The water's hot, almost scalding, streaming down my back as I stand under the spray. My eyes are closed, but I'm not seeing the dark tile. I'm seeing his face last night. The way he looked at me when he confessed about jerking off every night for six months. How he threw up from guilt. Fuck.
My hand drifts down my stomach, fingers parting the wet hair at the juncture of my thighs. The water's not the only heat now. I remember the tremor in his voice when he whispered about wanting to fuck me while I slept. That dark little fantasy. My son. My own son, wanting to crawl into my bed and take me without asking.
I press two fingers against my clit, circling slow. The water rushes over my hand, but I feel the slickness anyway. It's wrong. Everything about this is wrong. But my body doesn't care about right anymore. It only remembers the way he tasted when I made him lick me. How hard his cock was when I sank onto it. How full I felt.
"You liked that," I murmur to the empty steam. "You fucking loved it."
My fingers move faster, pressing harder. I think about tonight. About what I'm going to do to him. I'm going to make him confess every filthy thought he's ever had about me. Every fantasy. Every time he touched himself thinking of his mother's cunt. And I'm going to use his confessions to get myself off, again and again, until he's nothing but a whimpering mess.
I bite my lip as the pleasure builds. My other hand braces against the shower wall. I imagine him on his knees, begging to taste me. Begging to be allowed to fuck me. And I'll make him beg. I'll make him say please, Mom, please let me. And then I'll ride him until he forgets his own name.
"You're going to tell me everything tonight," I whisper, my voice thick with arousal. "Every single thing you've never dared to say. I want to hear how much you want to ruin yourself for me."
A small moan escapes me as my hips press into my palm. I imagine his mouth on me, his tongue, his hands gripping my thighs. I imagine his desperate sounds. And I imagine myself smirking down at him, pulling his hair, telling him he's nothing but a good little whore for his mommy.
I come hard against my fingers, a sharp, shuddering climax that leaves me gasping under the hot water. For a moment I just breathe, leaning against the tile as the steam swirls around me.
Then I open my eyes. A slow smile spreads across my lips. I'm going to ruin him completely. And I'm going to enjoy every second of it.
I stand in the middle of my bedroom, smoothing down the navy blazer. My office uniform. The same skirt that hits just above the knee, the same white button-down, the same low heels I wear every single day. But tonight, there's something different in how I wear it. How I let the top button stay undone. How I tugged the skirt up just a fraction higher on my thighs. How I left my hair down, honey-blonde waves spilling over my shoulders instead of that practical ponytail.
"Walter." My voice carries through the house, calm, controlled. "Come here."
I hear his footsteps. That slight drag he still has, the way his body moves with deliberate care. The door swings open and he stops dead in the doorway. His brown eyes go wide. His jaw actually drops open, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
"Mom, you look..." He swallows. "You look really nice."
"Nice?" I step closer, letting my heels click against the hardwood. "That's all you've got? After what you did to me last night, you look at me dressed like this and all you can say is nice?"
His eyes drop to my chest, then down my legs, then back up. His hands tremble slightly. "You look... fuck. You look incredible."
"Better." I stop in front of him, close enough that I can smell his body wash. "I've been thinking about what you confessed last night. All those dark little fantasies you whispered while I rode you." I reach up and trace a finger down his chest. "You said you wanted to force yourself into my room. Into my bed. You said you wanted to take me while I was sleeping."
He flinches. "Mom, I—"
"Shut up and listen." My voice goes cold. "Here's your chance. Right now. I'm dressed exactly how I go to work every day. You know this outfit. You've seen me leave in it a hundred times. So here I am, your mother, in her office clothes, standing in her bedroom, giving you the opportunity to act out that fantasy."
I watch his throat work as he swallows.
"But let me be very clear." I step back, crossing my arms. "If I don't enjoy what you do. If you disappoint me in any way. I will make you fucking pay. And not in the fun way."
"Are you going to start or should I change my mind?" I let the words hang in the air, watching him tremble in the doorway. His hands are shaking—that tremor he's never been able to control. I used to feel sorry for him when I saw it. Now I just wonder how those shaky fingers would feel inside me.
"Mom, I—" He swallows hard, his eyes dropping to my exposed collarbone. "I don't know how to—"
"You don't know how to what?" I step closer, letting my heels click against the hardwood. "You had all those fantasies last night. You told me you wanted to fuck me while I slept. So here I am. Awake. Dressed like I'm going to a fucking business meeting. Take me."
He doesn't move. His cock is straining against his jeans—I can see the outline, thick and hard. My mouth waters, just a little. Fuck, I really am a monster now.
"I said move." My voice drops, cold and sharp. "Or get the hell out of my room and never bring this up again."
He steps forward. One shaky step. Then another. He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can smell his sweat, his fear, his desperate arousal. His brown eyes are wet. Fuck, he's about to cry.
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers. "I don't want to be—"
"Hurt me?" I laugh, short and bitter. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried. But you could disappoint me. So don't." I reach out and grab his hand, pressing it against the front of my skirt, right where I'm wet. "Feel that? That's what you did to me. You made your mother fucking wet just by walking into the room. Now what are you going to do about it?"
His fingers curl against the fabric, hesitant at first, then pressing harder. His breath hitches. "Mom, I—"
"Stop saying my name like that." I push his hand harder against my cunt. "Like it's wrong. It's just a word. Say it like you mean it."
He groans, low and desperate. "Mom. Mom, please. I need—I need to taste you again."
"There it is." I smile, slow and cruel. "That's my good boy. On your knees. Show me how much you need it."
He drops like a stone, his hands finding my thighs, gripping the fabric of my skirt. His face presses against my stomach, then lower, his breath hot through the thin cotton of my panties. I grab a fistful of his dark hair and pull his mouth exactly where I want it.
"Lick it through the fabric," I command. "Make me feel how sorry you are for making me wait."
His mouth presses against me through the damp cotton, hesitant at first. I can feel his trembling breath, the slight tremor of his jaw against my thigh. I grip his hair tighter, pulling his face harder into my cunt. "That's it. Through the fabric. Make me feel that desperate little tongue of yours." He groans against me, a muffled sound, and starts moving his mouth in slow, wet circles. The fabric drags against my clit, rough and teasing, and I have to lock my knees to stay steady.
"Is this what you imagined, Walter?" My voice comes out low, almost a purr. "In your bed at night, jerking off to the thought of your mother's cunt through her panties?" He whimpers, his fingers digging into my thighs. "Answer me."
"Yes," he breathes against me, the word vibrating through the wet cotton. "Yes, Mom. Every night." His tongue presses harder, finding the shape of me through the fabric. I feel a sharp pulse of heat between my legs.
"Every night?" I tug his head back just enough that he has to look up at me, his mouth wet, his brown eyes dark and desperate. "Tell me exactly what you imagined. What you did to yourself. Don't leave anything out."
His hands shake on my thighs. "I imagined—I imagined you coming home from work. Tired. Your skirt all wrinkled." He swallows, his voice cracking. "I imagined you falling asleep on the couch. And I'd—I'd slide your panties down. Just a little. Just enough to taste you while you slept."
I smile down at him, slow and cruel. "That's a good boy. Now show me how you imagined it." I push his mouth back against the wet fabric. "But I'm not asleep. So you better make me feel it."
He dives back in, his mouth open and hungry. He sucks my clit through the panties, soft at first, then harder, his breath hot and uneven. The fabric clings to my skin, soaked through. I can feel every drag of his tongue, every desperate little sound he makes. My hips start to move against his face, small, involuntary circles. Fuck, I shouldn't be this wet. I shouldn't be this close already.
"Tell me more," I gasp out. "What else did you imagine, you sick little fuck?"
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips shiny with my wetness. "I imagined you on top of me. Riding my face. Holding my head down until I couldn't breathe." His voice breaks. "I imagined you calling me your good boy while you came in my mouth."
I grab his hair and yank his face back against me, hard. "Then do it. Lick your mother's cunt through her underwear like the desperate little whore you are. Make me come through the fucking fabric." His mouth goes frantic, his tongue working in tight, sloppy circles. I feel the pressure building, hot and tight in my belly. I grind against his face, gripping his hair, using his mouth exactly the way I want.
My orgasm hits me sharp and sudden, a low moan escaping my throat. I ride his mouth through it, grinding against his face as the waves crash through me. He doesn't stop, licking and sucking through the aftershocks, until I finally push him away, breathing hard.
I look down at him—on his knees, panting, his mouth glistening with my wetness, his eyes wide and hungry. I reach down and hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties, pulling them slowly down my thighs. I let them drop to the floor. "Look at what you did, Walter. Soaked right through." I step out of them, kicking them toward him. "You want to taste me for real?"
"On the bed. Now." I point toward the rumpled sheets, watching his eyes go wide. "Lie down on your back. Don't touch yourself." He scrambles up, nearly tripping over his own feet, and crawls onto the mattress like a dog being told to lay down. His hands are shaking as he settles, his cock straining against his jeans, tenting the denim obscenely. I take my time walking around to the other side, letting my heels click against the hardwood, savoring the way his eyes follow me.
I slide onto the bed beside him, propping myself up on one elbow. My free hand finds his belt, unbuckling it slow, deliberate. He holds his breath. I undo his jeans and reach inside, wrapping my fingers around his cock—hot, thick, already slick at the tip. He gasps, his hips bucking into my palm. "Easy," I murmur, stroking him once, slow. "I didn't say you could move."
"Mom—" His voice cracks, high and desperate. I tighten my grip, just enough to make him gasp. "Shh. I want another confession, Walter. Something you haven't told me yet." I watch his brown eyes dart away, guilt flickering across his face. "Something dark. Something you've been hiding."
"I don't—I can't—" He swallows hard, his hands fisting in the sheets. I keep stroking him, slow and gentle, the kind of touch that feels almost tender. "You can. And you will. Because if you don't, I'll stop." I loosen my grip. "I'll walk out of this room and leave you here with a hard cock and a mouthful of my taste. Is that what you want?"
His eyes snap to mine, wide and wet. "No. No, Mom, please." I smile, slow and cruel. "Then talk. Tell me something that makes you ashamed. Something that makes you want to throw up when you think about it."
He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. "I watched you. Once. With Aunt Marie." My hand goes still on his cock. "What?"
"I was—I came home early. From work." He can't look at me, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his voice trembling. "You were in the living room. The door was cracked. And you and Aunt Marie were on the couch. You were—she was touching you. Between your legs. And you were moaning her name."
I stare at him, my mind racing. Marie. My sister. I remember that afternoon—a weak moment, a bottle of wine, a conversation about how lonely we both were. I'd almost forgotten. Almost. "You watched us?" My voice comes out strange, not angry, not aroused. Somewhere in between.
He nods, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I stood in the hallway and watched until you came. And then I went to my room and jerked off to the sound of it. To the image of you. And I threw up after, because I knew—I knew it was wrong. But I couldn't stop." His voice breaks. "I can't stop, Mom. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear, my hand still wrapped around his cock. "Aunt Marie," I whisper, my voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Can you imagine her face if she knew? Her perfect little nephew, jerking off to the memory of her fingers inside me." I feel him shudder, a sob caught in his throat. "She'd be horrified. She'd never look at you the same way again."
"Please—" he chokes out, his hips twitching in my grip. I squeeze him tighter, just shy of painful. "Please what, Walter? Please stop reminding you what a sick little pervert you are? Or please make you feel better about it?" I release his cock and push myself up, straddling his chest. His eyes are wild, tears streaking his temples. I shift forward, positioning my cunt directly above his face. "Open your mouth."
He obeys instantly, his lips parting, his tongue already flat and waiting. I lower myself slowly, letting my wetness smear across his chin, his lips, his tongue. "Lick," I command. "Lick your mother's cunt like the dirty little secret you are." His tongue slides up, finding my clit, and I gasp despite myself. Fuck, he's good at this. I grip his hair and grind against his mouth, using his face the way I want. "That's it. Make Aunt Marie proud."
He moans against me, the vibration shooting straight to my core. His hands come up to grip my thighs, pulling me deeper onto his mouth, and I let him. I lean forward, bracing my hands on the headboard, riding his tongue in slow, deliberate circles. "You like this, don't you?" I breathe. "Knowing your aunt's pussy was on my fingers while you watched. Knowing I came for her before I ever came for you."
He whimpers, his tongue working faster, desperate. I feel the pressure building, hot and tight, but I don't want to come yet. Not like this. I want to draw it out, make him beg. I pull back just enough that his tongue loses contact, and he chases my cunt with his mouth, a pathetic, hungry sound escaping his throat. "Uh-uh," I say, smiling down at him. "Not yet. I want to hear you say it."
"Say what?" His voice is wrecked, his lips shiny with my wetness. I tilt my hips, letting my clit brush against his mouth, just a tease. "Say that you're glad you watched. That you're glad you know what your mother's pussy tastes like after your aunt's fingers were in it." I watch his brown eyes flicker with shame and hunger. "Say it, Walter. Or I'll stop."
He takes a shuddering breath, his hands trembling on my thighs. "I'm glad," he whispers. "I'm glad I watched. I'm glad I know what you taste like." His voice cracks. "I'm a sick fuck, Mom. But I can't stop." I feel a rush of dark satisfaction, hot and cruel. I lower myself back onto his mouth, pressing my cunt against his tongue. "Good boy. Now make me forget I ever had a sister."
His tongue dives in, hungry and sloppy, and I let myself go, grinding against his face until the pressure breaks and I come, hard, my thighs clamping around his head as I moan his name—not Walter. Just his name. The one I gave him. The one that makes this real. He laps at me through the aftershocks, gentle now, almost reverent, and I have to push his face away before I come again. "Enough," I gasp, sliding off him and collapsing onto the mattress beside him. He turns his head, his face slick with me, his eyes dazed and worshipful. I reach over and wipe his mouth with my thumb, then press my thumb between his lips. He sucks it clean without being told. "Good boy," I murmur. "Now tell me more about your fantasies."
I pull my thumb from his mouth, watching the way his lips try to follow it, desperate for contact. "No. Not about what you've seen, Walter. About what you want to do." I trace a finger down his chest, feeling the tremble in his muscles. "The filthiest fantasy you've never told anyone. The one that makes you sickest when you jerk off to it."
His eyes go wide, darting away. His hands clench at his sides. "I—Mom, I can't—"
"You can." I lean over him, my lips brushing his ear, my breath hot against his skin. "And you will. Because if you don't, I'll get up. I'll walk out. And I'll never touch you again. You'll spend the rest of your life wondering what I would have done if you'd just been brave enough to tell me."
He's shaking now, his whole body trembling. I see the war in his eyes—shame and hunger, fear and desperation. I wait. I know how to wait.
"I want—" His voice cracks. He swallows hard. "I want you to tie me up. To the bed. And I want you to do whatever you want to me. For hours. And I'm not allowed to say no. To anything." He chokes on the words, tears spilling down his temples. "I want you to use me like a toy. Like I don't matter. Like I'm just a body for you to fuck when you're bored."
I feel a dark thrill run through me. "That's good. That's very good. But that's not the filthiest one, is it?" I sit up, straddling his chest, looking down at him. His hands instinctively come up to my thighs, but I slap them away. "Hands at your sides. You don't touch unless I say so." He obeys, his fingers digging into the sheets. "Now tell me the real one. The one you're afraid to say out loud."
He stares up at me, his face wet, his brown eyes broken. For a long moment, I think he might actually refuse. Then his lips part, and his voice comes out barely a whisper. "I want you to hurt me. While you fuck me." He stops, gasping for breath. "I want you to hit me. And choke me. And call me names. And make me cry. And I want to come while you're doing it. I want to feel your hand around my throat while I'm inside you."
I feel the confession land in my chest like a stone. He's still crying, his body shaking, his eyes fixed on the ceiling like he can't bear to look at me. "Is that sick enough for you?" His voice is bitter, broken. "Is that fucked up enough?"
I lean down, my lips hovering over his. "That's perfect," I whisper. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear." I slide off him, reaching for the belt loops on his jeans. "Get up. Take off your clothes. I want to see what I'm working with."
He's on his feet before I finish the sentence, his hands shaking as he fumbles with his belt. I watch him, leaning against the headboard, letting my eyes drag across every inch of exposed skin. His jeans drop, his boxers following, and his cock springs free—hard, thick, slick at the tip. He stands there, naked and trembling, his arms at his sides like he's waiting for permission to breathe.
"Look at you." I let the words curl out slow, venom sweet. "Standing there with your cock out, crying, begging your own mother to hurt you." I push off the bed and circle him, my heels clicking against the hardwood. His eyes follow me, wet and wide, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "You really are a mess, aren't you, Walter?"
"Yes, Mom." His voice cracks, barely a whisper. I stop behind him, close enough that my breath ghosts across his shoulder blade. I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, and let my voice drop to a whisper. "You really want me to hurt you?"
He shudders, his whole body trembling. A sob catches in his throat. "Yes."
I pull back, just enough to see his face. "Say it again. Look me in the eyes and say it again." I step around to face him, my hand coming up to cup his chin, forcing his gaze to mine. His brown eyes are glassy, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Say it, Walter. Tell your mother exactly what you want her to do to you."
"I want you to hurt me." His voice breaks, but he holds my gaze. "I want you to hit me. Choke me. Make me cry while you fuck me." He swallows hard, his lips trembling. "Please, Mom. I need you to do it. I can't stop thinking about it."
I smile, slow and cruel, and let my thumb trace across his lower lip. "Good boy. That's exactly what I wanted to hear." I release his chin and step back, pointing at the bed. "Get on your knees. On the mattress. Facing me."
He scrambles onto the bed, his movements clumsy with desperation. He settles on his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, his cock jutting out obscenely. I take my time, walking around to the foot of the bed, letting him watch me. The lamp light catches the sheen of sweat on his chest, the tremor in his muscles. He's beautiful like this—broken and hungry and mine.
"You want me to hurt you?" I climb onto the bed, crawling toward him until I'm close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. I straddle his thighs, not quite touching his cock, and lean in until my lips brush his. "Tell me again. Tell me what you want me to do."
"Hit me." His voice is raw, desperate. "Slap me. Choke me. Fucking destroy me, Mom. I don't care. Just don't stop." His hands twitch at his sides, wanting to touch me but too afraid to move. I feel the power thrumming through me, hot and dark, and I know exactly what I'm going to do to him.
I grab his wrists before he can react, yanking them above his head and slamming them against the headboard. His eyes go wide, a strangled gasp escaping his throat. "Not so fast, baby boy." I lean my weight into him, pressing his wrists into the wood, feeling the tremor run through his arms. "You think I'm just going to let you touch me whenever you want?" I release one wrist long enough to grab the belt from my discarded robe, looping it around both his wrists and cinching it tight. He doesn't struggle. He just watches me, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his cock twitching against my thigh.
"There." I sit back, admiring my work. His wrists are bound to the headboard, the leather digging into his skin, his arms stretched above him like an offering. "Now you can't touch me unless I say so. And I won't say so." I trail a finger down his chest, feeling the sweat-slicked skin, the desperate rise and fall of his ribs. "You're going to lie there and take whatever I give you. And you're going to thank me for it."
"Yes, Mom." His voice is wrecked, his brown eyes glassy with tears and arousal. "Thank you. Thank you for—for doing this." I lean forward, my lips brushing his, not quite kissing him. "Shut up," I whisper. "You don't get to talk unless I ask you a question. Understood?" He nods, a sob caught in his throat. "Good boy."
I slide off him, my body moving with deliberate slowness, letting him watch every inch of skin as I climb off the bed. I walk to the dresser, my heels clicking against the floor, and pull open the top drawer. My hand finds the silk scarf I bought weeks ago—deep red, soft as sin. I turn back to him, holding it up so he can see it. His eyes fix on it, his lips parting. "You want this?" I ask, my voice a low purr. "You want me to blindfold you? Make it so you can't see what I'm about to do to you?"
He nods frantically, his bound wrists straining against the belt. "Please, Mom. Please." I smile, slow and cruel, and walk back to the bed. I climb on top of him, straddling his chest, and drape the scarf over his eyes, tying it snug behind his head. His breath hitches as the world goes dark, his body trembling beneath me. "There," I murmur, my lips brushing his ear. "Now you can't see. You can't touch. All you can do is feel." I shift my weight, letting my cunt press against his lips. "And I want you to feel every single thing I do to you tonight."
"What—what are you going to do?" His voice is thin, scared, hungry. I lean back, looking down at him—my son, bound and blindfolded, laid out like a feast. "I'm going to make you tell me every fantasy you've ever had," I say, my voice soft and venomous. "And then I'm going to decide which ones to give you. And which ones to deny forever." I trace a finger down his chest, circling his nipple, feeling him arch into my touch. "But first, I want to hear about the ones from last night. The ones you were too scared to tell me."
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I—I told you. I want you to hurt me. I want you to use me." I slap him across the face, sharp and sudden. He gasps, his head snapping to the side, his cock jerking. "Not good enough," I hiss. "Deeper. Filthier. I can feel how hard you are. I can smell how much you want this. Don't you dare hold back now." I grab his chin and force his head back toward me. "Tell me, Walter. Tell me the one you think about when you're about to come."
His chest heaves, tears soaking through the blindfold. "I—" He chokes, a sob breaking free. "I want you to fuck me with a strap-on. While you call me your little bitch. While you—while you make me beg to suck your cock." The words tumble out, raw and broken, and I feel a thrill run through me, dark and electric. "And then I want you to make me clean up my own mess with my tongue. Every drop." He's crying openly now, his body shaking. "Is that—is that enough, Mom? Is that sick enough for you?"
I smile, slow and wicked, and lean down to lick the tears from his cheek. "That's perfect," I whisper. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear." I sit up, my hand sliding down his stomach, wrapping around his cock. He moans, his hips bucking into my grip, and I squeeze just hard enough to make him gasp. "Now I'm going to untie you. And you're going to get on your hands and knees. And I'm going to ride your face until I come twice. And then I'm going to decide if you deserve to come tonight." I release his cock and start working at the belt. "And Walter?"
"Yes, Mom?" His voice is desperate, trembling. I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear. "If you make me come twice, I'll let you fuck me. But if you don't—" I pull the blindfold off, meeting his terrified, hungry eyes. "—I'll leave you here, tied up, with a hard-on and a mouthful of my cum. And I'll let you think about what you could have had." He whimpers, his hands flying to my hips the moment the belt falls away. "Please, Mom. Please let me. I'll do anything. I'll—"
I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Then show me."