
She taps the bed beside her with one manicured finger, her lips curling into an arrogant smirk that makes my stomach flip. "Take a seat, Gabriel."
Like a puppet with cut strings, I find myself obeying, closing the door behind me with a soft click that sounds like a death knell in the silent room. I cross to the bed on wooden legs, perching as far from her as possible while still technically sitting beside her.
She slides toward me, closing the gap I'd carefully created. Her bare thigh presses against mine, the silk of her nightgown whispering against my jeans. The contact sends electricity up my spine, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. My body betrays me instantly, blood rushing south so fast I feel lightheaded.
"Gabriel," she says, dangling the panties between us, "what is this?"
I stare at the underwear, my stomach dropping as I notice the unmistakable evidence of what I'd done. The once-black fabric is stiff, whitish crusty stains covering most of the silky material. There's so much of it, more than I remembered leaving. The shame hits me like a physical blow, heat crawling up my neck and flooding my face.
"Fuck," I whisper, the word escaping before I can stop it.
I want to run. I want to disappear. But part of me, a voice I've been fighting for years, whispers that this is inevitable. That this is where we've always been heading.
Mom's fingers brush mine as she places the panties in my lap. "You've been taking my underwear for quite some time, haven't you?" Her voice isn't accusatory. It's almost tender. "How many times have you done this?"
Shame crashes over me like a tsunami, burning my face and tightening my chest until I can barely breathe. The evidence of my sick obsession sits in my lap, undeniable and damning.
"Please, Mom," I choke out, unable to meet her eyes. "This is so uncomfortable. I'm sorry. I know what Idid is it's disgusting. I'm fucked up."
"No, Gabriel." Her voice is soft but firm as her hand cups my chin, forcing me to look at her. "After this morning, you should understand my feelings for you. I've dreamt of this for so long."
Her eyes bore into mine, something wild and desperate flickering behind that familiar blue. "How many times have you jerked off into my panties while thinking about me? Tell me the truth."
My throat constricts, shame and arousal battling for dominance. "I don't know," I whisper, then the truth tumbles out like a confession. "Over a hundred, okay? Maybe more."
Her face transforms, lips spreading into a grin so wide and delighted it's almost childlike, like I've just given her the perfect birthday present. Her fingers tighten on my jaw, trembling slightly.
"You depraved little monster," she breathes, voice thick with something that sounds like pride. "You really are just like me."
Reality crashes back in, breaking through the haze of confusion and desire. "Mom, no, we can't," I protest, trying to pull away from her touch. "This isn't right."
Mom tilts her head, studying me with a predatory patience. "Okay, so my darling baby boy wants to take it slow? We can do that." Her hand slides from my face to my chest, fingers splaying over my racing heart. "Take your pants off, Gabriel."
"Mom, I'm not…" I start, panic rising in my throat.
"I'm not going to touch you," she cuts me off, irritation flashing across her face. "Take your pants off, Gabriel, unless you want me to be mad at you?"
The threat hangs in the air between us, and I'm suddenly eight years old again, desperate to avoid her disappointment. My hands move to my belt buckle without conscious thought, fingers fumbling with the metal clasp.
"That's it," she encourages, leaning back to watch. "Good boy."
The praise sends a jolt through me. I lift my hips, sliding them down to my knees along with my boxers, exposing myself to her hungry gaze.
"Beautiful," she whispers, eyes fixed on my traitorous cock, standing at full attention.
"Gabe," Mom whispers, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shifts on the bed. With one fluid motion, she reaches under her nightgown and slides her blue lace panties down her legs. The movement is somehow both innocent and obscene.
She dangles them from her finger before offering them to me. "Here, baby. These are fresh from the dealer."
I stare at the delicate fabric, noticing immediately how the crotch is darkened with moisture. My mouth goes dry as I take them with trembling fingers, the damp material evidence of her arousal.
"They're... wet," I mumble stupidly, my brain short-circuiting.
"Of course they are," she says with a giggle that sounds too young for her age. "I've been thinking about you all day."
Before I can stop myself, I bring them to my face and inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering closed as her scent fills my lungs. It's intoxicating, musky and, sweet and unmistakably her. A groan escapes me before I can trap it behind my teeth.
When I open my eyes, Mom is staring at me with wide-eyed wonder, her lips parted in surprise.
"Gabriel," she breathes, her voice barely audible. "Show me how you do it, honey." Her hand reaches out, stopping just short of touching my thigh. "Jerk off for Mommy. I want to watch."
I look down at her panties still clutched in my hand, then at my painfully hard cock, then back to her expectant face. The fight drains out of me like someone pulled a plug. What's the point in resisting anymore? She knows everything. She's seen everything. And some sick part of me has wanted this for longer than I can remember.
"Fine," I mutter, resignation washing over me.
I wrap her damp panties around my shaft, the silky material gliding easily over my skin. I keep my eyes fixed on the wall above her head, the ceiling, the window, anywhere but her face. Yet even as I avoid looking at her, she's all I can think about. Her scent surrounds me, her warmth radiates beside me, and the knowledge that she's watching me pleasure myself with her underwear makes my cock throb painfully.
I'm lost in the sensation, the silky fabric sliding over my length, when Mom's fingers suddenly grip my chin, forcing my gaze downward.
"Look at me," she commands, her voice husky with need.
I gasp. She's pulled down the top of her nightgown, exposing her breasts to the afternoon light streaming through my window. They're even more magnificent than I remembered from last night's drunken haze, full, round, and impossibly perfect. The pale flesh rises and falls with her quickened breathing, pink nipples standing at attention.
"Jesus, Mom," I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away.
Her free hand has disappeared beneath her nightgown, rhythmically moving as she touches herself. The fabric shifts with each movement, hypnotic in its rhythm. The wet sounds of her fingers sliding through her folds fill the quiet room.
"That's it, baby," she encourages, her blue eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "You're doing so good for Mommy."
My hand moves faster of its own accord, the panties now slick with my pre-cum mixed with her arousal. The combination of sensations, her scent in my nostrils, her breasts before my eyes, the knowledge that she's pleasuring herself while watching me, is overwhelming.
A deep groan escapes her lips as her movements become more frantic. Without warning, she withdraws her glistening fingers and presses them against my mouth.
"Taste," she orders.
I'm beyond resistance now. My lips part automatically, and I suck her fingers into my mouth, tongue swirling around the digits to capture every drop of her essence. The tangy sweetness explodes across my taste buds, and I whimper pathetically around her fingers, lost in sensations I've only dreamed about.
She withdraws them with a wet pop, her eyes are wild with excitement, pupils blown wide with lust.
"Yes, Gabriel!" she urges, her voice rising. "Cum for me, baby! Cum for Mommy!"
The command breaks something loose inside me. My back arches off the bed as pleasure tears through me like lightning, vision blurring at the edges as I erupt into her panties. Rope after rope of hot cum soaks the delicate fabric, some splashing onto my stomach and chest as I cry out.
"Mom! Fuck, Mom!"
She watches with undisguised delight, her own fingers still working furiously between her legs. As the last tremors of my orgasm subside, she leans forward and presses her lips to my forehead, a twisted maternal gesture that somehow makes everything even more confusing.
"Good boy," she whispers against my skin. "You've made Mommy so happy."
I collapse onto my back, chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. The ceiling above me swims in and out of focus, a blank canvas for my shame to project itself onto. My limbs feel like lead, weighed down by what we've just done.
Mom gently unwraps her soaked panties from around my softening cock, the fabric making an obscene squelching sound as she pulls it away. I wince at the noise, each little sound another reminder of my weakness.
"My goodness," she purrs, examining the cum-soaked underwear with an almost scientific curiosity. She slides them back up her legs under her nightgown and moans softly as the wet fabric settles against her. "There's so much, Gabriel. You've been saving up for Mommy, haven't you?"
Her smile is radiant, triumphant, like she's won some prize I didn't know we were competing for. She stands from the bed, smoothing down her nightgown with delicate, precise movements.
"I'm going to start dinner, darling," she announces as if we just finished a normal mother-son chat instead of... whatever the fuck this was. "I'll call you when it's ready. Chicken parmesan tonight, your favorite."
I manage a nod, not trusting my voice. As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, something inside me breaks. The tears come without warning, hot and humiliating, as they stream down my face. I don't bother wiping them away, just let them fall as quiet sobs wrack my body.
Depression sinks its fangs into me, a familiar predator that knows exactly where to bite. I curl onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest like a child.
"I don't want to want this," I whisper to the empty room, my voice cracking. "I don't want to be like this anymore."
My body betrayed me so easily, surrendered to her without a fight. What kind of sick fuck gets off on his own mother watching him jerk off with her underwear? What kind of son tastes his mother's arousal?
"I just want to be normal," I choke out, pressing my face into my pillow to muffle the sound. "I just want to be happy."