"Mom!"
I'm buried deep inside her, my fingers digging into her wrists as I pin them against the mattress. Her white hair spills across the sheets like spilled milk, and with each thrust, she moans my name in that voice that's haunted me for years.
"Harder, Gabriel," Mom begs, her voice a breathless plea that sends electricity down my spine. "Don't hold back. I've waited so long for this."
I flip her over, positioning her on all fours, her perfect ass raised toward me. She looks back over her shoulder, those loving blue eyes half-lidded with desire. My hands find her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. I want to mark her, to claim her, to make her understand that she belongs to me now.
"I love you, Mom," I groan as I thrust back inside her, the heat of her enveloping me like a fist. "I love you so much."
The words feel right here. The rhythm of our bodies moving together is perfect, practiced, like we've been lovers for centuries instead of just these few stolen moments.
"Oh my," she purrs, reaching back to grab my thigh, pulling me deeper inside her. "You're already so hard."
The comment strikes me as odd. Already? We've been going at it for what feels like hours. My pace falters as confusion cuts through the haze of pleasure.
"What?" I mutter, the world starting to fray at the edges.
Something's not right. The bed feels different beneath my knees. The air on my skin is cooler than it should be. Mom's body, so solid and real a moment ago, seems to be dissolving like mist at dawn.
I open my eyes.
The darkness of my bedroom materializes around me, morning light slicing through the gap in my curtains to illuminate a sight that makes my heart stop. Mom is sitting on the edge of my bed, her nightgown, a different one from earlier, this one sheer and barely there, hanging off one shoulder. Her blue eyes gleam in the half-light, hungry and triumphant.
But what stops my breath entirely is the sight of her slender fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking with practiced precision.
"Mom?" The word escapes as a strangled whisper.
She doesn't stop, her grip tightening just slightly as she slides her hand up to the sensitive head before gliding back down to the base. My hips buck involuntarily, betraying me instantly.
"Shhh," she soothes, her free hand coming up to brush my hair from my forehead in a gesture that's both maternal and deeply perverse, given what her other hand is doing. "Just enjoy it, Gabriel. Let Mommy take care of you."
My sleepy brain short-circuits, unable to process what's happening. Just last night, I stood in our kitchen and firmly told her we needed boundaries, that we were just a normal mother and son. I went to bed thinking I'd finally taken control of the situation, that I'd made the right choice.
Yet here she is, and here I am, harder than I've ever been in my life, leaking pre-cum over her delicate fingers.
"This isn't right," I try to say, but it comes out as a moan when she twists her wrist in a way that makes my toes curl.
"Your body disagrees," she whispers, her voice like velvet. "Look how much you want this, Gabriel. Look how much you want me."
She strokes me twice more, her rhythm perfect, her touch electric, and it's too much. The combination of the dream, the forbidden nature of what's happening, the weeks and months and years of wanting her, it all culminates in an explosion I can't control.
"Fuck, Mom!" I cry out as the first pulse hits, my back arching off the bed.
Her eyes widen in genuine surprise as my release erupts with shocking force. The first rope catches her across the cheek, the second across her parted lips. The third and fourth land on her nightgown, darkening the sheer fabric where it clings to her breasts. Her hand never stops moving, milking every last drop as I writhe beneath her touch.
"Oh my," she breathes, clearly not expecting such an explosive response. There's wonder in her voice, mixed with something darker, something possessive that makes my spent cock twitch against her palm.
I lie there, chest heaving, watching through half-closed eyes as she slowly brings her cum-covered fingers to her mouth. Her tongue darts out, pink and delicate, licking my release from her skin with deliberate, sensual strokes. Her eyes never leave mine, gauging my reaction as she scoops the strands from her cheek and suckles them from her fingertips.
"Mom," I croak, horrified and aroused in equal measure. "What are you doing?"
She doesn't answer, just continues her obscene cleaning ritual, gathering my seed from her face and nightgown. When she's collected as much as she can, she tilts her head back slightly and opens her mouth, letting me see it pooled on her tongue before she swallows with an exaggerated gulp.
"Mmm," she hums, running her tongue across her upper lip to catch a stray drop. "You taste divine, Gabriel. So much better than I imagined."
My stomach twists with a nauseating mix of surprise and desire. This is my mother, the woman who raised me, and she's sitting on my bed savoring my cum like it's some gourmet delicacy. Yet I can't tear my eyes away, can't help the way my cock is already stirring again despite having just exploded all over her.
"Gabriel," she says, her voice dropping to that husky register that makes my nerve endings sing, "are you usually so quick?"
Her fingers are still loosely wrapped around me, thumb idly circling the sensitive head, coaxing me back to hardness with minimal effort.
"No," I blurt out, embarrassment flooding me. "I've never... With my own hand, I usually last way longer."
A slow, knowing smile spreads across her face, transforming her features into something predatory and triumphant. She shifts closer on the bed, her nightgown riding up to expose the pale expanse of her thighs.
"Oh," she purrs, tilting her head coyly. "So you only cum this fast with your mother, then?"
"I…" I stammer, but she cuts me off with a squeeze of her hand that makes me gasp.
"That's love, Gabriel," she says, her smile widening until it's almost blinding in the dim room. "That's what happens when you finally get what you've always wanted."
My brain finally catches up to what's happening. I jerk my hips backward, yanking myself from her grip as I scramble to the far corner of my bed, pulling the sheets up to cover myself.
"Wait a fucking minute, Mom!" My voice cracks with panic. "You can't just sneak into my room and... and touch me while I'm sleeping! That's rape, Mom!"
Her expression shifts from predatory to something resembling concern, but there's a performative quality to it that makes my skin crawl.
"Rape?" She tilts her head, eyes wide with mock innocence. "Gabriel, sweetheart, if that was rape, why did your hips buck so eagerly into my hand? Why did you moan my name before you even woke up?" Her lips curl into a knowing smile. "Is it because you want Mommy that badly?"
"No! That's not…" I stammer, heat rushing to my face. "My body was reacting involuntarily! I was asleep, for fuck's sake! This is seriously messed up, Mom."
I grab my boxers awkwardly, pulling them on beneath the sheets. The fabric sticks to my still-wet skin uncomfortably.
"You can't just touch people without their consent," I continue, finding my voice growing stronger with each word. "Even if... even if that person is your son. Especially if that person is your son!"
Mom's face hardens, the facade of concern dropping away entirely. She sits up straighter, smoothing down her cum-stained nightgown with deliberate movements.
"I don't think it counts as rape if there wasn't any penetration, Gabriel," she says coolly. "I was simply helping my son with a problem. A very hard problem." Her eyes flick down to where the sheet tents slightly despite my anger.
My jaw drops at the audacity. "Are you serious right now? Get out of my room!" I shout, pointing at the door with a trembling finger. "GET OUT!"
She stands with glacial slowness, every movement calculated to maximize the sway of her hips, the bounce of her breasts beneath the thin fabric. Her expression is a mask of annoyance, but I catch something else flickering behind her eyes—uncertainty, perhaps even fear.
"Fine," she says, her voice clipped. She moves toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. "Good morning, by the way!" she adds with false brightness before slipping out into the hallway.
"I'm going to have to change the lock on my door."