u/Author_BrookeKinks

All Joe wants is to party and get laid. But thanks to the virus outbreak and lockdown, he's stuck at home with his mom and aunts.

Then Aunt Beth gives him a "future diary," and his luck changes. Suddenly, it seems like he could stay home… and still get laid?

All characters 18+.

~

“I can’t believe you’re going out on a fucking date at a time like this. Can you be any more selfish?” Joe raised his voice just as his mother was heading for the front door.

Anna was dressed up and made up, something that didn’t happen often these days. Instead of baggy shirts and pajama shorts, a red dress hugged her curves and exaggerated them. A pair of heels forced her back to arch and her ass to stick out.

It was the sight of his mom’s perfectly curled hair and perky ass from behind that had made Joe so irrationally angry he couldn’t stop himself from saying something.

Anna’s hand froze on the door handle. She turned to look at her son, who was standing by the round table in the middle of the expansive entrance hall of the house they shared, staring daggers at her.

Joe had recently moved back in due to a virus outbreak that had put literally everything on pause. Offices and schools were closed, and people were doing their work from a laptop on their dining table. Some shops and restaurants were deemed essential enough that they could remain open, but even they looked like ghost towns.

Anna’s social life had ground to a halt. But she couldn’t possibly just stay home 24/7, cooped up with her son, sisters, and sisters-in-law. It was a large house, but still. Anna was a social, vibrant forty-five-year-old who needed a break from her family sometimes.

“What’s the matter?” Anna asked, unable to hide her irritation. “You’re afraid of monsters under your bed or something?”

At twenty-two, Joe was a college student. He’d just started to enjoy drinking, clubbing, and sleeping around when the government had announced a nation-wide lockdown.

Now, he was stuck at home with his mom and aunts, and hating it. The only thing that remained from his old life was his online classes, which sucked.

His friends were drifting away, and the furthest he could get with girls online was getting nudes. How was it fair that his mom was going out and getting laid?

But Joe wouldn’t admit that was the reason he was angry. Instead, he said, “You’re being so irresponsible. You know there’s no cure for this virus. What if you caught it from Rex and spread it to all of us who have been doing the right thing and staying home?”

He hated that name. Rex. So stupid. What did Anna’s boyfriend think he was, a dinosaur?

“It’ll be fine.” Anna rolled her eyes. “I’m taking precautions and being safe.”

She’d meant that she was putting on her mask in public places, and that she’d had Rex test himself before their date, but as the words were coming out of her mouth, both she and Joe cringed at the realization that they could be interpreted a different way.

Anna had no intention of sharing any information about her sexual life with Joe, and Joe really didn’t want to imagine Rex putting on a condom before fucking his mom.

“You’re so fucking selfish,” Joe repeated.

Anna bristled. After everything she’d done to raise her son on her own after her husband had died, he accused her of being fucking selfish?

“You’re an adult. You can take care of yourself.” Anna’s voice was resolute. She locked eyes with her son, cracked the door open, and stepped one foot outside as she said, with finality, “I know it’s hard to believe, but I have people other than you that I care about in my life. Grow up.”

The door slammed shut. The entrance hall was quiet again, the silence ringing in his ears, but not for long.

Joe didn’t even hear Aunt Beth come in. She was like a ghost when she wanted to be, which was most of the time. He only noticed her because she cleared her throat.

“Don’t let her get under your skin, Joey.” Beth was Anna’s slightly younger sister. At forty-three, she’d had a lot of opportunities to observe the relationship between the mother-son pair, and she was familiar with their conflicts.

Joe said nothing, but he settled his gaze on Beth.

Beth’s hair was still wet from her shower, slicked back to showcase the sharp lines of her cheekbones, which was softened by the delicate arch of her lips.

She wore a bathrobe—Anna’s, actually. Maybe it was because Joe hadn’t gotten laid in months, but he couldn’t help noticing the robe was a little too snug at the hips, the terrycloth gaping at the chest. The cream lapels framed a line of cleavage that drew the eye, and one shapely thigh poked out from the robe’s slit, her calf flexing as she shifted her weight.

“You going to stand there and sulk all day? Or you want to spend your time doing something fun?” Beth clapped her hands together like she was trying to get a toddler excited.

Joe said nothing, although he followed her without protest, his gaze fixed on the way Beth’s hips swayed from side to side in the too-small bathrobe.

An intrusive thought popped up in his brain, urging him to reach out and grab his aunt’s ass. It had been so long since he’d touched a woman, and he was growing more desperate by the day. He managed to suppress it, but he wondered how much longer he could last with his raging hormones in a house full of gorgeous, mature MILFs.

The kitchen was a mess of activity. Paula—his dad’s thirty-nine-year-old sister—stood at the kitchen island, up to her forearms in bread dough. She wore a tank top and leggings, which highlighted her tall, lean body. Right now, she looked like a bag of flour had exploded in her embrace, but it only made her look more attractive, more domestic, more feminine. Her dark curls were a wild halo around her head.

In Joe’s horny mind, his Aunt Paula looked like the world’s most oversexed baker, mouth pursed in concentration, hands kneading with a vigor that could have been sexual. He imagined those hands wrapped around his dick, those long legs spread open for him.

“Paula’s on her fifth attempt with her third recipe. This is supposed to be the best one yet,” Beth said excitedly. She sat on a bar stool at the kitchen island, pulling her knees up and letting the robe slip a little further, revealing a little more skin. “Aren’t you excited to try it?”

“It’s all we eat anymore,” Joe grumbled. “Bread. Toast. I’m sick of sourdough.”

Paula looked up, face streaked with flour and a big smile. In her state of intense focus, she hadn’t realized she had company. 

“Oh, hey, my taste testers are here!” Paula said, as she slid a wooden board across the counter, a fresh loaf sitting on it.

Joe tore off a hunk of the warm, crusty bread. He chewed. The bread was good, of course it was good, but he couldn’t help but exaggerate a sigh.

“Don’t you ever get bored of sourdough?” he asked.

“Not really. It’s alive. It changes. It’s never exactly the same twice.” Paula shrugged, wiping her hands on her leggings.

“You know what your problem is, Joey?” Beth asked, tapping a painted nail on the countertop. “You don’t appreciate the small things. Everything’s gotta be clubs and girls and excitement, but you’re missing all the stuff that makes life sweet. Like fresh bread.”

“Maybe you need something to do,” Paula suggested, not looking up from her work. “Something to use up all that pent-up energy.”

“Like what? Knitting?” Joe asked, voice thick with sarcasm.

“I mean, if I learned how to bake sourdough bread from the Internet, you can learn how to knit,” Paula said.

“Oh, I know!” Beth snapped her fingers. “You could write. Keep a diary. That helped me process my emotions during my divorce. You just scribble whatever comes into your brain, even if it’s just ‘I hate sourdough bread’ over and over.” Her foot nudged the stool next to her, where Joe sat.

“Isn’t that, like, for girls?” He snorted.

“Yeah, well, so is therapy,” Beth replied, “but you could use some of that, too.”

Paula giggled, a fleck of flour flying from her eyelashes.

“Hang on. I have a journal somewhere.” Beth hopped off the stool, the bathrobe threatening to betray her as she rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom she’d occupied since her recent divorce.

Joe was left alone with Paula, who was now humming tunelessly and shaping dough with hands that looked like they’d handle a dick exceptionally well. He tried not to stare down her top as she bent down slightly. He wondered if there was something wrong with him—some chemical imbalance that made him want to fuck every woman he laid eyes on, even his own aunts.

“What are you going to write about?” Paula asked, her tone distracted, punctuated by soft grunts as she kneaded the dough.

“I don’t know. Maybe about how I’m trapped in this house with a bunch of crazy women.” Joe shrugged.

“That’s the spirit.” Paula smiled.

Unlike his other aunts, Paula had lived in this house for more than a decade. When her brother, the wealthy CEO of a multinational corporation, had gotten sick, she’d abandoned her luxury apartment in the city and moved in with him, his wife, and his son. And then, after his death, she’d been too sad and lonely to move out, and so she’d stayed.  

It was an unusual living arrangement, but there was plenty of space in the mansion for everyone to avoid each other if they wanted to—before the lockdown, before Joe’s other aunts moved in. Besides, Anna was grateful that Paula would watch her son whenever she needed the help. 

Beth returned, waving a battered notebook over her head. The leather cover read “Future Diary” in a loopy, slightly menacing black script.

“Here!” she declared, thrusting it into Joe’s hands. “It’s all yours. The old lady at the flea market seemed really excited when I bought it, although I have no clue why. She didn’t speak much English. Anyway, take it. Write in it. Be happy.”

Joe didn’t want the book, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no to Beth. After her divorce, she’d spiraled into a deep depression that she could still fall into if she wasn’t careful. She could seem really cheerful one moment, but turn into a shaking pile of sobs the next. He didn’t want to be responsible for triggering her next mental health crisis.

Joe thumbed the cover. It felt weirdly warm, almost soft, as if the tan leather had a pulse. He flipped through the first pages, which were blank except for a single sentence at the top of the first page: Write what you hope for, and it will come true.

“What is this, a magic wand in book form?” He snorted.

“Stop being such a cynic,” Beth said, slapping his nephew lightly on his arm, the physical contact like electricity on Joe’s skin. “You’re just supposed to imagine your best self, or what you want to happen, and just go for it. Manifest it into reality.”

“Alright,” Joe said, taking the pen that Paula had helpfully slid across the counter. Both women watched closely as he wrote, in jagged block letters:

I WISH THAT TOMORROW, PAULA STOPS MAKING SOURDOUGH AND INSTEAD MAKES ANY RECIPE I WANT.

“I wish that tomorrow, Joe starts taking this journaling thing seriously.” Beth sighed, but she smiled as she put her hand on Joe’s arm again. This time, she let it linger. “But this is a good start.”

“I have to say, though, sweetie, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” Paula said. “I’m baking another batch first thing tomorrow.”

~

The next morning, sunlight sliced through the curtains and painted stripes across his sheets. Joe was half-awake, drifting in that pleasant limbo where dreams and reality mingled, when someone knocked softly at his door.

It was just after seven. He groaned.

The door creaked open, and Paula poked her head in, her loose black hair a tangled halo. She wore a tight white tank top and tiny blue pajama shorts that made him want to drag her into his bed.

His morning wood twitched at the thought of spreading his aunt’s long legs and filling up her womb with some of his cream. Had he just had a dream about this? For some reason, he could see it so clearly—her waddling around the kitchen with a big, round pregnant belly, the proof of their incestuous union baking in her oven.

“You’re up.” Paula hovered in the threshold, eyes wide and oddly anxious. Her hands twisted in the hem of her tank top, stretching the fabric tight across her chest.

“Not really,” Joe muttered, shifting under the sheets, gaze drawn to the outline of her nipples that he could just make out under the white fabric that stretched across her chest. “What’s up?”

“I need to know what you want to eat today,” she blurted, voice strained. “You said I should bake something else. So. What recipe?”

Joe blinked at her, groggy and not processing. “Can’t you just… pick?”

“No.” She shook her head, messy hair swinging. “It has to be you.” A note of panic edged her words, like she was desperate to get it right.

Joe sat up, the movement making his morning wood tent the blanket. He pulled the comforter a little higher. 

“Is this a joke? Are you pranking me because of what I wrote in the stupid diary last night?” 

“I’m not joking. I—I can’t start until you tell me. Please.” Paula’s face crumpled. She looked at him, and he caught the deep, helpless confusion in her eyes. “I feel weird, Joe. I woke up at like five. I just went to the kitchen, I started to gather my supplies, but I just couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?” Joe asked. He’d hoped to get some clarity, but Paula’s answer confused him even more.

“Bake!” she exclaimed, as if it was obvious and Joe was being obtuse on purpose. She took a breath, as if to calm herself down, and said, “I’ve been pacing the house for hours, waiting for you to wake up. I just need you to tell me what to bake. Anything. Just say it. Give me a recipe.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Joe stared at his aunt, blinking.

“Please,” she said, and she sounded so desperate then that he slowly started to shuffle out of bed. He grabbed his phone and laptop.

As he followed Paula down the hallway and down the stairs, she glanced at him every few seconds, as if to check that he was still behind her. It really interrupted his viewing of his aunt’s perky little ass.

He realized that they were alone in the house, with everyone still asleep. Whatever they did now, they had almost complete privacy—something rare in this house these days—and no one would find out.

In the kitchen, sun streamed in, catching the flour-dust on the black granite counters. Paula bounced from foot to foot as Joe sat at the island.

He opened his laptop, intending to pull up the recipe for some brownies he’d bookmarked. Before he could click, a video started auto-playing: a porn clip he’d watched before going to sleep last night, at full volume, the sound of a woman moaning echoing in the bright kitchen.

He fumbled to mute it, but not before Paula froze, her face going slack with shock. Then, a flush crept up her cheeks, a deep, blotchy red.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, not looking away from the laptop screen. “That’s… uh…”

Joe slammed the lid closed, mortified. “Shit. Sorry. Wasn’t—didn’t mean—”

She just stood there. And then, in a tiny voice, “Can I see?”

He stared at her, unsure if this was some next-level practical joke. But Paula didn’t laugh, or even smile. She looked… curious.

He opened the laptop again, slowly, the video still paused on a frame of a woman on her knees, mouth open and tongue out, a massive dong stuck between her lips. He watched as Paula’s eyes widened, and she let out a shaky breath.

“I… I don’t—It’s been a while—I’m not sure—,” she stammered, voice trembling. She looked straight at his nephew, swallowed, and tried again, “I’m not… familiar with this recipe… but if you’ll tell me what to do…”

Joe’s cock hardened instantly, so hard it throbbed against the waistband of his boxers. He couldn’t believe what was happening. His aunt—a grown woman, a beautiful woman, his dad’s sister—was looking at him like she wanted to taste him.

Paula’s hands trembled as she approached him, her eyes never leaving his.

“Do you want me to…?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, but the implication was clear as sunlight.

Joe nodded, almost afraid the spell would break if he spoke aloud. He slid his chair back from the counter, the legs scraping the tile, and stood on the floor, still not believing this was happening.

He wondered if Paula had been just as horny as he’d been. He hadn’t seen his aunt go on a single date with a man or a woman the whole time they’d lived together, but it wasn’t like he’d placed round-the-clock surveillance on her. So it was possible that she was feeling just as deprived as he was, all cooped up at home, and she just wanted to get laid.

In any case, Joe wasn’t stupid enough to stop his sexy aunt if she wanted to suck his dick.

Paula dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands resting on her thighs, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. There was a quiver of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Tell me what to do,” she said.

Joe’s throat was dry. He’d never been in control like this before. He reached out and brushed a stray hair from his aunt’s cheek, marveling at the smoothness of her skin, the way she leaned into his touch.

“Open your mouth, Aunt Paula,” he said.

She obeyed, lips parting, tongue peeking out just a little. He could see her breath quicken, her chest rising and falling. His cock strained at his boxers, desperate to be free.

Her eyes dropped to his crotch, pupils dilating as he pulled his dick out, already thick and veined, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, then guided the head to her lips, fully expecting her to back out before it ever touched her.

Paula hesitated for a heartbeat, then closed her lips around the tip and licked the salty pre-cum. She made a soft sound—half gasp, half moan—as the taste hit her. Joe groaned, the warmth of her mouth almost overwhelming.

She took him deeper, inch by inch, her tongue swirling around the shaft as if she was learning the shape of him. It was clumsy at first—Paula had always been the shy, homebody aunt, not the sexpot. But she was eager, desperate to please, and the awkwardness made it hotter.

Joe tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her head as she bobbed up and down. He could feel her throat flex as she swallowed, trying to take more of him. She gagged a little when he pushed deeper, but didn’t pull away.

Her hands found his thighs, nails digging in as she steadied herself. He looked down at her, at the way her cheeks hollowed, the way her eyes watered, and felt a surge of possessive pride. This was his aunt—his pretty, flustered, flour-dusted Aunt Paula—on her knees, letting him use her mouth like it was her only purpose in the world.

“Good girl,” Joe murmured. The words sent a shiver down her spine. He could feel her vibrate with it.

He remembered the video still playing, muted, on his laptop. He reached over, turned the volume back on, low enough that nobody else would hear, and the kitchen was filled with the harsh, wet sounds of the porn star’s mouth, the woman’s moans and gags as she was face-fucked by a faceless, muscular man.

Paula’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back to Joe’s cock. She redoubled her efforts, working him with a desperate, hungry rhythm. The noises from the laptop seemed to sync with their breathing, their movements, until Joe felt himself tensing, the urge to cum building to an impossible peak.

He pulled out suddenly, not wanting to finish in her mouth—not yet. There was something else he wanted to try.

She waited patiently on her knees as he fast forwarded the video until it reached the point where the blonde porn star was on her hands and feet on a bed, being fucked from behind.

Joe watched in amazement as his aunt quietly got up to her feet, spun around for him, and bent herself over the kitchen island, her shorts riding up so high he could see her ass cheeks hanging out under the hem. Her hands were splayed on the flour-dusted granite, hair wild and eyes wide with anticipation. She looked back at him over her shoulder, waiting for his next move.

He didn’t make her wait. He tugged down her pajama shorts, baring her ass and the damp, glistening lips of her pussy. Joe’s hands shook as he lined himself up with her entrance, his cock already slick with her spit.

He pushed in, slowly at first, watching as Paula’s body adjusted to his size. She let out a low, animal moan, arching her back and pushing against him, hungry for more. He slammed into her, hips snapping forward, and she cried out—half pain, half pleasure—as he filled her completely.

Joe’s hands found her waist and gripped hard. He fucked her in long, deep strokes, each thrust sending Paula’s tits bouncing against the countertop.

The sounds from the laptop—now a woman begging to be bred, to be filled up—echoed in the bright morning kitchen, mixing with the sounds of their bodies colliding.

“Fuck me, sweetie,” Paula whimpered, voice raw and needy. “Fuck your aunt. Fill me up with your cum. Knock me up. Please. Make me pregnant. Come inside me.”

He pounded her harder, the filthy words coming out of his aunt’s mouth sending him spiraling. He knew he wouldn’t last long.

On the laptop, the porn star was still screaming for her partner to cum inside her, to knock her up. Joe reached forward, grabbed a fistful of Paula’s hair, and yanked her head back so she could see the screen.

“You want me to come in your cunt?” he growled in her ear.

Paula nodded as her body shuddered, her pussy walls gripping her nephew’s cock in waves. She was too far gone for words.

“Beg for it,” Joe said.

Paula’s answer was a guttural, desperate, “Yes! Yes, sweetie, I want it, I want your cum—inside me—please—”

He’d planned to pull out, to finish on her back or her ass, but her words undid him. He slammed into her one last time and exploded, hot jets of virile cum flooding his aunt’s womb.

She reached back and pulled him close, whimpering and shuddering with her nephew’s last few thrusts. Her knees were still weak when he asked if she was on birth control and she said no. 

~

Hi, Brooke here. Thank you for reading my dirty story. Check out my reddit profile for more taboo erotica!

All Joe wants is to party and get laid. But thanks to the virus outbreak and lockdown, he's stuck at home with his mom and aunts.

Then Aunt Beth gives him a "future diary," and his luck changes. Suddenly, it seems like he could stay home… and still get laid?

All characters 18+. Joe is 22 (as stated in paragraph 8). Anna is 45 (paragraph 6). Beth is 43 (paragraph 21) and Paula is 39 (paragraph 28).

~

“I can’t believe you’re going out on a fucking date at a time like this. Can you be any more selfish?” Joe raised his voice just as his mother was heading for the front door.

Anna was dressed up and made up, something that didn’t happen often these days. Instead of baggy shirts and pajama shorts, a red dress hugged her curves and exaggerated them. A pair of heels forced her back to arch and her ass to stick out.

It was the sight of his mom’s perfectly curled hair and perky ass from behind that had made Joe so irrationally angry he couldn’t stop himself from saying something.

Anna’s hand froze on the door handle. She turned to look at her son, who was standing by the round table in the middle of the expansive entrance hall of the house they shared, staring daggers at her.

Joe had recently moved back in due to a virus outbreak that had put literally everything on pause. Offices and schools were closed, and people were doing their work from a laptop on their dining table. Some shops and restaurants were deemed essential enough that they could remain open, but even they looked like ghost towns.

Anna’s social life had ground to a halt. But she couldn’t possibly just stay home 24/7, cooped up with her son, sisters, and sisters-in-law. It was a large house, but still. Anna was a social, vibrant forty-five-year-old who needed a break from her family sometimes.

“What’s the matter?” Anna asked, unable to hide her irritation. “You’re afraid of monsters under your bed or something?”

At twenty-two, Joe was a college student. He’d just started to enjoy drinking, clubbing, and sleeping around when the government had announced a nation-wide lockdown.

Now, he was stuck at home with his mom and aunts, and hating it. The only thing that remained from his old life was his online classes, which sucked.

His friends were drifting away, and the furthest he could get with girls online was getting nudes. How was it fair that his mom was going out and getting laid?

But Joe wouldn’t admit that was the reason he was angry. Instead, he said, “You’re being so irresponsible. You know there’s no cure for this virus. What if you caught it from Rex and spread it to all of us who have been doing the right thing and staying home?”

He hated that name. Rex. So stupid. What did Anna’s boyfriend think he was, a dinosaur?

“It’ll be fine.” Anna rolled her eyes. “I’m taking precautions and being safe.”

She’d meant that she was putting on her mask in public places, and that she’d had Rex test himself before their date, but as the words were coming out of her mouth, both she and Joe cringed at the realization that they could be interpreted a different way.

Anna had no intention of sharing any information about her sexual life with Joe, and Joe really didn’t want to imagine Rex putting on a condom before fucking his mom.

“You’re so fucking selfish,” Joe repeated.

Anna bristled. After everything she’d done to raise her son on her own after her husband had died, he accused her of being fucking selfish?

“You’re an adult. You can take care of yourself.” Anna’s voice was resolute. She locked eyes with her son, cracked the door open, and stepped one foot outside as she said, with finality, “I know it’s hard to believe, but I have people other than you that I care about in my life. Grow up.”

The door slammed shut. The entrance hall was quiet again, the silence ringing in his ears, but not for long.

Joe didn’t even hear Aunt Beth come in. She was like a ghost when she wanted to be, which was most of the time. He only noticed her because she cleared her throat.

“Don’t let her get under your skin, Joey.” Beth was Anna’s slightly younger sister. At forty-three, she’d had a lot of opportunities to observe the relationship between the mother-son pair, and she was familiar with their conflicts.

Joe said nothing, but he settled his gaze on Beth.

Beth’s hair was still wet from her shower, slicked back to showcase the sharp lines of her cheekbones, which was softened by the delicate arch of her lips.

She wore a bathrobe—Anna’s, actually. Maybe it was because Joe hadn’t gotten laid in months, but he couldn’t help noticing the robe was a little too snug at the hips, the terrycloth gaping at the chest. The cream lapels framed a line of cleavage that drew the eye, and one shapely thigh poked out from the robe’s slit, her calf flexing as she shifted her weight.

“You going to stand there and sulk all day? Or you want to spend your time doing something fun?” Beth clapped her hands together like she was trying to get a toddler excited.

Joe said nothing, although he followed her without protest, his gaze fixed on the way Beth’s hips swayed from side to side in the too-small bathrobe.

An intrusive thought popped up in his brain, urging him to reach out and grab his aunt’s ass. It had been so long since he’d touched a woman, and he was growing more desperate by the day. He managed to suppress it, but he wondered how much longer he could last with his raging hormones in a house full of gorgeous, mature MILFs.

The kitchen was a mess of activity. Paula—his dad’s thirty-nine-year-old sister—stood at the kitchen island, up to her forearms in bread dough. She wore a tank top and leggings, which highlighted her tall, lean body. Right now, she looked like a bag of flour had exploded in her embrace, but it only made her look more attractive, more domestic, more feminine. Her dark curls were a wild halo around her head.

In Joe’s horny mind, his Aunt Paula looked like the world’s most oversexed baker, mouth pursed in concentration, hands kneading with a vigor that could have been sexual. He imagined those hands wrapped around his dick, those long legs spread open for him.

“Paula’s on her fifth attempt with her third recipe. This is supposed to be the best one yet,” Beth said excitedly. She sat on a bar stool at the kitchen island, pulling her knees up and letting the robe slip a little further, revealing a little more skin. “Aren’t you excited to try it?”

“It’s all we eat anymore,” Joe grumbled. “Bread. Toast. I’m sick of sourdough.”

Paula looked up, face streaked with flour and a big smile. In her state of intense focus, she hadn’t realized she had company. 

“Oh, hey, my taste testers are here!” Paula said, as she slid a wooden board across the counter, a fresh loaf sitting on it.

Joe tore off a hunk of the warm, crusty bread. He chewed. The bread was good, of course it was good, but he couldn’t help but exaggerate a sigh.

“Don’t you ever get bored of sourdough?” he asked.

“Not really. It’s alive. It changes. It’s never exactly the same twice.” Paula shrugged, wiping her hands on her leggings.

“You know what your problem is, Joey?” Beth asked, tapping a painted nail on the countertop. “You don’t appreciate the small things. Everything’s gotta be clubs and girls and excitement, but you’re missing all the stuff that makes life sweet. Like fresh bread.”

“Maybe you need something to do,” Paula suggested, not looking up from her work. “Something to use up all that pent-up energy.”

“Like what? Knitting?” Joe asked, voice thick with sarcasm.

“I mean, if I learned how to bake sourdough bread from the Internet, you can learn how to knit,” Paula said.

“Oh, I know!” Beth snapped her fingers. “You could write. Keep a diary. That helped me process my emotions during my divorce. You just scribble whatever comes into your brain, even if it’s just ‘I hate sourdough bread’ over and over.” Her foot nudged the stool next to her, where Joe sat.

“Isn’t that, like, for girls?” He snorted.

“Yeah, well, so is therapy,” Beth replied, “but you could use some of that, too.”

Paula giggled, a fleck of flour flying from her eyelashes.

“Hang on. I have a journal somewhere.” Beth hopped off the stool, the bathrobe threatening to betray her as she rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom she’d occupied since her recent divorce.

Joe was left alone with Paula, who was now humming tunelessly and shaping dough with hands that looked like they’d handle a dick exceptionally well. He tried not to stare down her top as she bent down slightly. He wondered if there was something wrong with him—some chemical imbalance that made him want to fuck every woman he laid eyes on, even his own aunts.

“What are you going to write about?” Paula asked, her tone distracted, punctuated by soft grunts as she kneaded the dough.

“I don’t know. Maybe about how I’m trapped in this house with a bunch of crazy women.” Joe shrugged.

“That’s the spirit.” Paula smiled.

Unlike his other aunts, Paula had lived in this house for more than a decade. When her brother, the wealthy CEO of a multinational corporation, had gotten sick, she’d abandoned her luxury apartment in the city and moved in with him, his wife, and his son. And then, after his death, she’d been too sad and lonely to move out, and so she’d stayed.  

It was an unusual living arrangement, but there was plenty of space in the mansion for everyone to avoid each other if they wanted to—before the lockdown, before Joe’s other aunts moved in. Besides, Anna was grateful that Paula would watch her son whenever she needed the help. 

Beth returned, waving a battered notebook over her head. The leather cover read “Future Diary” in a loopy, slightly menacing black script.

“Here!” she declared, thrusting it into Joe’s hands. “It’s all yours. The old lady at the flea market seemed really excited when I bought it, although I have no clue why. She didn’t speak much English. Anyway, take it. Write in it. Be happy.”

Joe didn’t want the book, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no to Beth. After her divorce, she’d spiraled into a deep depression that she could still fall into if she wasn’t careful. She could seem really cheerful one moment, but turn into a shaking pile of sobs the next. He didn’t want to be responsible for triggering her next mental health crisis.

Joe thumbed the cover. It felt weirdly warm, almost soft, as if the tan leather had a pulse. He flipped through the first pages, which were blank except for a single sentence at the top of the first page: Write what you hope for, and it will come true.

“What is this, a magic wand in book form?” He snorted.

“Stop being such a cynic,” Beth said, slapping his nephew lightly on his arm, the physical contact like electricity on Joe’s skin. “You’re just supposed to imagine your best self, or what you want to happen, and just go for it. Manifest it into reality.”

“Alright,” Joe said, taking the pen that Paula had helpfully slid across the counter. Both women watched closely as he wrote, in jagged block letters:

I WISH THAT TOMORROW, PAULA STOPS MAKING SOURDOUGH AND INSTEAD MAKES ANY RECIPE I WANT.

“I wish that tomorrow, Joe starts taking this journaling thing seriously.” Beth sighed, but she smiled as she put her hand on Joe’s arm again. This time, she let it linger. “But this is a good start.”

“I have to say, though, sweetie, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” Paula said. “I’m baking another batch first thing tomorrow.”

~

The next morning, sunlight sliced through the curtains and painted stripes across his sheets. Joe was half-awake, drifting in that pleasant limbo where dreams and reality mingled, when someone knocked softly at his door.

It was just after seven. He groaned.

The door creaked open, and Paula poked her head in, her loose black hair a tangled halo. She wore a tight white tank top and tiny blue pajama shorts that made him want to drag her into his bed.

His morning wood twitched at the thought of spreading his aunt’s long legs and filling up her womb with some of his cream. Had he just had a dream about this? For some reason, he could see it so clearly—her waddling around the kitchen with a big, round pregnant belly, the proof of their incestuous union baking in her oven.

“You’re up.” Paula hovered in the threshold, eyes wide and oddly anxious. Her hands twisted in the hem of her tank top, stretching the fabric tight across her chest.

“Not really,” Joe muttered, shifting under the sheets, gaze drawn to the outline of her nipples that he could just make out under the white fabric that stretched across her chest. “What’s up?”

“I need to know what you want to eat today,” she blurted, voice strained. “You said I should bake something else. So. What recipe?”

Joe blinked at her, groggy and not processing. “Can’t you just… pick?”

“No.” She shook her head, messy hair swinging. “It has to be you.” A note of panic edged her words, like she was desperate to get it right.

Joe sat up, the movement making his morning wood tent the blanket. He pulled the comforter a little higher. 

“Is this a joke? Are you pranking me because of what I wrote in the stupid diary last night?” 

“I’m not joking. I—I can’t start until you tell me. Please.” Paula’s face crumpled. She looked at him, and he caught the deep, helpless confusion in her eyes. “I feel weird, Joe. I woke up at like five. I just went to the kitchen, I started to gather my supplies, but I just couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?” Joe asked. He’d hoped to get some clarity, but Paula’s answer confused him even more.

“Bake!” she exclaimed, as if it was obvious and Joe was being obtuse on purpose. She took a breath, as if to calm herself down, and said, “I’ve been pacing the house for hours, waiting for you to wake up. I just need you to tell me what to bake. Anything. Just say it. Give me a recipe.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Joe stared at his aunt, blinking.

“Please,” she said, and she sounded so desperate then that he slowly started to shuffle out of bed. He grabbed his phone and laptop.

As he followed Paula down the hallway and down the stairs, she glanced at him every few seconds, as if to check that he was still behind her. It really interrupted his viewing of his aunt’s perky little ass.

He realized that they were alone in the house, with everyone still asleep. Whatever they did now, they had almost complete privacy—something rare in this house these days—and no one would find out.

In the kitchen, sun streamed in, catching the flour-dust on the black granite counters. Paula bounced from foot to foot as Joe sat at the island.

He opened his laptop, intending to pull up the recipe for some brownies he’d bookmarked. Before he could click, a video started auto-playing: a porn clip he’d watched before going to sleep last night, at full volume, the sound of a woman moaning echoing in the bright kitchen.

He fumbled to mute it, but not before Paula froze, her face going slack with shock. Then, a flush crept up her cheeks, a deep, blotchy red.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, not looking away from the laptop screen. “That’s… uh…”

Joe slammed the lid closed, mortified. “Shit. Sorry. Wasn’t—didn’t mean—”

She just stood there. And then, in a tiny voice, “Can I see?”

He stared at her, unsure if this was some next-level practical joke. But Paula didn’t laugh, or even smile. She looked… curious.

He opened the laptop again, slowly, the video still paused on a frame of a woman on her knees, mouth open and tongue out, a massive dong stuck between her lips. He watched as Paula’s eyes widened, and she let out a shaky breath.

“I… I don’t—It’s been a while—I’m not sure—,” she stammered, voice trembling. She looked straight at his nephew, swallowed, and tried again, “I’m not… familiar with this recipe… but if you’ll tell me what to do…”

Joe’s cock hardened instantly, so hard it throbbed against the waistband of his boxers. He couldn’t believe what was happening. His aunt—a grown woman, a beautiful woman, his dad’s sister—was looking at him like she wanted to taste him.

Paula’s hands trembled as she approached him, her eyes never leaving his.

“Do you want me to…?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, but the implication was clear as sunlight.

Joe nodded, almost afraid the spell would break if he spoke aloud. He slid his chair back from the counter, the legs scraping the tile, and stood on the floor, still not believing this was happening.

He wondered if Paula had been just as horny as he’d been. He hadn’t seen his aunt go on a single date with a man or a woman the whole time they’d lived together, but it wasn’t like he’d placed round-the-clock surveillance on her. So it was possible that she was feeling just as deprived as he was, all cooped up at home, and she just wanted to get laid.

In any case, Joe wasn’t stupid enough to stop his sexy aunt if she wanted to suck his dick.

Paula dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands resting on her thighs, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. There was a quiver of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Tell me what to do,” she said.

Joe’s throat was dry. He’d never been in control like this before. He reached out and brushed a stray hair from his aunt’s cheek, marveling at the smoothness of her skin, the way she leaned into his touch.

“Open your mouth, Aunt Paula,” he said.

She obeyed, lips parting, tongue peeking out just a little. He could see her breath quicken, her chest rising and falling. His cock strained at his boxers, desperate to be free.

Her eyes dropped to his crotch, pupils dilating as he pulled his dick out, already thick and veined, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, then guided the head to her lips, fully expecting her to back out before it ever touched her.

Paula hesitated for a heartbeat, then closed her lips around the tip and licked the salty pre-cum. She made a soft sound—half gasp, half moan—as the taste hit her. Joe groaned, the warmth of her mouth almost overwhelming.

She took him deeper, inch by inch, her tongue swirling around the shaft as if she was learning the shape of him. It was clumsy at first—Paula had always been the shy, homebody aunt, not the sexpot. But she was eager, desperate to please, and the awkwardness made it hotter.

Joe tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her head as she bobbed up and down. He could feel her throat flex as she swallowed, trying to take more of him. She gagged a little when he pushed deeper, but didn’t pull away.

Her hands found his thighs, nails digging in as she steadied herself. He looked down at her, at the way her cheeks hollowed, the way her eyes watered, and felt a surge of possessive pride. This was his aunt—his pretty, flustered, flour-dusted Aunt Paula—on her knees, letting him use her mouth like it was her only purpose in the world.

“Good girl,” Joe murmured. The words sent a shiver down her spine. He could feel her vibrate with it.

He remembered the video still playing, muted, on his laptop. He reached over, turned the volume back on, low enough that nobody else would hear, and the kitchen was filled with the harsh, wet sounds of the porn star’s mouth, the woman’s moans and gags as she was face-fucked by a faceless, muscular man.

Paula’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back to Joe’s cock. She redoubled her efforts, working him with a desperate, hungry rhythm. The noises from the laptop seemed to sync with their breathing, their movements, until Joe felt himself tensing, the urge to cum building to an impossible peak.

He pulled out suddenly, not wanting to finish in her mouth—not yet. There was something else he wanted to try.

She waited patiently on her knees as he fast forwarded the video until it reached the point where the blonde porn star was on her hands and feet on a bed, being fucked from behind.

Joe watched in amazement as his aunt quietly got up to her feet, spun around for him, and bent herself over the kitchen island, her shorts riding up so high he could see her ass cheeks hanging out under the hem. Her hands were splayed on the flour-dusted granite, hair wild and eyes wide with anticipation. She looked back at him over her shoulder, waiting for his next move.

He didn’t make her wait. He tugged down her pajama shorts, baring her ass and the damp, glistening lips of her pussy. Joe’s hands shook as he lined himself up with her entrance, his cock already slick with her spit.

He pushed in, slowly at first, watching as Paula’s body adjusted to his size. She let out a low, animal moan, arching her back and pushing against him, hungry for more. He slammed into her, hips snapping forward, and she cried out—half pain, half pleasure—as he filled her completely.

Joe’s hands found her waist and gripped hard. He fucked her in long, deep strokes, each thrust sending Paula’s tits bouncing against the countertop.

The sounds from the laptop—now a woman begging to be bred, to be filled up—echoed in the bright morning kitchen, mixing with the sounds of their bodies colliding.

“Fuck me, sweetie,” Paula whimpered, voice raw and needy. “Fuck your aunt. Fill me up with your cum. Knock me up. Please. Make me pregnant. Come inside me.”

He pounded her harder, the filthy words coming out of his aunt’s mouth sending him spiraling. He knew he wouldn’t last long.

On the laptop, the porn star was still screaming for her partner to cum inside her, to knock her up. Joe reached forward, grabbed a fistful of Paula’s hair, and yanked her head back so she could see the screen.

“You want me to come in your cunt?” he growled in her ear.

Paula nodded as her body shuddered, her pussy walls gripping her nephew’s cock in waves. She was too far gone for words.

“Beg for it,” Joe said.

Paula’s answer was a guttural, desperate, “Yes! Yes, sweetie, I want it, I want your cum—inside me—please—”

He’d planned to pull out, to finish on her back or her ass, but her words undid him. He slammed into her one last time and exploded, hot jets of virile cum flooding his aunt’s womb.

She reached back and pulled him close, whimpering and shuddering with her nephew’s last few thrusts. Her knees were still weak when he asked if she was on birth control and she said no. 

~

Hi, Brooke here. Thank you for reading my dirty story. Check out my reddit profile for more taboo erotica!

Rob and his entire extended family are unwilling contestants in a game show. The rule is simple: whoever gets the most attention, wins. Rob quickly figures that he needs to do the nastiest, most dramatic, most scandalous stuff… like breeding his mom on camera, for example.

All characters 18+. The MC is 25 years old as stated in paragraph 7, his mother is 46 (paragraph 57), his sister is 22 (paragraph 53), his cousin is 24 (paragraph 60) and his aunt is 45 (paragraph 61).

This story features mother-son incest.

~

Rob woke up in a state of shock, his body jolted up by electricity until he was sitting bolt upright in bed. Cool air hit his bare skin as the blanket fell off his shoulders. He always slept naked, so the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything didn’t faze him. 

He didn’t have time to register the fact that he wasn’t in his bed, or in his bedroom, or his family home, before a cartoonishly triumphant tune blared—so loud his ears hurt at first.

“Oops. Had the volume set a little too high there,” said a cheerful, feminine voice. “Hello, Robbie. Welcome to Patriarchy Palace.”

“What the fuck—?” Rob, startled, checked his surroundings, his head turning and jerking in all directions. But there was no one else in the small room, so the voice must be coming from the speakers embedded into the walls of this gray, spartan space.

The female voice giggled, as if entertained by Rob’s reaction. “You must be feeling disoriented. But don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe here.”

There was something familiar about the voice, but Rob couldn’t quite place it. Besides, he was more bothered by the tone she was using to speak to him, like she was talking down at him, like he was a stupid child. 

Rob was twenty-five years old and, due to his leadership position in the family business, often had to prove that he was mature enough to make the kind of decisions he did. He hated being talked down to.

He also wasn’t stupid enough to believe what the disembodied voice was saying. He’d been feeling unsettled and unsafe for months. Ever since the rebels had overthrown the government and The Patriarch had taken over, he hadn’t been sleeping well.

As the heir of one of the wealthiest families in the country, he’d known he’d be a target, and now his worst fears were coming true.

The Patriarch was the masked, mysterious leader of the rebels—although, now that they were in power, Rob should really get himself used to referring to the group as the new government. Obviously, they were no longer rebels.

Whatever they were called, they were changing everything for the worse.

Sure, all women were now “free-use vessels for new life,” as they put it, and Rob could fuck almost any woman any time he felt like it. But he’d never had any issues getting pussy.

When the new free-use law had first been announced, some of Rob’s friends had convinced him to go out with them to find women. They’d roamed the city in their open-top cars, stopping every time someone spotted a woman they liked. They fucked housewives loading grocery bags in the parking lot of the supermarket. They went to the gym and fucked some hot yogis in tight pants, and then they spent the rest of the day at the local university. Rob’s friends had a great time. 

Of course Rob enjoyed walking into a college lecture hall, picking the hottest girl in the room, and fucking her against the wall while the lecturer struggled to get his students to focus on the lesson. That was something he hadn’t been able to do under the old administration.

But Rob had always been able to fuck any girl he wanted. Now that everyone else could do the same, it just didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t as satisfying.

In any case, that wasn’t a big deal. Not compared to the threat on Rob’s family if The Patriarch, who was known for hating rich people, decided to make an example out of them.

Rob had tried persuading his grandfather, the founder of their multi-billion-dollar family company, to leave the country, flee to safety. But the old coot had been stubborn. He’d told Rob not to worry. He’d said he had everything under control.

Under control, my ass, was what Rob muttered under his breath now as he realized that he must’ve been taken by The Patriarch’s people.

“What’s that? Do you have any questions, Robbie? I’m here to help,” said the cheerful female voice.

Rob almost laughed. Did he have question? After being woken up with an electric shock in a cramped, windowless room? He hated the way she’d nicknamed him—nobody called him “Robbie”—but he decided there were more pressing issues.

“Where am I? And who are you?” he asked, trying to keep himself calm, to keep his cards close to his chest. They—whoever “they” were—were obviously watching.

“You’re in a secure, undisclosed location. My name is Clare Collins. You may know me from a few major network reality programs. Do you really not recognize me? If you—what?” Clare paused mid-explanation. It sounded like she was talking to someone else. “Oh! The screen is still off? Jesus, fucking amateurs. Turn it on now!”

The screen that almost covered the top half of the far wall lit up, the white of it stinging his eyes. The pixels rearranged themselves to form a woman’s face, a few notches too perfect to be real—veneers, symmetrical features, lips burnished with high-gloss pink.

Her hair was blonde, slicked into a high ponytail that gave her forehead the same tension as a facelift. She wore a cherry-red dress so tight it looked like it had been painted on, with a neckline that dove south at a reckless angle. She smiled with a kind of plastic, practiced warmth.

“Hi, Robbie! Now you can see me.” Her glossy lips were wide open as she gave the camera a big, exaggerated smile. She spoke as if she was addressing a large audience. “As I said, I’m Clare Collins, and I’m excited to guide you through the first-ever season of Patriarchy Palace.”

He stared at her. First season? Is she talking about a TV show? In his brains, cogs were turning. But the conclusions they drew made no sense.

“You’ve been selected as one of the stars of this very special social experiment, airing soon on select networks and live-streamed to our premium subscribers.” Clare didn’t wait for Rob to catch up. She kept going at a steady speed, as if she was reading a pre-written script. “You and your extended family will be living together here, on a beautiful remote island, for the next several weeks. The accommodations are simple but comfortable, and the rules will be explained to you as we go.”

Rob’s eyes darted around the room, which was barely more than a cell. It had a single bed, a thin pillow, no windows, some drawers set into the wall under the screen, and a door that was cracked ajar and might lead to a bathroom. He assumed the other door, which was closed and probably locked, led outside. The walls were painted a depressing gray.

“You’re probably wondering what you’re supposed to do here,” Clare said, as if reading his mind. “Don’t worry! We’ll walk you through it. For now, you can relax. Take a look at the amenities and get to know your new home.”

Rob stood, carefully gathering his blanket around his waist. He was sure now that he wasn’t just being watched. His downfall from “heir” to “reluctant reality show contestant” was being displayed to the world, and the only thing he could do to retain whatever dignity he had left was to cover his morning wood.

He crossed the room in three steps and yanked on the handle of the door that was already slightly open. Inside, there was a tiny ensuite with a showerhead, a stainless steel toilet, and a sink. A plastic cup sat on the sink, along with a sliver of soap.

Rob made a face. Even when he’d traveled to third-world countries, he’d always made sure to stay in five-star hotels. The worst bedroom he’d ever slept in, before today, was a three-star resort that was the only accommodation on a remote island his sister had insisted on visiting.

He splashed water on his face, cupped his hands, drank, spat it out. It tasted metallic, but it was potable.

“How do you like your new bathroom, Robbie?” Clare chirped. Her face appeared on a small screen that hung over the toilet. Without waiting for his reply, she continued, “Now that you’re fully situated, it’s time for you to meet your family!”

When Rob went back into the bedroom, Clare’s face on the big screen had been replaced by a grid of video feeds, all muted. The grid was a checkerboard of rooms identical to Rob’s, each with a single occupant sleeping under the same thin blanket.

Rob recognized the faces instantly: his father, his mother, his little sister, his grandfather, an uncle, a cluster of cousins, a few aunts. Even the married couples were split up into single beds, scattered across the grid.

The dark green video feeds told him the lights were still off in their bedrooms. No one was aware they were being filmed. No one was awake.

“Are they okay?” Rob asked, squinting at the screen to check that they were moving, that they were still alive and breathing.

“Of course,” Claire said, her voice still overly cheerful but with an undercurrent of irritation. She seemed almost offended by the question. “We just wanted you to be the first one up so you can help us iron out a few things because some fucking morons were bound to fuck something up.” Clare glared at someone off-camera, but her face quickly went back to its practiced friendly-show-host setting. She giggled. “Excuse my French. Luckily, this is an adult-rated show, so we can curse all we want. In fact, Robbie, while I’m still bound by some rules… you, on the other hand, can do anything you want.”

A small frown passed over Rob’s face. He stared suspiciously at the screen. What did she mean by that?

Clare’s face reappeared, now cropped tighter so her eyes seemed to bore right into him. “Here’s the deal, Robbie. When you make a TV show, it needs to be interesting. Every minute counts. Footage gets cut at the editing stage and we only keep the most interesting bits. Are you following, so far?”  

Rob nodded, bristling at the suggestion that such a simple idea might be too complex for him to understand. 

“If a footage of you makes it into the show, you earn points. The longer it is, the more points you get. The more interesting you are in it, the more points you get. Whoever gets the most points at the end of the season wins.”

“What does the winner get?” he asked. 

“Everything. Money. Freedom. All you have to do is be interesting enough for people to keep watching.” Clare leaned in toward the screen, lips parting like she was letting him in on a secret. “Here’s a tip, Robbie. The camera loves drama. If you want to win, you’ll have to make things happen.”

He had a thousand questions. What kind of drama? What happened if they refused to play along? He doubted they would just send his family home to their mansions to enjoy their wealth. But before he could ask, the closed door suddenly slid open with a pneumatic hiss. 

“Breakfast time!” Clare trilled. “You must be hungry. Don’t keep your family waiting.”

A slice of sunlight poured in, growing bigger as the door opened fully, revealing lush green trees beyond a narrow strip of hallway and a pane of glass that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. 

Rob wrapped the scratchy blanket tighter around his shoulders and stepped into the hallway. The floor was cold concrete. The smell of bacon and bread hit him, the first pleasant sensation he’d had since waking up.

The narrow hallway opened into a room that was just big enough to contain a single long table, which was set with breakfast items. There were eggs scrambled and over-easy, pancakes stacked high with butter melting down the sides, fruits gleaming like plastic in bowls. There were pastries, bagels, yogurt, and three carafes of coffee steaming at the center. Nowhere near as good as breakfast at home, but he was hungry.

Rob saw none of the family yet, but plenty of cameras—tiny black bulbs embedded into the ceiling, a few perched on robotic arms that tracked his movement with mechanical precision.

He chose a spot three-quarters down, where he could see both ends of the table, and sat, tucking the blanket under his legs. The chair was cheap, molded plastic. He supposed they didn’t want anyone getting too comfortable.

The first arrival was his sister, Hannah, who was twenty-two years old. She shuffled in, her hair a wild halo, her body swaddled in what looked like a hotel towel.

She looked half-awake, her towel slipping at her left chest so she had to keep a hand pressed to her small tit, clutching the terrycloth like a lifeline. She moved awkwardly, rushing to her seat, hiding from the gaze of a nation of perverts.

She slid into the seat opposite Rob, fearful blue eyes tracking the cameras before she dared pour herself coffee. She didn’t speak.

Next came the rest of them, shuffling in one by one, in varying states of involuntary exposure.

Rob’s mother, Marcia, 46, always so perfectly dressed at home, wore a sheet like a toga, her hair a bird’s nest of gray and gold, the stiff fabric looking strange on her frame, which was normally clothed only in designer items. When she stepped into the sun, he could see the shape of her body clearly silhouetted under the thin sheet.

As the other women—his aunts and cousins—straggled in, he did his best to avert his gaze.

Rob had a big, close family and he saw them all the time. And yet, this morning, something felt different. Something unfamiliar hung in the air. Fear. Discomfort. But also a kind of electric excitement.

Cassie, his twenty-four-year-old cousin, wore a towel so small and cinched so tight it made her boobs look even bigger than they were. She sat down next to Hannah and started spooning yogurt into her mouth, licking the spoon after every bite.

Aunt Lila, Cassie’s mom, 45, wore the same itchy blanket as Rob’s, her bare shoulders peeking out at the top, exposing the smooth skin of her cleavage, drawing attention to her delicate collarbones and long neck.

The other women wore items that were either too small or too see-through to fully cover themselves.

It didn’t take a genius to see what was happening here.

Rob watched the way the cameras seemed to linger on every inch of exposed feminine flesh, ready to capture any moment of wardrobe malfunction. Meanwhile, his grandfather, the one who usually called the shots, was shivering with a blanket draped over his shoulders, too cold and hungry to pay much attention to his surroundings.

He heard Clare’s voice in his head: you can do anything you want.

He felt sick.

He didn’t know much about reality shows—that was more Hannah’s thing—but as a businessperson, he knew one thing: nothing sells better than sex. And it was becoming clear that sex was the one thing that was guaranteed to get the cameras’ attention.

He decided not to say anything. Let the others talk first. Let them reveal themselves.

Rob’s family was used to the limelight, and it showed. They had small talk at the table—how did you sleep, what is this, where do you think we are, is this even legal—but nobody talked about how they planned to approach the game, what they were willing to do to get their footage on the show. 

They’d been coached by too many PR professionals. They knew to conceal their inner thoughts in front of any kind of recording device.

After the meal, they scattered, their retreating footsteps echoing down the corridors. Most of the women said they needed a shower. They acted as if they were grossed out by the whole situation, as if the facility was covered in grime. 

Rob wondered, although he had no proof at this point, if they’d had the same realization, if they knew that showing skin was the key to getting on the screen. If that was the case, the women had a big advantage, seeing as the cameras obviously loved shots of a woman’s bare skin.

Instead of going back to his room, Rob lingered to study the layout of the house.

The Patriarchy Palace, as Clare had called it, was a space that occupied the ground floor of a glass-covered building. There were locked doors that Rob assumed led to staircases for access to other floors. 

The bedrooms were clustered in the center of the rectangular house, leaving space around the perimeter to serve as pathways. Glass walls separated the interior from the wooded area outside. Sunshine streamed in through the canopy of leaves, the trees providing the illusion of privacy.

On one end of the building, there was the dining area where Rob’s family had just had breakfast. On the other end, there was a communal living room with a low coffee table, couches enough for the whole family, and a fake fireplace that spat orange light on a loop.

He counted the cameras. There were two in each corner, one on the ceiling fan, and a tiny black speck embedded in the glass coffee table.

Who was watching them? There was the crew of the show, watching live. Clare also mentioned live-streaming for premium subscribers, although this presumably being a pilot episode, there probably weren’t a lot of people subscribed yet.

When would this be aired on TV? How many channels? How long was the delay between filming and airing? He imagined people at home, watching his family stripped not just of their wealth but their dignity too, reduced to monkeys that danced on command for cheap treats.

Rob wandered, blanket trailing behind him, until he heard a familiar voice through the door marked "Alan," his father’s name.

The voice was a high-pitched, breathy gasp, layered over a lower, grunting staccato. He recognized his mother’s laugh, and then a wet slap that made his stomach tighten.

He didn’t want to listen in on his parents having sex. But he also wanted to know what his fellow competitors were up to. And if he’d guessed the premise of the show correctly, then footage of him listening in on his parents having sex would definitely be camera-worthy.

He waited, silent, letting the wet slaps, the moans, and the disgusting grunts enter his ear, trying to push them out the other ear.

He made various faces, hoping at least some would make the final cut. He exaggerated his shock, his distress, his curiosity, and even his arousal. For good measure, he slipped a hand under his blanket and stroked himself as he listened to his parents fuck.

Eventually, the noises stopped and his mother slipped out. Her toga was gone. She now wore the bedsheet as a cape, and her lipstick was gone.

She didn’t notice Rob at first, but when she did, she froze—just for a second—then composed herself, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the blanket.

“Fun morning, huh, Mom?” Rob stepped out from the alcove.

“Oh, Rob. You startled me.” Marcia’s hand went to her throat, the way it always did when she was caught off-guard.

“You think acting like horny newlyweds is going to win you points?”

“I don’t have to answer—” She studied him, eyes flicking to the camera in the hallway. She put on the beatific expression she wore when she thought she was imparting wisdom. “Physical connection is important for married couples, especially in times of distress like this. The strong bond between your father and I has made it possible for us to raise healthy children in a stable environment. You should be glad your father and I are as close as we are.”

Rob almost laughed at the way his mom was speaking. She was already changing her behavior for the cameras. He could feel the show’s gravity, pulling at them, reshaping their family interactions. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s not going to work.”

“You don’t know what will work yet.” She smiled the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m not saying I know what will work. I don’t,” Rob said. His mom’s smile faded when he added, “I know for sure that boring, vanilla, married sex won’t work, though. You think Aunt Lila hasn’t thought of that? You think she’s not in Uncle Stan’s bedroom being fucked right now?”

His mother went silent for a few seconds. Then she leaned in, lowering her voice so it was a whisper, barely audible over the whirr of the air conditioning.

“Then what do I do?” she said. “You seem to have some ideas, Rob. Tell me. What am I supposed to do?”

He let himself smile, just a little. Marcia was skilled at making friends, volunteering at charity galas, and maintaining personal relationships. But she wasn’t used to setting goals or building strategies. She needed him. And he needed her. 

“You got one thing right,” he told her. “Sex sells. And being first matters. As far as I can tell, everyone else went back to their room, probably to clean up first. And your… footage with Dad is probably more interesting than everyone else in their shower by themselves. So, you’re actually doing well, Mom.”

Marcia let out the breath she’d been holding.

“But you need to be bolder,” Rob added. “You need to do something nobody else in this family would dare to do. Something scandalous. Something that’ll make the cameras love you.”

Her lips parted in shock, but her eyes were hungry for specifics. “Like what?”

He let the blanket fall away from his waist and caught it just before his dick was exposed. He watched her eyes flick to the thatch of dark hair under his abs, then away.

“You have an advantage, Mom. What do you have that none of the other women does?” Rob raised an eyebrow, taking one step closer to his mother.

She shook her head, looking confused.

“A son,” he said. “You have a son. That means there’s something scandalous you can do that they can’t.” He paused, watching as Marcia stared at him, obviously thinking the same thing he was, but unable to say it out loud. Rob slowly said, “You can do something scandalous… with your son.”

“You—What are you—You’re not actually suggesting—” Marcia let out a nervous laugh, the rest of her question unspoken. Under the sunlight streaming in through the glass wall, Marcia trembled. Rob was sure she’d hit him, or scream, or run.

But then she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she let her glance drift down her son’s bare abs—he wasn’t built or anything, but he also didn’t have his father’s beer gut.

Besides, she’d done a lot of things for survival. In the distant past, she’d slept with powerful men to get ahead. This was no different.

Marcia blocked out the fact that the man standing in front of her was her own son. It wasn’t easy, but it also wasn’t much more difficult than it had been for her to sleep with her boss as a young, ambitious secretary. She’d had a lot of practice. If this was what the game was about, then she knew how to play it.

She looked up through her eyelashes into her son’s eyes and bit down on her lip.

“We can’t do it here,” she said, glancing dramatically at the door to her husband’s bedroom, making sure the cameras caught the exaggerated moment of hesitation. “Let’s go to your room.”

Rob was surprised by how quickly his mom had accepted his crazy idea. He went quiet, afraid he’d say the wrong thing and she’d change her mind.

Marcia took her son’s hand and he padded after her. The hallway was empty, but they could feel the eyes of the world tracking every step, every movement, the silent whir of the lenses as they refocused on Marcia’s bare calves.

With the press of a button, the door slid open. They entered Rob’s room and the door shut behind them.

Rob didn’t wait. He didn’t want to give his mom a chance to change her mind.

He pressed her back against the door. He kissed her hard, and she didn’t resist. She let him. She opened her mouth for him, her breath hot and a little ragged, tinged with the bitter aftertaste of coffee.

He shut the cameras out of his mind. He tried to forget the fact that these were his mother’s lips he was kissing. He focused on the feminine hands climbing his bare sides and digging into his back. Her fingers slipped up, up, until she was clutching the back of his neck.

He cupped the back of her head and tangled his fingers in her hair, letting his blanket fall to the floor. She moaned, a trembling little gasp that vibrated against his teeth, and then she was kissing him back, her tongue shy but determined.

Rob didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the way her hips started to rock against him, the way she pressed her tits into his chest, the nipples hardening and poking through the thin cotton between them. It wasn’t the way she clung to him, like she was desperate to prove she could do this, that she could win this game.

He reached down and grabbed the knot of sheet at her chest, yanked it free, and let the fabric puddle to the floor. She was naked underneath.

Marcia was in her late forties, but she looked like she was in her early thirties. Her body was toned, with full tits that sat high on her chest, a rounded ass, and a pair of smooth, long legs.

She told her friend her beauty secret was drinking eight cups of water a day, but really she went to the gym religiously, and she had a lot of help from a team of estheticians, dermatologists, and plastic surgeons.

Now, she arched toward her son and pressed her tits into his chest. When he shoved her back onto the bed, she let her thighs fall apart for him.

Rob was already hard. He crawled onto the bed, looming over his mom, and she looked up at him with a strange mix of desire and admiration. Without saying anything, they looked into each other’s eyes and agreed to put on a real show for everyone to watch.

He kissed her again, sloppier this time, and she kissed him back. He grabbed her tits, squeezing them together, then sucked one nipple until it made her gasp. She still smelled like her expensive designer perfume, and beneath that, there was the faintest undertone of her husband’s cologne, clinging to her skin.

Rob slid his hand down her stomach, to the slickness between her legs. She was wet. Not just wet, but sticky, slippery, her pussy lips sticking to his fingers as he explored her.

Mixed with her wetness was his father’s cum, still leaking from inside her. The thought made his stomach twist. And yet, his cock throbbed even harder. He wanted to expel his father’s cum, to fill his mother with his own seed.

Marcia writhed under him, her breath coming in excited little whimpers, her hips lifting to meet his hand. Rob kept his mouth on her nipple as he hooked his fingers inside her, feeling the slippery mess deeper in.

He locked eyes with his mother. She was shaking, her hands fisting the thin bedsheet, her whole body tense and quivering. He kept finger-fucking her, swirling his tongue over her nipple until she bucked and let out a ragged groan.

Marcia was a private trophy wife who had only appeared on TV to share home decor and fashion tips on daytime talk shows. She looked down on her peers who appeared in trashy reality shows. 

And yet, now, she was showing all of herself on one such show—literally coming, right there, her pussy clenching around her son’s fingers, in front of the cameras, for the world to see and jerk off to.

Rob crawled up her body and hovered over her, his cock brushing her stomach, smearing pre-cum on her skin. His dick was leaking like it had a mind of its own, like it couldn’t wait to replace his father’s seed with hot, young, virile cum.

This was the moment when, if he were with a girl his age in the outside world, she’d ask for a condom. But his mom hadn’t mentioned it. And he doubted that the show would be kind enough to supply them with some birth control, especially because The Patriarch’s people were all about raising the birth rate. 

So Rob pushed his hard, uncovered cock into his mom’s unprotected pussy, slow at first, feeling the slippery warmth swallow him up. The sensation was overwhelming. She was wet and hot and tight, her pussy milking him, the friction making his whole body tense. He bottomed out and stayed there, buried to the hilt, shuddering. He watched as his father’s cum poured out, oozing down to the bed.

Marcia arched off the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth open in a silent moan, her hands digging into his shoulders.

He picked up the pace, slamming into her, every thrust pushing out more of his father’s cum. Marcia met him move for move, her hips rising to meet his, her tits bouncing with every push. She was loud now, grunting and gasping, not caring who heard.

Rob thought about his father listening, holding his cock in his hand, and felt another surge of power in his chest. It was fucked up, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

He rammed into his mom’s pussy, the wet, slick slap of their bodies echoing around the tiny room. He gripped her hips and went faster, harder, feeling her get tighter around him, her nails raking down his back.

He couldn’t last. The whole situation was way too intense for him to control himself. The cameras, the knowledge that millions of people could be watching, the fact that he was fucking his own mother raw… Rob wanted to finish inside her, to pump her full of his cum, to make a scene so fucked nobody else in the family could possibly top it.

He let go, his hips jerking as he started to come, his cock pulsing inside her, shooting his load deep into the womb where he’d been formed. The feeling was so intense he almost blacked out.

His mother was shaking, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming, her legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him inside her as he emptied himself completely, flooding her womb with his hot cum.

He could feel the warm, viscous flood as their fluids mixed, leaking out around his cock, soaking the sheets beneath them. There was something almost poetic about fucking and filling the pussy that had given birth to him.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard, his face buried in her hair. They looked at each other, and in that moment they remembered who they’d just fucked, what they’d just done.

Marcia said nothing as she gently pushed her son off. She stood, wrapping the sheet around her shoulders, and left.

Rob rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the aftershocks pulse through his body, wondering how long it’d take for his mother to be able to look at him again.

The screen on the wall flickered to life, displaying Clare’s perfectly made-up face. She looked delighted, her eyes glinting with the thrill of a host who’d just witnessed the season’s first major plot twist.

Rob fumbled in bed, hands feeling around until he managed to grab his blanket and cover his dick. He felt stupid, knowing everyone had already seen everything, but lying in bed naked while taking a public video-call with a reality-show host just felt wrong.

“Wow, Robbie! That was a bold move. The audience is loving it,” Clare said. “Let’s check the leaderboard, shall we?”

The screen switched to a graphic:

The rest trailed behind, their points so low they barely registered.

Rob wondered what Aunt Lila had done to earn her points. Still, he was winning. And his mom, too.

He couldn’t help but smile. He’d been right about how the game worked. He could figure out how to win this whole thing. All he needed was his mom’s help to get there.

~

Hi, Brooke here! Thank you for reading my dirty story 😉 If you enjoyed it, please check out my reddit profile for more taboo erotica!

Rob and his entire extended family are unwilling contestants in a game show. The rule is simple: whoever gets the most attention, wins. Rob quickly figures that he needs to do the nastiest, most dramatic, most scandalous stuff… like breeding his mom on camera, for example.

All characters 18+. This story features mother-son incest.

~

Rob woke up in a state of shock, his body jolted up by electricity until he was sitting bolt upright in bed. Cool air hit his bare skin as the blanket fell off his shoulders. He always slept naked, so the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything didn’t faze him. 

He didn’t have time to register the fact that he wasn’t in his bed, or in his bedroom, or his family home, before a cartoonishly triumphant tune blared—so loud his ears hurt at first.

“Oops. Had the volume set a little too high there,” said a cheerful, feminine voice. “Hello, Robbie. Welcome to Patriarchy Palace.”

“What the fuck—?” Rob, startled, checked his surroundings, his head turning and jerking in all directions. But there was no one else in the small room, so the voice must be coming from the speakers embedded into the walls of this gray, spartan space.

The female voice giggled, as if entertained by Rob’s reaction. “You must be feeling disoriented. But don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe here.”

There was something familiar about the voice, but Rob couldn’t quite place it. Besides, he was more bothered by the tone she was using to speak to him, like she was talking down at him, like he was a stupid child. 

Rob was twenty-five years old and, due to his leadership position in the family business, often had to prove that he was mature enough to make the kind of decisions he did. He hated being talked down to.

He also wasn’t stupid enough to believe what the disembodied voice was saying. He’d been feeling unsettled and unsafe for months. Ever since the rebels had overthrown the government and The Patriarch had taken over, he hadn’t been sleeping well.

As the heir of one of the wealthiest families in the country, he’d known he’d be a target, and now his worst fears were coming true.

The Patriarch was the masked, mysterious leader of the rebels—although, now that they were in power, Rob should really get himself used to referring to the group as the new government. Obviously, they were no longer rebels.

Whatever they were called, they were changing everything for the worse.

Sure, all women were now “free-use vessels for new life,” as they put it, and Rob could fuck almost any woman any time he felt like it. But he’d never had any issues getting pussy.

When the new free-use law had first been announced, some of Rob’s friends had convinced him to go out with them to find women. They’d roamed the city in their open-top cars, stopping every time someone spotted a woman they liked. They fucked housewives loading grocery bags in the parking lot of the supermarket. They went to the gym and fucked some hot yogis in tight pants, and then they spent the rest of the day at the local university. Rob’s friends had a great time. 

Of course Rob enjoyed walking into a college lecture hall, picking the hottest girl in the room, and fucking her against the wall while the lecturer struggled to get his students to focus on the lesson. That was something he hadn’t been able to do under the old administration.

But Rob had always been able to fuck any girl he wanted. Now that everyone else could do the same, it just didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t as satisfying.

In any case, that wasn’t a big deal. Not compared to the threat on Rob’s family if The Patriarch, who was known for hating rich people, decided to make an example out of them.

Rob had tried persuading his grandfather, the founder of their multi-billion-dollar family company, to leave the country, flee to safety. But the old coot had been stubborn. He’d told Rob not to worry. He’d said he had everything under control.

Under control, my ass, was what Rob muttered under his breath now as he realized that he must’ve been taken by The Patriarch’s people.

“What’s that? Do you have any questions, Robbie? I’m here to help,” said the cheerful female voice.

Rob almost laughed. Did he have question? After being woken up with an electric shock in a cramped, windowless room? He hated the way she’d nicknamed him—nobody called him “Robbie”—but he decided there were more pressing issues.

“Where am I? And who are you?” he asked, trying to keep himself calm, to keep his cards close to his chest. They—whoever “they” were—were obviously watching.

“You’re in a secure, undisclosed location. My name is Clare Collins. You may know me from a few major network reality programs. Do you really not recognize me? If you—what?” Clare paused mid-explanation. It sounded like she was talking to someone else. “Oh! The screen is still off? Jesus, fucking amateurs. Turn it on now!”

The screen that almost covered the top half of the far wall lit up, the white of it stinging his eyes. The pixels rearranged themselves to form a woman’s face, a few notches too perfect to be real—veneers, symmetrical features, lips burnished with high-gloss pink.

Her hair was blonde, slicked into a high ponytail that gave her forehead the same tension as a facelift. She wore a cherry-red dress so tight it looked like it had been painted on, with a neckline that dove south at a reckless angle. She smiled with a kind of plastic, practiced warmth.

“Hi, Robbie! Now you can see me.” Her glossy lips were wide open as she gave the camera a big, exaggerated smile. She spoke as if she was addressing a large audience. “As I said, I’m Clare Collins, and I’m excited to guide you through the first-ever season of Patriarchy Palace.”

He stared at her. First season? Is she talking about a TV show? In his brains, cogs were turning. But the conclusions they drew made no sense.

“You’ve been selected as one of the stars of this very special social experiment, airing soon on select networks and live-streamed to our premium subscribers.” Clare didn’t wait for Rob to catch up. She kept going at a steady speed, as if she was reading a pre-written script. “You and your extended family will be living together here, on a beautiful remote island, for the next several weeks. The accommodations are simple but comfortable, and the rules will be explained to you as we go.”

Rob’s eyes darted around the room, which was barely more than a cell. It had a single bed, a thin pillow, no windows, some drawers set into the wall under the screen, and a door that was cracked ajar and might lead to a bathroom. He assumed the other door, which was closed and probably locked, led outside. The walls were painted a depressing gray.

“You’re probably wondering what you’re supposed to do here,” Clare said, as if reading his mind. “Don’t worry! We’ll walk you through it. For now, you can relax. Take a look at the amenities and get to know your new home.”

Rob stood, carefully gathering his blanket around his waist. He was sure now that he wasn’t just being watched. His downfall from “heir” to “reluctant reality show contestant” was being displayed to the world, and the only thing he could do to retain whatever dignity he had left was to cover his morning wood.

He crossed the room in three steps and yanked on the handle of the door that was already slightly open. Inside, there was a tiny ensuite with a showerhead, a stainless steel toilet, and a sink. A plastic cup sat on the sink, along with a sliver of soap.

Rob made a face. Even when he’d traveled to third-world countries, he’d always made sure to stay in five-star hotels. The worst bedroom he’d ever slept in, before today, was a three-star resort that was the only accommodation on a remote island his sister had insisted on visiting.

He splashed water on his face, cupped his hands, drank, spat it out. It tasted metallic, but it was potable.

“How do you like your new bathroom, Robbie?” Clare chirped. Her face appeared on a small screen that hung over the toilet. Without waiting for his reply, she continued, “Now that you’re fully situated, it’s time for you to meet your family!”

When Rob went back into the bedroom, Clare’s face on the big screen had been replaced by a grid of video feeds, all muted. The grid was a checkerboard of rooms identical to Rob’s, each with a single occupant sleeping under the same thin blanket.

Rob recognized the faces instantly: his father, his mother, his little sister, his grandfather, an uncle, a cluster of cousins, a few aunts. Even the married couples were split up into single beds, scattered across the grid.

The dark green video feeds told him the lights were still off in their bedrooms. No one was aware they were being filmed. No one was awake.

“Are they okay?” Rob asked, squinting at the screen to check that they were moving, that they were still alive and breathing.

“Of course,” Claire said, her voice still overly cheerful but with an undercurrent of irritation. She seemed almost offended by the question. “We just wanted you to be the first one up so you can help us iron out a few things because some fucking morons were bound to fuck something up.” Clare glared at someone off-camera, but her face quickly went back to its practiced friendly-show-host setting. She giggled. “Excuse my French. Luckily, this is an adult-rated show, so we can curse all we want. In fact, Robbie, while I’m still bound by some rules… you, on the other hand, can do anything you want.”

A small frown passed over Rob’s face. He stared suspiciously at the screen. What did she mean by that?

Clare’s face reappeared, now cropped tighter so her eyes seemed to bore right into him. “Here’s the deal, Robbie. When you make a TV show, it needs to be interesting. Every minute counts. Footage gets cut at the editing stage and we only keep the most interesting bits. Are you following, so far?”  

Rob nodded, bristling at the suggestion that such a simple idea might be too complex for him to understand. 

“If a footage of you makes it into the show, you earn points. The longer it is, the more points you get. The more interesting you are in it, the more points you get. Whoever gets the most points at the end of the season wins.”

“What does the winner get?” he asked. 

“Everything. Money. Freedom. All you have to do is be interesting enough for people to keep watching.” Clare leaned in toward the screen, lips parting like she was letting him in on a secret. “Here’s a tip, Robbie. The camera loves drama. If you want to win, you’ll have to make things happen.”

He had a thousand questions. What kind of drama? What happened if they refused to play along? He doubted they would just send his family home to their mansions to enjoy their wealth. But before he could ask, the closed door suddenly slid open with a pneumatic hiss. 

“Breakfast time!” Clare trilled. “You must be hungry. Don’t keep your family waiting.”

A slice of sunlight poured in, growing bigger as the door opened fully, revealing lush green trees beyond a narrow strip of hallway and a pane of glass that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. 

Rob wrapped the scratchy blanket tighter around his shoulders and stepped into the hallway. The floor was cold concrete. The smell of bacon and bread hit him, the first pleasant sensation he’d had since waking up.

The narrow hallway opened into a room that was just big enough to contain a single long table, which was set with breakfast items. There were eggs scrambled and over-easy, pancakes stacked high with butter melting down the sides, fruits gleaming like plastic in bowls. There were pastries, bagels, yogurt, and three carafes of coffee steaming at the center. Nowhere near as good as breakfast at home, but he was hungry.

Rob saw none of the family yet, but plenty of cameras—tiny black bulbs embedded into the ceiling, a few perched on robotic arms that tracked his movement with mechanical precision.

He chose a spot three-quarters down, where he could see both ends of the table, and sat, tucking the blanket under his legs. The chair was cheap, molded plastic. He supposed they didn’t want anyone getting too comfortable.

The first arrival was his sister, Hannah, who was twenty-two years old. She shuffled in, her hair a wild halo, her body swaddled in what looked like a hotel towel.

She looked half-awake, her towel slipping at her left chest so she had to keep a hand pressed to her small tit, clutching the terrycloth like a lifeline. She moved awkwardly, rushing to her seat, hiding from the gaze of a nation of perverts.

She slid into the seat opposite Rob, fearful blue eyes tracking the cameras before she dared pour herself coffee. She didn’t speak.

Next came the rest of them, shuffling in one by one, in varying states of involuntary exposure.

Rob’s mother, Marcia, 46, always so perfectly dressed at home, wore a sheet like a toga, her hair a bird’s nest of gray and gold, the stiff fabric looking strange on her frame, which was normally clothed only in designer items. When she stepped into the sun, he could see the shape of her body clearly silhouetted under the thin sheet.

As the other women—his aunts and cousins—straggled in, he did his best to avert his gaze.

Rob had a big, close family and he saw them all the time. And yet, this morning, something felt different. Something unfamiliar hung in the air. Fear. Discomfort. But also a kind of electric excitement.

Cassie, his twenty-four-year-old cousin, wore a towel so small and cinched so tight it made her boobs look even bigger than they were. She sat down next to Hannah and started spooning yogurt into her mouth, licking the spoon after every bite.

Aunt Lila, Cassie’s mom, 45, wore the same itchy blanket as Rob’s, her bare shoulders peeking out at the top, exposing the smooth skin of her cleavage, drawing attention to her delicate collarbones and long neck.

The other women wore items that were either too small or too see-through to fully cover themselves.

It didn’t take a genius to see what was happening here.

Rob watched the way the cameras seemed to linger on every inch of exposed feminine flesh, ready to capture any moment of wardrobe malfunction. Meanwhile, his grandfather, the one who usually called the shots, was shivering with a blanket draped over his shoulders, too cold and hungry to pay much attention to his surroundings.

He heard Clare’s voice in his head: you can do anything you want.

He felt sick.

He didn’t know much about reality shows—that was more Hannah’s thing—but as a businessperson, he knew one thing: nothing sells better than sex. And it was becoming clear that sex was the one thing that was guaranteed to get the cameras’ attention.

He decided not to say anything. Let the others talk first. Let them reveal themselves.

Rob’s family was used to the limelight, and it showed. They had small talk at the table—how did you sleep, what is this, where do you think we are, is this even legal—but nobody talked about how they planned to approach the game, what they were willing to do to get their footage on the show. 

They’d been coached by too many PR professionals. They knew to conceal their inner thoughts in front of any kind of recording device.

After the meal, they scattered, their retreating footsteps echoing down the corridors. Most of the women said they needed a shower. They acted as if they were grossed out by the whole situation, as if the facility was covered in grime. 

Rob wondered, although he had no proof at this point, if they’d had the same realization, if they knew that showing skin was the key to getting on the screen. If that was the case, the women had a big advantage, seeing as the cameras obviously loved shots of a woman’s bare skin.

Instead of going back to his room, Rob lingered to study the layout of the house.

The Patriarchy Palace, as Clare had called it, was a space that occupied the ground floor of a glass-covered building. There were locked doors that Rob assumed led to staircases for access to other floors. 

The bedrooms were clustered in the center of the rectangular house, leaving space around the perimeter to serve as pathways. Glass walls separated the interior from the wooded area outside. Sunshine streamed in through the canopy of leaves, the trees providing the illusion of privacy.

On one end of the building, there was the dining area where Rob’s family had just had breakfast. On the other end, there was a communal living room with a low coffee table, couches enough for the whole family, and a fake fireplace that spat orange light on a loop.

He counted the cameras. There were two in each corner, one on the ceiling fan, and a tiny black speck embedded in the glass coffee table.

Who was watching them? There was the crew of the show, watching live. Clare also mentioned live-streaming for premium subscribers, although this presumably being a pilot episode, there probably weren’t a lot of people subscribed yet.

When would this be aired on TV? How many channels? How long was the delay between filming and airing? He imagined people at home, watching his family stripped not just of their wealth but their dignity too, reduced to monkeys that danced on command for cheap treats.

Rob wandered, blanket trailing behind him, until he heard a familiar voice through the door marked "Alan," his father’s name.

The voice was a high-pitched, breathy gasp, layered over a lower, grunting staccato. He recognized his mother’s laugh, and then a wet slap that made his stomach tighten.

He didn’t want to listen in on his parents having sex. But he also wanted to know what his fellow competitors were up to. And if he’d guessed the premise of the show correctly, then footage of him listening in on his parents having sex would definitely be camera-worthy.

He waited, silent, letting the wet slaps, the moans, and the disgusting grunts enter his ear, trying to push them out the other ear.

He made various faces, hoping at least some would make the final cut. He exaggerated his shock, his distress, his curiosity, and even his arousal. For good measure, he slipped a hand under his blanket and stroked himself as he listened to his parents fuck.

Eventually, the noises stopped and his mother slipped out. Her toga was gone. She now wore the bedsheet as a cape, and her lipstick was gone.

She didn’t notice Rob at first, but when she did, she froze—just for a second—then composed herself, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the blanket.

“Fun morning, huh, Mom?” Rob stepped out from the alcove.

“Oh, Rob. You startled me.” Marcia’s hand went to her throat, the way it always did when she was caught off-guard.

“You think acting like horny newlyweds is going to win you points?”

“I don’t have to answer—” She studied him, eyes flicking to the camera in the hallway. She put on the beatific expression she wore when she thought she was imparting wisdom. “Physical connection is important for married couples, especially in times of distress like this. The strong bond between your father and I has made it possible for us to raise healthy children in a stable environment. You should be glad your father and I are as close as we are.”

Rob almost laughed at the way his mom was speaking. She was already changing her behavior for the cameras. He could feel the show’s gravity, pulling at them, reshaping their family interactions. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s not going to work.”

“You don’t know what will work yet.” She smiled the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m not saying I know what will work. I don’t,” Rob said. His mom’s smile faded when he added, “I know for sure that boring, vanilla, married sex won’t work, though. You think Aunt Lila hasn’t thought of that? You think she’s not in Uncle Stan’s bedroom being fucked right now?”

His mother went silent for a few seconds. Then she leaned in, lowering her voice so it was a whisper, barely audible over the whirr of the air conditioning.

“Then what do I do?” she said. “You seem to have some ideas, Rob. Tell me. What am I supposed to do?”

He let himself smile, just a little. Marcia was skilled at making friends, volunteering at charity galas, and maintaining personal relationships. But she wasn’t used to setting goals or building strategies. She needed him. And he needed her. 

“You got one thing right,” he told her. “Sex sells. And being first matters. As far as I can tell, everyone else went back to their room, probably to clean up first. And your… footage with Dad is probably more interesting than everyone else in their shower by themselves. So, you’re actually doing well, Mom.”

Marcia let out the breath she’d been holding.

“But you need to be bolder,” Rob added. “You need to do something nobody else in this family would dare to do. Something scandalous. Something that’ll make the cameras love you.”

Her lips parted in shock, but her eyes were hungry for specifics. “Like what?”

He let the blanket fall away from his waist and caught it just before his dick was exposed. He watched her eyes flick to the thatch of dark hair under his abs, then away.

“You have an advantage, Mom. What do you have that none of the other women does?” Rob raised an eyebrow, taking one step closer to his mother.

She shook her head, looking confused.

“A son,” he said. “You have a son. That means there’s something scandalous you can do that they can’t.” He paused, watching as Marcia stared at him, obviously thinking the same thing he was, but unable to say it out loud. Rob slowly said, “You can do something scandalous… with your son.”

“You—What are you—You’re not actually suggesting—” Marcia let out a nervous laugh, the rest of her question unspoken. Under the sunlight streaming in through the glass wall, Marcia trembled. Rob was sure she’d hit him, or scream, or run.

But then she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she let her glance drift down her son’s bare abs—he wasn’t built or anything, but he also didn’t have his father’s beer gut.

Besides, she’d done a lot of things for survival. In the distant past, she’d slept with powerful men to get ahead. This was no different.

Marcia blocked out the fact that the man standing in front of her was her own son. It wasn’t easy, but it also wasn’t much more difficult than it had been for her to sleep with her boss as a young, ambitious secretary. She’d had a lot of practice. If this was what the game was about, then she knew how to play it.

She looked up through her eyelashes into her son’s eyes and bit down on her lip.

“We can’t do it here,” she said, glancing dramatically at the door to her husband’s bedroom, making sure the cameras caught the exaggerated moment of hesitation. “Let’s go to your room.”

Rob was surprised by how quickly his mom had accepted his crazy idea. He went quiet, afraid he’d say the wrong thing and she’d change her mind.

Marcia took her son’s hand and he padded after her. The hallway was empty, but they could feel the eyes of the world tracking every step, every movement, the silent whir of the lenses as they refocused on Marcia’s bare calves.

With the press of a button, the door slid open. They entered Rob’s room and the door shut behind them.

Rob didn’t wait. He didn’t want to give his mom a chance to change her mind.

He pressed her back against the door. He kissed her hard, and she didn’t resist. She let him. She opened her mouth for him, her breath hot and a little ragged, tinged with the bitter aftertaste of coffee.

He shut the cameras out of his mind. He tried to forget the fact that these were his mother’s lips he was kissing. He focused on the feminine hands climbing his bare sides and digging into his back. Her fingers slipped up, up, until she was clutching the back of his neck.

He cupped the back of her head and tangled his fingers in her hair, letting his blanket fall to the floor. She moaned, a trembling little gasp that vibrated against his teeth, and then she was kissing him back, her tongue shy but determined.

Rob didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the way her hips started to rock against him, the way she pressed her tits into his chest, the nipples hardening and poking through the thin cotton between them. It wasn’t the way she clung to him, like she was desperate to prove she could do this, that she could win this game.

He reached down and grabbed the knot of sheet at her chest, yanked it free, and let the fabric puddle to the floor. She was naked underneath.

Marcia was in her late forties, but she looked like she was in her early thirties. Her body was toned, with full tits that sat high on her chest, a rounded ass, and a pair of smooth, long legs.

She told her friend her beauty secret was drinking eight cups of water a day, but really she went to the gym religiously, and she had a lot of help from a team of estheticians, dermatologists, and plastic surgeons.

Now, she arched toward her son and pressed her tits into his chest. When he shoved her back onto the bed, she let her thighs fall apart for him.

Rob was already hard. He crawled onto the bed, looming over his mom, and she looked up at him with a strange mix of desire and admiration. Without saying anything, they looked into each other’s eyes and agreed to put on a real show for everyone to watch.

He kissed her again, sloppier this time, and she kissed him back. He grabbed her tits, squeezing them together, then sucked one nipple until it made her gasp. She still smelled like her expensive designer perfume, and beneath that, there was the faintest undertone of her husband’s cologne, clinging to her skin.

Rob slid his hand down her stomach, to the slickness between her legs. She was wet. Not just wet, but sticky, slippery, her pussy lips sticking to his fingers as he explored her.

Mixed with her wetness was his father’s cum, still leaking from inside her. The thought made his stomach twist. And yet, his cock throbbed even harder. He wanted to expel his father’s cum, to fill his mother with his own seed.

Marcia writhed under him, her breath coming in excited little whimpers, her hips lifting to meet his hand. Rob kept his mouth on her nipple as he hooked his fingers inside her, feeling the slippery mess deeper in.

He locked eyes with his mother. She was shaking, her hands fisting the thin bedsheet, her whole body tense and quivering. He kept finger-fucking her, swirling his tongue over her nipple until she bucked and let out a ragged groan.

Marcia was a private trophy wife who had only appeared on TV to share home decor and fashion tips on daytime talk shows. She looked down on her peers who appeared in trashy reality shows. 

And yet, now, she was showing all of herself on one such show—literally coming, right there, her pussy clenching around her son’s fingers, in front of the cameras, for the world to see and jerk off to.

Rob crawled up her body and hovered over her, his cock brushing her stomach, smearing pre-cum on her skin. His dick was leaking like it had a mind of its own, like it couldn’t wait to replace his father’s seed with hot, young, virile cum.

This was the moment when, if he were with a girl his age in the outside world, she’d ask for a condom. But his mom hadn’t mentioned it. And he doubted that the show would be kind enough to supply them with some birth control, especially because The Patriarch’s people were all about raising the birth rate. 

So Rob pushed his hard, uncovered cock into his mom’s unprotected pussy, slow at first, feeling the slippery warmth swallow him up. The sensation was overwhelming. She was wet and hot and tight, her pussy milking him, the friction making his whole body tense. He bottomed out and stayed there, buried to the hilt, shuddering. He watched as his father’s cum poured out, oozing down to the bed.

Marcia arched off the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth open in a silent moan, her hands digging into his shoulders.

He picked up the pace, slamming into her, every thrust pushing out more of his father’s cum. Marcia met him move for move, her hips rising to meet his, her tits bouncing with every push. She was loud now, grunting and gasping, not caring who heard.

Rob thought about his father listening, holding his cock in his hand, and felt another surge of power in his chest. It was fucked up, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

He rammed into his mom’s pussy, the wet, slick slap of their bodies echoing around the tiny room. He gripped her hips and went faster, harder, feeling her get tighter around him, her nails raking down his back.

He couldn’t last. The whole situation was way too intense for him to control himself. The cameras, the knowledge that millions of people could be watching, the fact that he was fucking his own mother raw… Rob wanted to finish inside her, to pump her full of his cum, to make a scene so fucked nobody else in the family could possibly top it.

He let go, his hips jerking as he started to come, his cock pulsing inside her, shooting his load deep into the womb where he’d been formed. The feeling was so intense he almost blacked out.

His mother was shaking, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming, her legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him inside her as he emptied himself completely, flooding her womb with his hot cum.

He could feel the warm, viscous flood as their fluids mixed, leaking out around his cock, soaking the sheets beneath them. There was something almost poetic about fucking and filling the pussy that had given birth to him.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard, his face buried in her hair. They looked at each other, and in that moment they remembered who they’d just fucked, what they’d just done.

Marcia said nothing as she gently pushed her son off. She stood, wrapping the sheet around her shoulders, and left.

Rob rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the aftershocks pulse through his body, wondering how long it’d take for his mother to be able to look at him again.

The screen on the wall flickered to life, displaying Clare’s perfectly made-up face. She looked delighted, her eyes glinting with the thrill of a host who’d just witnessed the season’s first major plot twist.

Rob fumbled in bed, hands feeling around until he managed to grab his blanket and cover his dick. He felt stupid, knowing everyone had already seen everything, but lying in bed naked while taking a public video-call with a reality-show host just felt wrong.

“Wow, Robbie! That was a bold move. The audience is loving it,” Clare said. “Let’s check the leaderboard, shall we?”

The screen switched to a graphic:

The rest trailed behind, their points so low they barely registered.

Rob wondered what Aunt Lila had done to earn her points. Still, he was winning. And his mom, too.

He couldn’t help but smile. He’d been right about how the game worked. He could figure out how to win this whole thing. All he needed was his mom’s help to get there.

~

Hi, Brooke here! Thank you for reading my dirty story 😉 If you enjoyed it, please check out my reddit profile for more taboo erotica!

I touched an ancient statue, and now I'm apparently the next god of the island, worthy of untold riches and adoration.

Yeah, right. All I want is for my fiancée to put out for me during our vacation with my mom and sister, and I doubt that's going to happen.

But I've got to admit, there's something intoxicating in the air here. We may just fall under the island's spell and not realize it…

All characters 18+. MC is 27 (stated in paragraph 52) and his mom is 46 (paragraph 48). Sandra and Lucy are 24 (paragraph 40).

~

“Ohhhh… He did it! I can’t believe it! It actually happened! He actually touched it, ladies and gentlemen! This has never happened before!” The tour guide screeched in a high-pitched voice that hurt my ears. He pointed at me, glanced at his audience of mostly middle-aged people in polo shirts, and pressed his palms on his cheeks like he was a child actor in one of the highest-grossing Christmas movies ever.

I rolled my eyes. This guy probably did the same routine with every tour group, and yet, everyone was eating it up, including my family.

Cameras pointed at me, clicking away with abandon even though I hadn’t agreed to be in their pictures. Fucking tourists. Just because we spent hours cooped up in the same bus didn’t mean we were friends.

Regardless of the way I felt about the situation, my people-pleasing instincts kicked in when my mom said, “Smile, honey!”

Who was she sending the photo to? I thought as I grimaced for her picture. Not to Nan. The old woman was so innocent I often wondered how she ever managed to get pregnant with Mom, not to mention her sisters.

You see, the problem was, the reason the whole tour group got excited was a pair of ancient breasts.

When we’d first reached this part of the cave system, the tour guide had abruptly stopped. With a dramatic voice and a lot of hand gestures, he told the story of Alypha, the god of this Mediterranean island.

He said divine powers had been locked within these rock formations, ready to be passed down to anyone who could touch one of the stalagmites that grew from the ground. Specifically, the one that looked like a naked lady.

It wasn’t a complete account of the myth. I was sure I’d learned much more from the research papers and Internet forums than the tour guide knew about these caves.

The “stalagmite” had its—her—own name. Avyna was Alypha’s sister from the myth, cursed to spend eternity as an unmoving piece of rock in the darkness—until, of course, modern humans came and installed LED lights.

Avyna also wasn’t a stalagmite. She was a sculpture made of the kind of stone that didn’t even exist on this island, and scientists were still scratching their heads as to how primitive people from some ancient civilization had managed to get her here.

According to some scientific dating method, Avyna had been here for millenia, standing among stalagmites that slowly grew taller than her, with stalactites hanging from the cave ceiling threatening to fall off and hit her in the head. And yet, she’d survived.

According to the posts I’d seen online, Avyna was impossible to touch. Local legend said that making physical contact with the statue would lead to untold riches. There was a spot where the cave floor jutted out, and you were supposed to stand there when you tried to reach her.

Tourists tried, but they all apparently failed. She stood pretty deep in the cave. But really, all you needed was a plan, and a long limb. Before this trip, I’d looked at pictures of this cave and noticed that there was a recessed part of the cave wall that I could use as a foothold. Thanks to that foothold and my unusually long arms, I managed to do it.

Now that I’d touched her, I started to wonder if it was really possible that I was the first one in millennia to have done it. From what little I’d seen of this island, the natives were pretty short so I guess it was possible they’d tried and failed. And this island was relatively unknown, so it wasn’t like hundreds of thousands of tourists had given it a try, but still.

I was convinced there was some kind of a cover-up, to boost tourism numbers, perhaps. It worked while the island remained unknown and people didn’t talk about it online, but this was definitely going to blow up in the face of whoever was responsible for the false information when the truth came out.

In the photos I’d seen online, Avyna looked like a candle that had once been shaped like a curvaceous woman, but it had partially melted from having been left too long in a hot car.

But in person, the moment I’d laid eyes on her, I thought she looked radiant.

Maybe it was the spotlights, but there was literally a halo around her head. Although the statue was gray all over, I could almost see long strands of golden hair, moving with the air currents.

Her lips seemed to part, her citrus-scented breath drawing me closer, and closer, and closer, until I’d closed the gap between us. By the time my hand made contact with her breast, my cock was throbbing in my pants.

Luckily, having a half-chub in public wasn’t a problem for me anymore. I’d gotten used to it and developed some tricks to hide it. My fiancée, Sandra, hadn’t so much as let me see her naked in a long time, so I’d been walking around having dirty fantasies 24/7 for months at this point.

At the car wash, I imagined Sandra in a bikini, drying the glass with tiny lycra triangles stretched over her tits. When we got pizza from a delivery girl, I fantasized about Sandra walking out naked, making out with the girl, and pulling me into a hot threesome.

Now, holding a breast made of stone in my hand, I could almost swear it felt warm. I even felt soft pounding under my palm, like I was feeling Avyna’s heartbeat, as ridiculous as that sounds. The breast even seemed to have some give, like if I were to squeeze it’d spill between my fingers like it was flesh.

Mom put her phone away, done with taking pictures of me and my new rock girlfriend. She gestured for me to join the rest of the group, which had moved on to a different part of the cave system.

“I’m right behind you,” I told her. And yet, I didn’t move. I just stayed in the same spot.

Somehow, it felt wrong to leave Avyna. I didn’t know why. I couldn’t explain it. I just felt it.

A buzz started from underneath my palm, the one that was touching her. I only realized it much later, but normally, a buzz like that would feel enough like an electric shock that I’d pull my hand away reflexively. Yet for some reason unknown to myself, I leaned closer to her.

Some kind of energy flowed from the rock, through my skin, and into my bloodstream. The buzz spread through my body, all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. I closed my eyes, feeling the energy flow through me.

“Dave!” Mom’s hand on my shoulder jerked me awake. “The bus is about to leave.”

I blinked, disconcerted. For a moment, I thought I was in the hotel bedroom, being woken up to get ready for today’s tour. But then I took in my surroundings and, after a few seconds, remembered where I was.

Mom said the tour group had finished walking through the rest of the cave system, and everyone was waiting for me on the bus.

It felt like Mom had just left. But how long had I really stood there?

Outside the cave, the bus was already half full, idling and huffing diesel fumes. I clambered aboard, finding Mom mid-aisle, stuffing yet another shopping bag into the overhead shelf.

Sandra and my sister, Lucy, had snagged a double seat near the back, their heads together, giggling over something on Lucy’s phone. Both of them turned as I passed. Sandra’s eyes lingered, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth—a smile I hadn’t seen since the last time we had actual sex, which was, for those keeping score, the previous Thanksgiving.

I squeezed into my spot next to Mom, who immediately clucked and started fussing with my shirt, brushing imaginary cave dust off my shoulder.

The tour group was mostly men, and they’d all apparently gotten the memo to ogle my entire family. I’d never been so acutely aware of the fact that all the women in my family were, objectively, hot.

Sandra, a stunning blonde even on a normal day, wore a short skirt and a tight white top that was so thin I could see the shape of the bikini she was wearing underneath—the bikini from my carwash fantasy.

She’d modeled it in the hotel room earlier, and if it weren’t for the fact that my mom and sister were also in the room, I would’ve pounced on those ridiculously perky, gravity-defying curves. The bikini was a color I’d call "nuclear tangerine,” and my brain short-circuited every time I tried to look at her in it, like my body had learned to filter out anything that sexy as a protective measure.

Lucy, on the other hand, was a brunette who was flat as a board with a terrible personality, to boot. I had no idea why any guy would look at her, although her face wasn’t bad, I guess.

Sandra and Lucy were 24 and had been best friends since middle school. That’s an entire decade of friendship. Much longer than our relationship of four years. Sometimes, I felt like it was much stronger, too.

When Sandra had first suggested this “island getaway,” I’d been naive enough to think that maybe she was finally interested in spending some romantic time with me, cavorting in the sand, rolling around on a plush hotel bed.

Instead, she’d insisted Lucy come, too. She’d also insisted, with a kind of iron-clad logic I couldn’t argue with, that my mom would love the trip, and wouldn’t it be nice for everyone to bond before “the big day.”

Which is how I wound up third-wheeling my own fiancée with my little sister, while my mother sat next to me, giving me a lecture on the benefits of proper hydration.

As the tour bus rattled down the mountain, past olive groves and goats and the occasional old man on a scooter, I shifted in my seat. I just couldn’t get comfortable. My jeans felt tight, and not just in the usual places. Something felt different, but I couldn’t put a finger on why.

My thoughts went back into the caves, to the place where I’d met Avyna. I thought about the way the stone had yielded beneath my palm, the way the heat had rushed up my arm and pooled somewhere in my groin.

Back at the hotel, I barely made it up to the room before the volcano in my pants threatened to erupt.

The girls had gone straight down to the pool, according to Mom, who had already changed into her sleek, black one-piece, and was on the way to join the girls. I swear, if it weren’t for me, these three would be content to spend the entire vacation by the pool, skipping all the culture and history the island had to offer.

Even though Mom was turning 46 this year, she was often mistaken for someone much younger. Like, more than ten years younger. So although she was just as flat as Lucy was, growing up I’d always been aware of how hot she was, the way men looked at her.

I told her I was going to nap. Really, I needed a minute (or five) alone, and my hand was already halfway down my jeans before the door closed behind me.

The air conditioning was set to “Arctic Tundra,” but my body was on fire. I collapsed onto the bed, yanked my jeans and boxers down, and my cock—Jesus Christ—jutted out like a big, heavy piece of rock.

I stared at it. Did it always look like that? I mean, I’d measured it before, with the curiosity of every straight guy in the universe, but this was… I mean, I wasn’t saying it was a medical emergency, but it was definitely not the size I was familiar with.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe the ancient stone goddess had gifted me a few extra centimeters for my trouble. Hell, maybe it was a late growth spurt. I was 27, but hey, it could happen, right?

Either way, I wasn’t mad about it.

I thumbed through my phone, but none of the usual porn did the trick.

When I closed my eyes, though, it suddenly felt like my hand wasn’t mine anymore. Was it because my dick was bigger? The hand felt smaller, almost… feminine.

In my mind, the hand wrapped around my hard cock belonged to someone with a slender wrist and a pair of full lips that breathed out sweet, citrus-scented air. It belonged to Avyna, the goddess from the cave.

She wasn’t made of stone anymore. She had thick, blonde hair that tumbled down her back in endless waves. Her olive skin was glowing, and her eyes were blue as the ocean, bottomless, pulling me in.

She was naked, obviously, and her body was insane—like some ancient sculptor’s fever dream, all curves and smooth skin, raw and untouched for millennia.

I imagined her lips parting, her hands guiding mine to her chest. I squeezed, and she moaned, a sound that echoed in the cavern, louder than it should have been.

She pressed herself against me, her skin warm and alive. She whispered something in a language I couldn’t understand, but her voice vibrated through my bones.

I slid into her, my cock enveloped in her impossible heat. She moved with me, squeezing and pulsing around me, her hands digging into my back. Every thrust made her gasp, made the whole cave tremble like the island itself took part of our union.

I came hard, my whole body shuddering, and for a second, I thought I saw her eyes open wide, her mouth stretching into a snarl, like she was about to consume me whole.

When I opened my eyes, I was sprawled on the hotel comforter, sweaty and panting. My dick, soft now, was still in my hand. Outside, the sky had gone dark, which meant it was late.

My heart picked up its pace as I glanced at the small clock on the side table. It was almost midnight, which meant that I’d skipped dinner with the family, which meant that they’d looked for me and given up, which meant that they’d probably seen me lying here in bed, passed out with my dick out.

Fuck. This vacation just kept getting better and better.

I pulled my boxers on and got up in the middle of the dark hotel room, staring at the dark rectangle of the window, my mind wandering.

It was strange. This was something I’d normally consider an emergency, but it felt like there was a soft fog around me, tempering the sharp edges of my thoughts.

The moon outside was massive, a ring of light emanating from it on the background of a dark, star-spattered sky. I could feel the rays of the moon penetrating the glass, going through my bones, spreading in my flesh.

Something in my chest burned, a kind of tugging, like the moment before you throw up, but instead of my stomach, it was my heart that lurched. I tried to shake it off, but the feeling sharpened, like an invisible thread yanking me out of the room.

I didn’t know what was pulling me, but I knew the only thing that separated it from me was a door, the one connecting my hotel room to Lucy’s.

I turned the door handle, not even bothering to put on shoes. It opened with ease.

Sandra wasn’t in the room that we shared, which meant she was probably passed out in Lucy’s bed, like she’d done every night on this trip.

Lucy’s room was dark except for the cold glow of the digital clock on her nightstand. I could see Sandra even with the light off: her back to the door, hair splayed on the pillow in a tangled, golden fan, legs curled in a way that made the sheet pull tight across her ass.

There was no sign of Lucy, which meant she’d probably crashed in Mom’s room, as she sometimes did.

I crept closer, feeling like an intruder. I hovered over Sandra, waiting for her to stir, but she didn’t. She was dead to the world, breathing in slow, even waves.

The sheet had slipped down, exposing her bare back, her soft, tan shoulders. She was only wearing her little bikini bottom, a thin orange string digging into the curves of her hips.

I stood there for a minute, just watching her, my cock growing in my pants. Just because she was already almost naked didn’t mean she was going to let me have sex with her. Still, my cock was throbbing in a way it never had before, the pulling sensation in my chest intensifying as I pulled the sheet back, careful not to wake her.

Her ass was round and smooth, the result of her hard work at the gym, and I had to resist the urge to slap it. Instead, I climbed into bed next to her, pressing my chest against her back and wrapping my arm around her waist.

She shifted in her sleep, murmured something that sounded like my name, and pushed her hips back, grinding her ass against my crotch. I heard a small, breathy moan, and I froze, afraid to even breathe and accidentally stop whatever it was Sandra was doing.

My fiancée hadn’t initiated sex in years. Was she really doing this now? Was this motivated by the sight of me passed out with my dick out? Had I known, I would’ve openly jerked off all over our apartment instead of hiding out in the bathroom to do it.

Sandra’s moan sounded unfamiliar. Sex with her was usually a quiet affair with me doing most of the work and her waiting for me to finish. Maybe the island had a relaxing effect on her, and now that her stress had melted away, she was finally ready for some intimacy.

Her body also felt different, softer and yet more solid, but maybe it had been so long since I’d touched her that I’d forgotten. Or maybe she’d been working herself harder at the gym than I’d thought.

I pressed my lips to the nape of her neck, barely brushing the skin, and immediately she shivered. She curled tighter into me, her ass flattening against my lap, and moaned again. It was low and throaty, a sound that vibrated straight through my teeth.

I kept my mouth moving, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, up to her ear. The smell of her—chlorine and oranges—made my head spin.

She reached back, groping until her hand found my cock through my boxers. She squeezed, then stroked, and I nearly bit her shoulder from the suddenness of it.

This was not the Sandra I knew. This was a feral version who didn’t wait for permission or care about being polite.

She made a little noise of approval, like she was testing the weight of it, and then she tugged my cock out of the slit in my boxers and jerked me slowly, deliberately, as if she were savoring every inch.

I braced myself on my elbow, grinding against her, and she guided my hand to her chest, and I obligingly palmed her tits.

She was so warm, her skin so soft, her nipples hard between my fingers. She arched her back, pressing herself into my hand, and I felt a little tremor run through her body.

“God, you’re so sexy tonight,” I said, wondering if it was the island, if its magic was affecting not just me, but the both of us.

Sandra rolled her hips, lifting her ass and grinding it against me, and I could feel her wetness through the thin scrap of fabric. She let go of my cock and reached down, tugging the bikini bottom aside, giving me access.

“Do it,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I’ve been waiting too long. Just—please.”

She’d been waiting too long? A little voice in my head wanted to know what she meant, when I’d been dying to have her. But at the moment, I was too preoccupied with the throbbing in my cock to ask questions.

I slid into her gently, not wanting to do anything that might offend her and change her mind.

She gasped, sharp and loud, and her fingers dug into the sheets hard enough to convince me that, no, she wasn’t going to change her mind. Not tonight.

She was soaked, her pussy gripping me with a need that felt like it had been building for lifetimes, not just months. I moved inside her, letting her set the pace, and she rocked back against me, greedy for every inch.

It was like fucking someone I’d never met before. She was relentless, meeting me thrust for thrust, moaning into the mattress, pulling me closer, deeper, urging me to fuck her harder.

Her hair was everywhere, wild and golden and sticking to her cheeks, and every time I bent to kiss her shoulder she moaned louder.

I couldn’t last. I tried every trick I knew—counting backward from one hundred, thinking about baseball statistics, mentally reciting the NATO phonetic alphabet—but she was too much, too hot, too tight.

I started to pull my cock out, but she pressed her ass back against me and gripped me closer with eager, desperate hands, her fingernails digging crescents into my skin.

“Fuck. I’m gonna—”

I came hard, burying my face in her neck to keep from shouting as hot cum shot out of my cock and into her unprotected womb. She clenched around me, shuddering with her own orgasm.

We collapsed together, tangled and sweaty, breathless. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to.

Moments later, I realized Sandra wouldn’t have let me creampie her without first having a hundred lengthy conversations about our long-term plans and the detailed division of labor once our offspring arrived.

Sandra wouldn’t have come from me filling her pussy with my cum. She wouldn’t have moaned or begged for my cock. She wouldn’t have initiated sex in the first place.

I realized all these things when I turned my head to the open doorway leading to my hotel room and saw Sandra there, fully clothed, staring at me with her eyes wide and her jaw dropped.

What the fuck?

Suddenly awake, I sat up and fumbled for the light switch.

The table lamp on the nightstand glowed warmly. Lying next to me in bed, still panting from the sex we’d just had, was my sister.

~

Hi, Brooke here. Thank you for reading my smutty story! ;) Did you like it? If you did, good news, there are more stories in this series.

Check out my reddit profile for the links and more free taboo erotica!

Looking for Part 1? Click here.

~

Eric fakes a sniffle and looks at the camera with the saddest face he can muster.

On his screen, the incredulous face of his HR manager, Tracy, tells him he’s not selling his story very well.

Tracy is a stern, successful woman in her forties who takes her job seriously and hates slackers like Eric.

She sits tall in her office chair, her expression serious and unyielding. Her chestnut hair is styled into a neat bun, with loose blonde tendrils framing her face. She wears a blazer over her crisp shirt, which is buttoned all the way up to her neck.

She’s not who Eric hoped would take on his case when he first saw the email from work that he’d skipped too many days and he might get fired.

How do they expect him to leave the house, when he’s got his mom and sister at his beck and call, willing to do any dirty thing his mind can think of?

Eric winces dramatically as he shifts his head on his pillow. The laptop is balanced on his chest—before the call, he tested different angles and decided this one makes him look the weakest.

In reality, the fake wince only serves to cover the way his face contorts with pleasure when his sister runs her tongue over his asshole.

Although Eric is dressed and covered by a blanket from the waist up, his lower body is completely naked so his mom and sister can access his cock—they’re both ovulating and unbelievably insatiable.

Even if the president himself was on the phone demanding him to go to work, there’s no way Eric would miss out on this incredible opportunity to breed his family and be the object of their heightened lust.

“Your doctor’s note says you’re bedridden, but I see someone who doesn’t look like he’s in much pain.” Tracy’s voice is firm and unwavering, with an undertone of authority. Her heels click against the office floor as she moves around, and the rustling of papers can be heard as she shuffles through Eric’s file.

Eric tries to keep his composure, even as his sister’s lips slide off him with a wet pop. Michelle giggles quietly and lowers her mouth again, determined to distract him.

His control over his mom and sister is absolute now, and he can make Michelle stay quiet if he wants. But because Michelle and Catherine are ovulating, they’re both even more eager than usual to devour his cock and he doesn’t want to miss out on anything.

Although the girls would follow his commands regardless of where they are in their cycles, they’ve been extra enthusiastic since yesterday. They get wetter, and they even have stronger orgasms.

Instead of giving them single commands, Eric finds that he prefers suggesting that the girls focus on their heightened libido and give in to their instincts.

He told them to keep it down, but he’s fine with little noises escaping—they make things more interesting.

“I’m, uh... I’m just on some really strong meds,” Eric says, feigning a cough to disguise his groan. “I can’t even remember the last time I was outside.”

Tracy doesn’t miss a beat. “We’re not buying it, Eric. You’ve been skipping out too much, and if you don’t show up soon, don’t bother coming back.”

The words hit him hard. He hasn’t had someone resist him this way in a while—he tried pushing his mind onto her through the screen at the beginning of the call, but it felt like throwing a punch underwater. Useless. His power must not work long-distance.

Meanwhile, his mom is kneeling between his legs, stroking him with both hands while his sister plants kisses all around her fingers. They can sense that they’ve successfully distracted him from his conversation. They redouble their efforts, hungry for his cum.

Tracy’s scowl sends a chill down Eric’s spine. He realizes he has to act quickly or risk losing everything. What good is ultimate power at home if he can’t keep them financially afloat? How much time does he have until he maxes out all of his mom’s credit cards?

He shoots the camera another pitiful look, using his real fear of getting fired to enrich his act. “I’m trying my best, but I’m just not getting better. To be honest, I’m scared. The doctor looked concerned. This might be something really serious.”

Tracy adjusts her glasses, her lips a tight, unyielding line. She takes a deep breath. “This is your last chance. You have to prove you’re actually sick and not just slacking off again.”

“If you don’t believe me, you can come see for yourself,” he suggests, letting his voice crack for dramatic effect.

Tracy considers him quietly, and Eric holds his breath. She wouldn’t actually...

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she finally decides, tapping at her calendar with the end of a pen.

“W-what?” Eric stutters. He didn’t think she’d actually take him up on it.

“You heard me. You better hope it’s worth my time,” Tracy says.

“Do what you have to do,” Eric says, feigning desperation. It’s hard to keep his enthusiasm from showing, but he manages to add a sad joke. “I’ll be there. It’s not like I can go anywhere else.”

The call ends abruptly with Tracy’s unimpressed glare frozen on screen. Eric slams the laptop shut and tosses it aside, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

Before he has a chance to say anything, his mom eagerly climbs onto his lap, her skirt hiked up around her waist as she swings a leg over his hips.

“Looks like I’m getting fired tomorrow,” he laughs breathlessly.

“Aww…” Michelle takes a break from sucking his cock. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and beams at her brother. “We’ll make sure you’re well distracted until then.”

Catherine wraps her dainty fingers around Eric’s cock, which is slick from Michelle’s mouth and glistening under the sunlight that filters in through the open window.

She bites down on her bottom lip and looks deep into Eric’s eyes with lust written all over her face as she lowers herself, pressing the tip of his cock at her opening. His pre-cum and his sister’s drool meet his mom’s dripping juices, making it slick and slippery.

With a big smile, Eric grabs his mom’s hips and pulls her down onto his cock while he thrusts deep into her. In one quick motion, he’s buried all the way to the hilt.

Catherine lets out a loud moan as her son fills her up, her hands grabbing her own tits roughly as her pussy walls throb around his cock.

Eric groans at the incredible sensation as his mom’s hips roll slowly against him, her wet heat immediately enveloping him.

Michelle crawls beside him and kisses his neck as his mom bounces harder on his cock.

As his mom bounces up and his cock, the thought of his seed taking root in the womb that once formed him gets him rock hard in his mom’s pussy. Eric thinks about his seed transforming her body, making her body swell.

“I’m sure Tracy will change her mind after she sees you,” his mom murmurs with a teasing smile, riding him in steady rhythm while their bodies move together effortlessly.

Eric grins wickedly. If Tracy wants to check in on him personally, maybe they’ll convince her to stay longer than just a quick visit. His mind races with possibilities as an all-too-familiar pressure builds inside of him again.

Eric feels his cock fast reaching the edge, so he turns his attention to his sister, who is pathetically using her hands to play with his balls, desperate to be noticed.

Eric grabs her full, perky tits, making her moan. When he pulls her closer and takes a nipple into his mouth, Michelle’s hands dig into his back, desperation building in her every movement.

Michelle wraps herself around him like a vine and presses her tongue against his ear. “You’re already close again,” she whispers, delight ringing in her voice like an accusation.

Eric loves it when they're ovulating like this, when they both need cum more than anything else in their lives combined—and Eric is more than happy to give them exactly what they want.

Michelle is right. Eric is close.

As he grips his mom’s hips and thrusts faster up into her mature pussy, he shoves his sister’s head down.

Michelle knows exactly what to do. She obeys, taking her place between Eric’s legs, behind their mom who’s riding him.

Without hesitation, Michelle presses her tongue on Eric’s balls, massaging them as his cum boils within, as their mom bounces on his cock.

“I’m going to fill your pussy up. I’m going to knock you up, Mom.”

“Please,” Catherine begs, “come inside me and make me pregnant.”

In no time, Eric groans through clenched teeth as heat explodes across his whole body. His cock pulses inside his mom, shooting thick, white cum deep inside her womb.

Catherine gasps and grinds down against him, milking every last bit out of him with breathless cries and frantic movements until he shudders into stillness beneath her.

They collapse together—sweaty skin pressing against sweaty skin—and Michelle nuzzles into Eric’s side while his mom rests atop his chest.

“I love when you work from home,” Catherine sighs.

Michelle giggles softly against him. “You should never go back to your stupid office.”

“If everything goes well tomorrow—and I have a feeling it will—I won’t have to leave you two ever again.”

Eric brushes loose strands of hair away from their flushed faces. He grins at nothing in particular, already hardening again inside his mother’s welcoming body before any of them find time to catch their breath.

On the nightstand, a phone buzzes.

Eric has placed all their phones there to make sure he doesn’t miss any important messages. So far, he’s told Michelle’s boyfriend multiple times that she’s not going home to their apartment, and he’s also had to tell Catherine’s office that she’s taking all of her vacation days at once. While he’s managed to keep everyone at bay for now, he knows it’s just a matter of time until he has to come up with more creative solutions.

The buzzing snaps Eric out of his blissful haze. He reaches out a hand to grab the phone—it’s Michelle’s.

Catherine and Michelle blink at him in confusion, not quite understanding what’s going on but not liking the fact that Eric is leaving and he’s taking his cock with him.

“It’s Rob,” Eric explains, pulling up his jeans but not bothering with a shirt. “He’s outside.”

Michelle raises her eyebrows like she doesn’t know what the words mean. Eric has made it so all she’s focused on is her arousal, so nothing else makes any sense to her.

Ideally, Eric would love it if his sister would get up, talk to her boyfriend, and break up with him on the spot so he’d leave them alone. But judging by Michelle’s behavior, that seems to be outside the limits of his powers.

At the same time, the other option, which involves Eric letting go of his control over his sister and letting her do what she wants, is unthinkable.

“I’ll handle it,” Eric says with an impatient glare in Michelle’s direction as he bolts down the corridor.

He yanks open the front door, blocking the entrance with his body. Rob stands on the porch looking frazzled and pissed off, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Hey,” Eric says flatly.

“Where’s Michelle?” Rob demands. He cranes his neck, trying to see past Eric into the house.

“She’s busy. You should probably just leave.”

“Like hell I will.” Rob tries to step forward but Eric holds him back with a hand on his chest.

“Give it up. She doesn’t want to see you.”

They stare each other down until Rob finally throws his hands in the air. “Look, man, she hasn’t come home in days. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Eric was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to leave without seeing Michelle.

Eric hesitates for a moment before stepping aside with a defeated sigh. “Fine. Come in.”

Rob pushes past him and into the hallway, looking around like he half expects Michelle to leap out of nowhere and tackle him with an apology.

Eric closes the door behind them and crosses his arms. “She’s inside.”

Without another word, Rob heads down the corridor with Eric trailing behind him. Rob sticks his head into every room. As they get closer to Catherine’s bedroom, the smell of sex permeates the air, and Eric wonders if Rob notices it.

With his powers, Eric reaches out to Rob’s mind, getting a feel for the way his brain works. As it turns out, Rob hasn’t noticed the smell. He’s too focused on finding Michelle and getting an explanation for her strange behavior.

Eric chuckles to himself. If Rob thinks Michelle is being weird just because she’s been ignoring his calls and texts, Eric can’t wait to see what Rob will think when he sees her.

In Catherine’s bedroom, they find Michelle lying on the bed, naked as the day she was born, hair still mussed from their earlier romp. She doesn’t look particularly surprised or sorry to see him.

“Hey,” she says casually.

Rob gapes at her like she has two heads. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Michelle tilts her head to the side like she doesn’t understand.

“Why are you not wearing anything?”

Michelle shrugs.

“You didn’t answer my texts.”

“I was… busy.” She shrugs and folds her arms across her chest, squishing her tits in a way that makes Eric’s cock strains against his pants again.

The door to the ensuite bathroom suddenly cracks open. Catherine walks out, looking just as naked as her daughter, her skin still blushing from the orgasm she just had.

Rob’s eyes widen in shock, then he turns his head away so fast his face almost hits the door frame.

“Catherine,” he stammers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to look.”

Eric almost laughs. He can sense the panic building in Rob’s mind, and he finds it hilarious.

Catherine and Michelle don’t even know what’s going on, and Rob doesn’t realize he can’t really communicate with them. Eric finds it funny that he’s ignoring the only person who can give him all the answers.

Eric has never liked Rob. He always acts cocky, like he’s superior just because he’s bigger and older than Eric. But now, Eric has the upper hand.

“Michelle, why don’t you come out here so you guys can talk?” Eric asks with an innocent voice.

Rob looks surprised to see Eric helping him, but grateful. He quietly says, “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it,” Eric says with a shit-eating grin.

He acts like he’s about to walk away to give them privacy, but not before he gives Michelle a silent command to grab his arm and stop him.

Rob stares, open-mouthed, as his naked girlfriend grabs her brother’s arm like he’s a lover and wraps her naked body around it.

Eric enjoys the chaos that reigns in Rob’s mind as it reels from the shock. He can barely process what’s happening, too disgusted by the thought of his girlfriend and her brother together that the mere possibility is breaking his brain.

Rob looks at Michelle and Rob like he’s putting together clues for a very stupid mystery game. “So what? You quit your job and moved back here all of a sudden?”

“Pretty much,” Michelle answers nonchalantly, leaning against Eric’s shoulder.

Eric can tell this conversation is not going anywhere, and time is the last thing he wants to waste when both his mom and sister are ovulating. So, he makes his mom do something about it.

“Rob,” Catherine calls sweetly from inside the bedroom before either of them have a chance to say more. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

“I—” He falters at the unexpected invitation. The awkward tension in the air is thicker than anything he could possibly choke down with food. “I don’t want to interrupt... whatever this is.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Eric assures him with something that might pass for sincerity if you squint hard enough.

“Stay for dinner,” Catherine insists with syrupy warmth, wandering out into the corridor, still naked. “We’ll fill you in.”

Keeping track of what’s going on inside Rob’s mind, Eric suppresses a laugh as he senses that Rob thought he’d caught Catherine just as she was stepping out of the shower, and he didn’t expect to see her naked again.

This time, Rob gives in to the temptation to look. Eric can almost see him salivate as his eyes take in the view of his girlfriend's hot, naked mom.

Before Rob can stop himself, his mind fills up with fantasies of his cock disappearing inside Catherine’s pussy. From the state of these fantasies, Eric can tell they’re old and well-used. They feel like stained, crumpled pictures in a well-loved porn magazine. Obviously, Rob has thought about Catherine’s pussy a lot over the years. Eric wonders what Michelle would think about that.

Rob glances at Michelle one last time before relenting with a frustrated sigh and stomping towards the dining room.

As they all reach the dining table, Rob grabs a chair and sits down.

Eric can sense the conflict boiling inside Rob’s head. Half of him wants to stay and see what’s going on, but he doesn’t really want answers if they mean what he thinks they mean. The other half wants to grab Michelle and drag her out of the house.

None of those things are happening.

“Dinner is served,” Catherine giggles, giving Michelle a playful push.

Michelle jumps onto the center of the table and spreads her legs wide like she’s been waiting for this moment forever. Her pussy is glistening from her juices under the afternoon light.

If Rob didn’t smell the scent of sex in the air before, he sure does now.

Something finally clicks in Rob’s brain. His girlfriend is not just ignoring her boyfriend. Something way more fucked up is going on here. She’s probably fucking her brother. And their mom is obviously involved, too, somehow.

All the evidence is pointing at some kind of an incestuous situation happening here. But still, his mind can’t fully process it.

Eric loves seeing him realize just how far gone Michelle is.

“What are you doing?” Rob asks again, dazed by the impossibility of it all.

“You heard her,” Catherine says with a sweet smile. “She was busy.”

Catherine comes up to the table and runs her fingers up Michelle’s thighs, making her moan. More wetness leaks out of her hole. She hasn’t been fucked all day, and she’s desperate for cock.

Catherine spreads Michelle’s pussy lips open with both hands, exposing her dripping wetness for everyone to see.

Rob’s mind is going over and over the same details, and Eric is getting bored. It’s time for him to take control.

Eric knows he can easily make Rob turn into a robot that does what he wants, but he enjoys seeing Rob squirm so much he lets a part of him stay conscious.

A small sound of protest escapes Rob’s mouth as he lowers his own mouth and presses his own lips onto Michelle’s pussy. She reacts by letting out a loud moan, lifting her hips off the table, pressing her wet pussy against Rob’s mouth.

Watching his sister get pleasured makes Eric’s cock twitch in his pants. With one look at Catherine, he makes his mom come over and drop to her knees. Eagerly, Catherine takes Eric’s cock into her wet, warm mouth.

Eric senses that while most of Rob’s brainpower is focused on the task of using his mouth and tongue on Michelle’s pussy, a small part of his mind is in full-on panic mode.

Reveling in his absolute power over everyone, Eric feels his cock harden under his mom’s enthusiastic tongue.

Once he’s hard enough, Eric makes Rob move out of the way. Then, he positions himself between Michelle’s legs, his cock standing proudly at attention.

He looks at Rob one more time before ramming his cock inside his sister as hard as he can, taking pleasure in his pain and confusion.

Michelle moans as her pussy hugs his shaft. She squirms on the table like a cheap, desperate whore trying to earn a big tip from a customer.

Rob looks horrified, frozen mid-step as he tries to run away but finds himself unable to move.

Eric hammers away inside Michelle with reckless abandon. He uses his powers to amplify every little sensation in her body until she’s moaning so loud that Rob can’t hear his own breathing anymore.

As torturous as the sight may be for Rob, he’s still watching his hot girlfriend get fucked. Eric wonders what to do: just make him keep watching, or let Catherine give him some attention just to fuck with him.

Eric doesn’t like the idea of sharing Catherine, but he decides he’s okay with her touching Rob with her hands.

So as Eric pumps in and out of her sister on the dining table, Catherine approaches Rob and opens his fly while he remains frozen.

Rob’s cock is already hard, and he gasps when Catherine touches him. He may be feeling conflicted, but pre-cum is leaking from the tip of his cock.

Michelle screams in ecstasy as she comes hard on Eric’s dick. Her whole body shakes violently on the dining table, her big breasts bouncing up and down while her fingers grip the table edge so hard they turn white.

The sight pushes Eric over the edge, too—he groans as he unloads thick ropes of cum deep into Michelle’s fertile womb, filling her up until his jizz spills out.

Rob stands there like an idiot watching everything unfold through disbelieving eyes, his cock hard as rock.

As Eric pulls out triumphantly from his sister's well-fucked pussy, Catherine lets go of Rob’s cock, which Eric knows is throbbing painfully right now.

“Next course?” Eric says, making sure Rob hears him.

Rob’s feet bring him to the table and his knees hit the floor before he even knows what’s happening.

Michelle lets out a satisfied moan as Rob’s tongue swipes inside her, scooping up Eric’s cum.

The taboo perversity of the scene makes Eric’s softening cock twitch with excitement as Catherine lowers herself to lick it clean.

Michelle giggles as she pushes Rob’s head deeper between her legs.

“Are you enjoying your dinner?” she asks, her voice dripping with sweet cruelty.

It’s hard to tell whether Rob is more humiliated or turned on.

He’s panting like a dog as he tries to catch the last drops of Eric’s cum from Michelle’s well-used pussy.

Meanwhile, Catherine is on her knees, too, her eyes closed as she tastes the combined juices of his son and daughter with eager hunger.

Michelle screams out another orgasm, loud enough that the neighbors can probably hear. Her voice echoes off the walls while her body trembles under Rob's furious tongue.

As she cums, her juices spill out all over Rob's face in a sticky mess. The humiliation on his face is priceless but not strong enough to make him leave or even pull his pants up.

Satisfied, Eric finally decides it’s time for Rob to leave. But before that, he makes sure Rob knows to leave Michelle’s juices on his face overnight and go to work looking exactly like he does now—like a well-used cuckold.

Aside from that one command, Eric simply erases Rob’s memory of what just happened. Rob will probably show up again looking for Michelle, but that’s fine with Eric. Rob is welcome to come back any time—as a male slave who prepares his girls and keeps them eager for his cock.

~

Hi, Brooke here! Thank you for reading these stories. Did you like them?

There are 15 more stories in this series, and they’re all included in my new taboo erotica mega-bundle that contains 78 red-hot, down-and-dirty stories. It features mind control, incest, harems, hypnosis, rape, blackmail, financial coercion, bimbofication, and grossly unequal power dynamics in a patriarchal free-use universe.

Find the links to my full catalog (and more FREE taboo erotica) on my reddit profile! 😊

Looking for Part 1? Click here.

This story features mind control, harem growing, humiliation, and of course, incest. All characters 18+.

~

“Are you having fun, girls?” Eric has a shit-eating grin on his face when he pans his phone camera across the kitchen, where his mom and sister are preparing dinner for him wearing only aprons.

The women turn their heads to give the camera a big smile, teeth showing and all. From behind, it almost looks like they’re naked, their bare backs and bubble butts fully exposed save for the flimsy apron strings tied around their slim waists.

Eric squats down to take a close-up shot of Catherine from behind—he’s always lusted over his mom’s toned ass, and now he can finally touch it, record it, do anything he wants to it.

Catherine is slicing some carrots. Every time her knife hits a wooden cutting board, her body jerks slightly, making her tits jiggle and her ass sway.

Ending the recording, Eric puts his phone on the floor. His mom’s curves are calling his name, and he can’t help but answer their call.

He smacks his mom’s ass like she was his horny housewife from the fifties, and she giggles—like she was his horny housewife from the fifties.

Eric has found that he can transmit ideas like that into the minds of his mom and sister, giving them a role model to aspire to so they move more independently of his control.

Catherine’s breathing grows heavy as Eric slides a hand under her apron, touching and grabbing her soft, full tits.

He closes the gap between them, pressing his hard-on between his mom’s ass cheek. He rubs himself against her, letting pre-cum leak and drip on her bare skin.

Just as Catherine begins to moan, Eric moves on to his sister. He wants to see what happens if he keeps the girls in a constant state of arousal.

If they get desperate enough to orgasm, would they be better sex slaves for him? Eric thinks it’s worth a try. He’d love to see his mom and sister beg for him to make them come.

He slips in behind his sister, savoring her shudder as he cups her tits with both hands. She almost spills the sauce she’s stirring when he squeezes them hard, and a little splash falls on the counter.

“Careful there,” Eric whispers in her ear, and she lets out a breathy laugh, hips shifting back against him.

Catherine glances over her shoulder, pouting. “I’m starting to get jealous.”

This is only downside of Eric’s new technique. Housewives get jealous. But Eric isn’t going to choose between his mom and his sister. They’re different flavors of sexy—he can’t get enough of his sister’s tits, but his mom’s ass drives him wild.

It takes a little finagling to manage his housewives, but for now this is Eric’s favorite version of his mom and sister. (He likes them as maids, too. Earlier in the day, he experimented with a series of typically sexy roles for them. So far, he’s tried: flight attendants, nurses, teachers, students, and many more that he can’t recall now.)

“Don’t worry,” he says to his mom, tweaking his sister’s nipples through the apron fabric. “There’s enough of me to go around.”

His sister gasps—not from the pinching but because Eric suddenly lets go of her and walks away.

He sits at the kitchen island with his laptop, punching in Catherine’s credit card information on a site that sells sex toys.

The housewives can barely keep their composure, pressing their legs together to put pressure on their needy cunts, moaning softly as they work on preparing dinner.

Eric has a good view from where he’s sitting. He could see his family’s bare backs, asses, and legs. The apron strings tied around their slim waists hide nothing—they only highlight how easy it is to get the girls fully naked.

He watches them work, heated under their thin clothing, wondering how many toys they’ll need.

Vibrators for when he can’t find time to play with them himself? A selection of dildos so they can warm themselves up for him? Some blindfolds and handcuffs in case he temporarily loses control over them?

His mom and sister keep cooking and moaning while he adds item after item to the shopping cart. The total keeps climbing up, but that’s fine. Eric knows Catherine has good credit and high limits.

Then, Eric finds a special section of the website where they sell custom items. Everything from fucking machines to cages are on offer.

Eric glances at his mom and sister, his cock straining against his pants as he imagines them both leashed and collared, being fucked by some big, mechanical-looking chunk of metal.

The sound of Eric clicking eagerly on the expensive items resound across the kitchen, mixing with the needy, tortured moans of his mom and sister.

“Mom,” his sister pants, turning to Catherine with wide eyes. “I really need to come.”

Catherine sets down her knife, chest heaving with anticipation. “Maybe we should take care of each other before we finish dinner,” she suggests breathlessly.

“Not yet,” Eric says firmly, putting on his best patriarch-of-the-house voice. “You’re going to finish preparing dinner first. Then, we’re going to eat as a family. Then, we’re going to spend some quality time together. If you’re good, I may let you come.”

At Eric’s command, Catherine and Michelle let out sexy, little frustrated groans.

The girls start to work a little faster, and soon dinner is served on the table. As aromatic steam rises from the hot dishes, Eric finalizes his purchase—choosing the Premium Super Express Same-Day Shipping option—and closes the laptop with a decisive thud.

At the table, Eric hesitates. His mom and sister need food—he can read their minds and he knows that they’re definitely hungry. But the sight of their bare asses swaying as they go back and forth between the kitchen and the dining table gives him pause.

An idea comes to him.

He had a chance to go through Catherine’s room earlier today, and in a drawer, he found some of her toys—which is actually what inspired him to buy more.

He quickly goes to Catherine’s bedroom and grabs two dildos. Placing them on two of the dining chairs, he pulls the chairs out like a gentleman.

“Ladies, take your seats.”

Catherine and Michelle stare at the dildos. Their eyes are wide, pupils dilated. Their jaws drop open—Eric can almost see them salivating.

One of the dildos has a suction base, so Eric can stick it on the seat. It points at the ceiling obscenely, the purple silicone surface dull under the light.

“Mom, that’s your seat,” Eric says.

Catherine rushes to the chair in desperation. When she lowers her pussy, Eric can see that it’s completely coated in her own juices. As the dildo slides in smoothly, Catherine’s face contorts with pleasure, her brows furrowing as she lets out a loud, slutty moan.

Michelle’s eyes are locked on the other dildo. There’s no suction base on this one. She turns to look at Eric with a questioning gaze.

“You’re going to have to eat with one hand, Michelle.” Eric gestures at Michelle to sit her bare ass on the chair.

She obeys, approaching the chair, sitting down, and taking the dildo in her hand. Eric watches, his cock twitching in his pants, as the dildo disappears into his sister’s wet cunt and she starts to fuck herself with it.

Despite his plan to sit down and quickly eat, Eric finds himself absently rubbing the front of his pants as the sounds of his mom and sister moaning fills the house. Their pussies squelch around the dildos, which are now completely coated in their wetness.

Eric is enjoying the private show. But it’s so good he can’t help but want to share it with the world.

Eric goes to the dining room window and draws the curtains wide open.

Outside, in the houses of their neighbors, the curtains are shut, warm light filtering through the fabric covering their windows. Across the street, in the Williams’ house, Eric can see silhouettes moving.

It wouldn’t be long until nosy Mrs. Williams sees that we’re having a nice family dinner. From that distance, it probably looks like they’re just normal people having a normal dinner. Catherine’s and Michelle’s bare backs are covered by their chairs, while the dildos sit below the table, invisible to outsiders.

Eric has seen Mrs. Williams wield a binocular at her window, though, so maybe the woman will finally see something worth looking at.

Eric’s sexy neighbor is around his mom’s age. But unlike Catherine, who has a job to do, Mrs. Williams is a housewife with grown children. She spends much of her time watching people and spreading gossip.

He sits at the head of the table. It’s clear from where he is that Catherine and Michelle realize they’re being watched by the way they pause, looking at each other with nervous excitement—then Eric—and then to the window again.

“Eat up,” Eric says, a wicked smile on his lips.

They dig in, doing their best to hold back their moans as they rock on the dildos.

Catherine takes many breaks between eating, using both hands to steady herself on the chair as she fucks herself on the dildo, her movements sending ripples of pleasure through her body. Her eyes roll back as she tries to balance eating and pleasuring herself, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

Michelle struggles even more, her pussy so greedy for stimulation that she can barely keep the spoon steady. Half of what she tries to put in her mouth falls back on her plate before it gets there.

“Good thing more toys are arriving soon,” Eric says between bites. “You’ve got zero self-control.”

His mom and sister whimper at his taunt, their frustration mounting with every thrust and bite.

Each time Catherine shifts, the dildo slides deeper inside her, juices running down her thighs and onto the chair. Her cheeks are flushed pink with exertion and embarrassment as she sneaks glances at the window through which voyeuristic neighbors may be watching.

Michelle abandons all pretense of eating properly and shoves food in her mouth with one hand while frantically pumping herself with the other. Her tits bounce wildly, the nipples peeking out over her thin apron each time she leans back in ecstasy.

“Who knew my sister was such a little slut?” Eric teases. “And you’re a slut too, Mom.”

The words make them work even harder for his approval, pushing against their dildos with more desperation. Catherine bites her lip, trying not to cry out too loudly, trying not to come yet as Eric hasn’t allowed it. Michelle is right behind her, panting with need.

Eric finishes his meal first and leans back smugly with satisfaction as he unzips his pants, watching them squirm and suffer under his command.

“It’s time for dessert,” he says.

He stands up from his chair and lets his pants drop to the floor as he steps over to where Catherine is sitting (more like riding the silicone cock) on her chair. He pulls out his own cock and begins stroking it leisurely right in front of her face.

Catherine watches him through heavy-lidded eyes that beg for release. She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something but only manages another breathy moan before Eric thrusts, hard, straight into her mouth.

“Fuck,” Michelle cries out hoarsely from across the table, overwhelmed by what she sees happening between Eric and their mom.

“Don’t worry,” Eric tells Michelle without even turning around. “You’re next.”

Eric pulls himself out of Catherine's mouth, a trail of saliva still connecting them. "Living room," he commands.

Catherine and Michelle scramble to their feet, juices dripping down their thighs as they leave the soaked dildos behind on their chairs. They follow Eric eagerly, anticipation in their eyes.

In the living room, Eric sprawls on the couch, his cock still hard and slick. He grabs the remote and turns on the big-screen TV. Porn blares to life, filling the room with more moans and cries of pleasure.

“Get over here,” Eric says.

Catherine drops to her knees between his legs without hesitation, wrapping her lips around his cock again. Michelle falls beside her, mouth open and tongue lapping at whatever part of him her mom isn’t already worshipping.

Eric lets out a contented groan, watching them through half-closed eyes while shifting his gaze occasionally to the screen where three sisters are tag-teaming a hard cock. He rests a hand on Catherine’s and Michelle’s heads, guiding their movements as they frantically work together to pleasure him.

“You’re both such perfect little sluts for me,” he tells them, his cock twitching and throbbing under their relentless mouths.

He glances at the TV. It feels strange to blast porn in the living room—in a good way. It makes him feel like he can really do whatever he wants, like he’s the fucking king in this house.

But as he watches, a little envy pulls at his chest. “I think having a third girl would be nice. What do you think?”

In response, his mom and sister moan and try even harder to become even more perfect sluts. Michelle takes her brother’s cock all the way into her throat as Catherine shifts downward and licks Eric’s balls and taint.

The doorbell rings suddenly, cutting through the noise like a siren. Catherine and Michelle freeze for a moment before speeding up their pace.

“Keep going,” Eric breathes out with a wicked grin. “I’ll get it later.”

But then it rings again—longer this time, impatient and demanding.

“Fuck,” Eric mutters, pulling away from Catherine’s hot mouth with a frustrated sigh. “I guess I’ll get it now.”

Catherine and Michelle sit back on their heels, looking up at him with disappointment as he stands up from the couch.

Eric doesn’t bother zipping up as he strides toward the door, cock still hard and shining with saliva. The girls follow him like lost puppies—bare-ass naked and desperate for more attention—until they reach the foyer.

When he swings open the door, he’s greeted by a gorgeous delivery girl holding an enormous box.

She has her dark hair in a ponytail and her big tits in an ugly delivery uniform—a blue polo shirt that stretches and strains at the chest where it’s squished against the big cardboard box she’s struggling with.

The girl’s eyes widen at the sight of Catherine and Michelle first—but then travel downward to where Eric’s erection juts out proudly in front of him. She blushes furiously but doesn’t look away.

“Package for...Eric?” she manages to say in a shaky voice.

“That’s me,” he says smugly. “And that package you’re bringing is exactly what we need right now.”

Eric smirks at her reaction. He studies her big chest and her pretty face, then decides the girl’s delivery shift for the night is over.

Thanks to being so diligent about practicing his new powers, Eric now has both his mom and sister basically running on autopilot, clearing some space in his mind for other things—like this delivery girl.

Eric plants the suggestion in the girl’s head before he says, “You want to come inside.”

She startles, then Eric hears her thinking whether it was a question or an order.

“That’s an order,” Eric answers.

This is the first time that Eric’s new powers are interacting with a stranger. It takes a little bit more effort as he tries to wrangle with her mind. It’s so unfamiliar.

The delivery girl shifts nervously, biting her lip as she glances between Eric’s cock and the girls behind him. She hasn’t run away, and she’s looking at the strange family with a mixture of shock and lust. Eric is starting to get nervous, but it looks like the girl just needs a little nudge now.

He steps aside, giving her a clear view of the living room where porn still blasts from the TV.

“Come in,” he says. “We could use all the help we can get.”

She hesitates for only a moment before stepping inside and setting the heavy package on the floor. Catherine and Michelle pounce, tearing it open to reveal a treasure trove of toys—vibrators, dildos, and more—all spilling out like candy.

“What’s your name?” Eric asks her as he closes the door and turns back around, his cock twitching with anticipation.

“Jenny,” she says softly, her gaze locked onto him with a mix of shock and hunger.

“Well, Jenny,” Eric smirks, guiding her into the living room. “Why don’t you see how much you can handle?”

She nods mutely as Catherine hands her one of the new vibrators. Jenny takes it with trembling fingers, gasping as she presses it against her clothed pussy through her tight uniform pants.

Catherine and Michelle grab fresh toys for themselves before dropping to their knees at Eric’s feet.

Jenny sinks down beside them, eyes wide as they resume their worship of his swollen shaft. She watches for a second, mesmerized by the way they take turns sucking and licking every inch of him.

“You too,” Eric encourages with an approving groan. “Show me how bad you want it.”

A shiver runs through Jenny’s body as she joins in eagerly, lips brushing the tip of his cock before sliding down its length. The three girls work together with frantic determination—licking, sucking, moaning—as Eric revels in their attention.

His hands tangle in Jenny’s dark hair while Catherine and Michelle lap at his balls and the base of his shaft. Her muffled cries vibrate around him as she grinds desperately against the buzzing toy between her legs.

Eric basks in their submission until he can’t take any more. He pulls away from them suddenly, leaving all three panting and wide-eyed.

“Mom’s bedroom,” he commands.

They scramble to obey, driven by lust and need. Eric follows at a leisurely pace, watching their asses sway as they disappear into Catherine’s room, which has the biggest bed in the house.

When he arrives, they are already spread out on the bed with their toys—Catherine on her back with legs open wide, Michelle writhing beside her, Jenny stripping hurriedly out of her uniform until she’s bare-ass naked too.

Eric climbs onto the bed and positions himself over Catherine first. He plunges inside his mom’s dripping cunt without warning, making her scream in shameless pleasure. Michelle watches his mom and brother with envious eyes, matching the rhythm of them fucking as she plunges a dildo into her own throbbing pussy.

Under Eric’s command, Jenny straddles Catherine’s face. His cock twitches as his mom licks frantically at Jenny’s folds, her whole mature body rocking with every thrust into her wet, eager pussy.

The delivery girl is panting and moaning now, her body shuddering with pleasure, her big tits jiggling right in front of Eric.

With his cock still pumping in and out of his mom’s pussy, Eric grabs Jenny by her big tits and uses them like handles, pulling her toward him. He takes his mouth and she surrenders into the kiss, whimpering when he pinches her nipples.

Michelle watches hungrily until she can’t stand it anymore. She crawls behind her brother and presses her body against his back, squishing her perky tits. She rubs herself against him awkwardly, desperately, her wet pussy dripping onto his thigh.

“Me next,” she begs breathlessly. “Please...”

Eric obliges. Taking his cock out of his mom’s cunt, he turns and shoves his sister down on the mattress. He plunges his cock into Michelle’s open, eager mouth, letting her taste their mom’s juices. Meanwhile, Catherine and Jenny are on top of each other, licking and slurping each other’s pussies, moaning so loudly the neighbors can probably hear them.

Eric pulls out of Michelle’s warm mouth and moves between her legs, which she’s spread wide open for him. In one quick move, Eric plunges deep inside her wet pussy, filling the air with squelching, slapping noises.

Michelle wraps her limbs around her brother’s body, hands clutching at his back as her pussy contracts around his cock.

Eric can feel his sister’s orgasm building, so as difficult as it is, he pulls out, deliberately depriving Michelle of the orgasm she so desperately needs.

Eric pushes Catherine’s mouth off Jenny’s cunt—it’s now wet and slippery, ready for his cock. Focused on pleasuring Catherine with her tongue, Jenny doesn’t even seem to realize Eric has turned his attention to her until his cock presses against her entrance and slides in.

Jenny attempts a gasp, but Catherine presses her needy cunt down on the delivery girl’s mouth, making her struggle, her voice a small, muffled noise.

The sight turns Eric on beyond belief. With disappointment, he realizes his phone is on the kitchen floor and he can’t record this incredibly sexy scene for future use.

Then, in his peripheral vision, he catches sight of Jenny’s uniform crumpled on the ground. There’s a hard, rectangular object stuck in the pocket of her pants. Eric quickly jumps down to the floor to grab it before getting back inside Jenny’s pussy.

There’s a password on it, but Jenny easily gives it up. The phone screen shows a screensaver of Jenny smiling with another gorgeous girl that looks familiar.

Turning on the camera, Eric props it up against the table lamp on his mom’s nightstand, making sure it captures the sexy scene unfolding on the bed. Then, he pounds into the delivery girl with relentless intensity while his mom rides her face.

Eric pulls his mom into a kiss—she’s never looked as sexy as she does now. His plans to keep the girls turned on without release fall away as Catherine places a steadying hand on him and comes, hard. She shakes and shudders, her hips moving back and forth, faster and harder, over the delivery girl’s face.

As Eric leans forward to play with his mom’s tits, he feels Michelle shift behind him. Her hands grab the back of his thighs as she plants her face between Eric’s ass cheeks, plunging her tongue deep inside him.

Sensations explode all over Eric’s body. He can feel his cum boiling in his balls.

He looks longingly at his mom’s pussy—he wants to come inside her really bad. The thought of transforming her perfect body with his seed is quickly becoming an obsession.

But Eric is too far gone. The delivery girl’s pussy walls are contracting around his cock in stronger and stronger waves. His sister’s tongue is exploring the deepest, nastiest parts of him. His mom is lost in lust, moaning as she rubs her cunt up and down a random girl’s face.

With a grunt, Eric unleashes, picking up his pace, fucking Jenny harder and harder until, finally, his body tenses.

Behind him, his sister continues to rim his asshole, sending secondary shockwaves of pleasure through his body as his cum shoots straight into Jenny’s womb.

Before Eric even has a chance to pull his cock out, his mom and sister gather around where he’s joined with the delivery girl, mouths open, breaths heavy as they wait eagerly.

As soon as Eric slides his cock out of Jenny’s pussy, his mom and sister get to work on both of them, licking and swallowing as much cum as they can get.

Eric shudders as his mom and sister take turns on his sensitive cock. He watches as they scoop globs of thick, white cum out of Jenny’s pussy and move them from one mouth to another. Then, he makes them lie down on the bed and push the cum in their mouths into each other’s cunt.

This may not be the most effective way to get his mom and sister pregnant, but it’s something. Besides, it’s fun to watch and there’s more cum where it came from.

Before Jenny leaves, Eric makes her send the video to his phone. Then, he trims the recording on her phone, leaving only a three-second clip showing Jenny on her back, a hard cock in her cunt and a wet pussy on her face.

Eric grins as he hands the phone back, wondering how she’s going to react when she finds the strange footage on her phone.

Having some kind of proof that all the hot sex really happened makes Eric feel better about not knowing whether his powers will still be here tomorrow.

The box Jenny delivered still sits by the front door, half-opened. Although Catherine and Michelle have already taken out some of the small items—dildos, vibrators, blindfolds—two big, black, heavy items sit at the bottom of the box, looking dark and threatening.

These strange, new contraptions will help Eric keep his mom and sister calm through the night as he sleeps. Tomorrow, he’ll see what the situation is like with his powers and decide what to do next.

~

Hi, Brooke here. Thank you for reading this story!

If you want more mind control incest erotica NOW, all my stories are available on Smashwords, and all 20 books in this series are included in my new anniversary taboo erotica mega-bundle, which is the best-value way to get my mind control / dubcon / noncon stories.

Find more stories and the link to my full taboo erotica catalog on my reddit profile!

To celebrate my one year anniversary as a taboo erotica author, I’m sharing the first five books in my Mind Controlling My Mom and Sister series over the next couple of weeks. Follow my reddit profile and never miss an update ;)

When Eric wakes up with strange, new powers, he doesn't waste any time. He makes his mom take off her sexy yoga clothes and drop to her knees.

Later, as Eric fucks his mom against the window for everyone to see, his sister shows up. Shocked and disgusted, she wants her brother to STOP.

But something tells Eric he may just be able to change his sister's mind…

All characters 18+. This story features mind control, incest, threesome, exhibitionism, and breeding kink.

~

Eric sits bolt upright in bed, staring at his hands like he’s just seeing them for the first time. All of a sudden, he slaps himself, saying, “Only one way to find out.”

He closes his eyes, his brows furrowing as he concentrates, his hands balling into fists.

“Mom, come here,” he says, his voice uncertain.

Barely one minute later, the door opens.

Catherine, a fit, attractive woman in her forties, steps into her son’s room. She’s dressed in her usual morning outfit, a tank top and yoga pants.

Every morning, Catherine tortures her son as he heads out the door to work, doing her downward dogs on her yoga mat in the living room.

Today, Eric doesn’t get to just stare and fantasize about what his mom looks like underneath her yoga attire. If what he saw in his dream is true—and so far it seems to be—he’d be able to do whatever he wants with his mom.

Eric swallows.

Catherine is staring at the black-out curtains that still cover the windows in Eric’s room. This is a familiar sight to Eric: his mom getting ready to yank the curtains open to wake him up.

Despite Catherine’s blank stare, this scene seems too normal for him to fully believe he’s actually controlling his mom with his mind, just like the old man in his dream said he could.

Eric takes a closer look—his mom’s gaze is vacant, like she’s daydreaming, like she’s not really there. She hasn’t even moved since she entered the room. She stands by the open doorway like a statue.

“Do the chicken dance,” Eric says in a small, barely audible voice.

Eric watches, his jaw slack, as his mom raises her arms in the air and starts to do as he commanded, the sunlight from the window in the kitchen highlighting her silhouette as she contorts her body into funny shapes.

“Take off your clothes.” Eric speaks quickly, as if he’s afraid he might change his mind if he thinks about it too much.

At her son’s command, Catherine pulls her tank top off, then her yoga pants, revealing sexy, matching bra and panties in black lace.

“Stop. What’s with the matching underwear? Who have you been showing off your body to?” Eric asks, his tone a little heated.

“Nobody,” his mom answers in a dry monotone as she straightens her spine, letting Eric take in the view of her mature body.

Interesting, Eric thinks. His eyes roam over his mom’s round tits, cradled in her lacy bra, and the outline of her pussy that he can almost make out through the sheer material. So not only can I make her do whatever I want; I can also make her tell me her secrets.

For a moment, he fantasizes about using his mom’s secrets to blackmail her, but what’s the point in doing that if he can just make her do anything he wants?

Pushing his blanket to the side, Eric reveals a raging hard-on in his boxers.

“Come here,” he says nervously, still slightly worried the magic might stop working suddenly. As Catherine gets closer to his bed, he pats on the space between his legs.

Her son’s single bed creaks as Catherine climbs in.

“Take off your bra.” Eric yanks his own boxers down and pulls his cock out, then leans back to watch his mom’s tits jiggle as she reaches back to unfasten the clasp of her bra.

He starts to stroke himself.

“Put my dick between your tits,” he says.

Without a word, Catherine leans down, her long, brown hair caressing her son’s thighs, making him shudder even before she touches his cock. Then, with the tits that she breastfed him with, she squeezes her son’s engorged cock.

Even though she’s not fully conscious, the heat and the throbbing of her son’s cock against her skin seem to turn her on. She’s biting down on her lower lip, and her breathing feels heavier on Eric’s belly as she slides up and down to stroke her son’s cock.

“Put it in your mouth,” Eric says, the words tumbling out quickly as he reaches forward to grab and squeeze his mom’s tits.

Catherine obeys, leaning further back to take her son’s cock into her mouth. She licks the bead of pre-cum at the tip of his cock, then follows the trail down his shaft before she takes his length halfway into her mouth.

She moans, audibly excited, the vibrations making Eric tighten his grip on her tits.

As his mom wraps an experienced hand around the base of his cock, Eric wonders if this is what she used to do for his dad before he abandoned them.

Did she suck his cock just like this when he was conceived? Did she like it? It definitely seems like she’s enjoying giving her son a blowjob now.

“How long has it been since you sucked a cock?” Eric asks.

Catherine says something, but her voice is muffled by her son’s cock in her mouth.

“Never mind.” Eric reaches forward and puts his hands behind his mom’s head. He removes her fingers from his dick, then he pushes himself deeper into her throat.

Catherine coughs from the invasion, but it only makes her throat quiver in a delicious way around Eric’s cock.

Eric pulls his mom’s head down slowly, impaling her on his hard cock. Whenever she gags, he pulls back a little before pushing deeper again.

Thick saliva coats Eric’s cock and drips down Catherine’s chin, darkening the bedsheets.

When the tip of Eric’s cock slides past the back of his mom’s throat, the tight fit almost makes him come on the spot.

But Eric isn’t going to come before he tries out a few other things he’s only ever seen online so far.

He gets up from his bed, pulling his mom down to a kneeling position on the floor.

In his twenty-four years of existence, Eric has never felt as powerful as he does now, standing tall in front of his mom while she kneels in front of him, her mouth attached to his cock.

He begins slowly, pumping himself in and out of his mom’s mouth while his hand on the back of her head keeps her in position. The warmth and wetness in his mom’s mouth is like nothing he has experienced.

It feels so heavenly in his mom’s mouth that Eric can’t help but fuck her throat faster and harder, his hands gripping her scalp as he thrusts into her throat, his balls slapping wetly against her chin.

Eric has only been with two girls, and neither one of them liked giving blowjobs, so he never even brought up throat-fucking with them. He’s only seen it in porn. Now that he’s experiencing it in real life, it feels even better than he imagined.

Catherine’s gagging doesn’t even bother Eric anymore. It excites him.

His mom looks like a porn star with her face covered in thick, bubbly saliva and her mouth stuffed with cock. He wishes everyone can see what she looks like now, what a slut he has turned her into.

With that thought, Eric pulls his cock out of his mom’s mouth. His hand still tangled in her hair, he walks toward the window and yanks the curtains wide open, letting sunlight pour into his ground-floor bedroom.

The window looks out onto the front yard, so anyone who walks past can see them.

The neighbors’ yards are empty now, but Eric knows that Mrs. Williams across the street likes to watch her neighbors and spill their secrets to her friends. Eric casts a glance at the clock and notes that it’s almost time for Mr. Yap from next door to mow the lawn.

Eric pulls his mom’s body up and presses her bare tits against the window glass. He pulls her panties down and, to his surprise, sees a string of wetness form between her pussy and the crotch of her panties.

Excited, he touches her cunt. Immediately, his fingers are coated with her juices. When Eric inserts two fingers inside Catherine’s pussy, she arches her back and pushes back, swallowing her son’s fingers into her cunt.

“How long has it been since the last time a man touched your pussy?” Eric’s voice comes out hoarse. His gaze remains on his mom’s ass, which is sliding up and down his slick fingers.

“Six years,” Catherine whispers between moans.

Eric feels himself harden. He can’t hold it back anymore. He thinks about how tight his mom’s pussy must be after such a long dry spell, and he’s determined to be the first one to claim her pussy again.

He pulls his fingers out of his mom’s pussy, letting her juices drip down to the carpet.

Catherine lets out a frustrated groan. Her pussy feels empty, all of a sudden. She was really enjoying the finger-fucking.

Luckily for her, Eric was just as horny. In one, smooth motion, he slides his cock into her mature pussy.

Catherine’s juices cover her son’s cock as she moans like a common whore, not even caring that the blinds in the Williams’ house have just been opened and at least one person is standing at their window.

Catherine is a sensible woman who, although she keeps herself fit with yoga and running, doesn’t put much effort into looking good for men.

Ever since Eric’s dad left, she has focused on working and taking care of her family. And now, even though her son and daughter are all grown up, it doesn’t look like she’s interested in having a man in her life.

The thought of her prim-and-proper mom, contrasted with the sight of her now, fucked against a window like a cheap whore for everyone to see, is almost too much for Eric. He grips his mom’s hips and impales her on his cock, over and over again.

If Mrs. Williams wants to look, she can look. She can even take pictures and send it to the neighborhood chat group. Eric doesn’t give a fuck. He can fix any problem with the power of his mind.

Eric hears the hum of a car engine before it comes into view—it’s enough to make him start fucking his mom even harder.

He thinks about someone driving past and seeing them, his mom naked and moaning in pleasure while being fucked from behind by someone in the shadows.

As if trying to impress the car driver, Eric presses a finger over his mom’s clit, which makes her start to shake and shudder against her son’s body.

Catherine’s face and her nipples are pressed flat against the glass, condensation forming where her mouth is when she starts to moan with abandon. At this volume, Eric is sure that not only is Mrs. Williams watching, but whoever is driving that car down their quiet street will turn to look.

“That’s great, Mom. Keep coming on my cock. Let’s give them a show to remember, huh?”

When the car rolls into view, Eric’s heart misses a beat. He pauses for a split second, but his mom’s pussy is clenching around his cock and it feels too fucking good for him to stop.

Inside the car, through the windshield, Eric can make out the silhouette of his sister, Michelle. As the car gets closer, he sees her face—eyes wide, jaws slack, face contorted in shock.

At twenty-two, Michelle has found a serious boyfriend and she has recently moved out of the family home, so Eric didn’t expect to see her today.

Even though Eric let panic grip him for a moment, he reminds himself that he can control minds now.

He hasn’t tried his newfound powers on two minds at once, but the sooner he starts, the sooner he can master it.

Michelle’s eyes are transfixed on her mom for what feels like forever, but soon she shifts her gaze and finds Eric.

The mixture of emotions in Michelle’s eyes—shock, disgust, disbelief—exhilarates Eric. He wanted someone to see them fucking, but he didn’t expect that person to:

1. be his sister and,
2. make eye contact with him.

In one beautiful moment, all of Eric’s most forbidden fantasies come to life, with his cock buried balls deep in his mom’s pussy and his eyes staring straight into his sister’s eyes.

Eric rams harder and faster into his mom’s pussy, his grunts harmonizing with her moans as their movements become more frantic. Sweaty bodies slam against each other, over and over again, not caring if what they’re doing is wrong.

Face frozen with disbelief, Michelle turns the car engine off and exits the car in a hurry, her gaze stuck on her mom and brother, whose bodies are locked in a forbidden embrace. She dashes across the grass until she’s just outside Eric’s bedroom window, staring at her own family like she’s never seen them before.

Tentatively, Eric sends out some feelers from his brain to Michelle’s. He doesn’t know if this will work, but he has to try.

He almost shouts with joy when he senses the shape of his sister’s thoughts. They’re just shadows now, but he can read his sister’s strongest thoughts.

What the fuck? Is that really Mom? And Eric? What the fuck are they… Are they being made to do this? But they look like… Are they… Are they enjoying this?

Eric was already on the edge of coming before. His sister’s audible thoughts add fire to the flame. Hearing those thoughts while locking eyes with his sister makes him lose all control.

Eric slams a hand on the window, startling his sister, making her take a step back as an explosive orgasm rushes through his body. He shoots ropes of cum into his mom’s pussy, filling her womb with seed.

Michelle has both her palms on the window now, banging on the glass while shouting in a voice that grows more desperate by the second. If the neighbors weren’t looking before, they sure are right now.

Eric doesn’t even hear it, though. He’s too busy thinking about how he has just blasted his cum into the womb that formed him, through the pussy that birthed him.

His mind begins to wander. What if his mom is ovulating, and his sperm manages to reach an egg, and his mom becomes pregnant with his offspring?

The idea lingers in his mind, caressing the darkest crevices of his hidden thoughts.

Wouldn’t it be great, he thinks, if mom gets pregnant?

Fantasies spring to life as he looks at his mom. Catherine is still naked and standing bolt upright at the window, displaying her naked body to the whole neighborhood, her hair a tangled mess and her face smeared with sex juices.

Anyone can tell that’s a woman who has just been fucked well.

But if she gets pregnant? Then she’d walk around with that same message twenty-four/seven.

A loud slam jolts Eric awake from his dark thoughts.

Michelle has just got in through the front door. Her footsteps stomp across the living room, the kitchen, and suddenly she’s at the door.

She stands there, staring at her mom and her brother, who are still connected at their privates.

“What—“ she stops, overcome with shock. Her gaze, which initially landed on where her mom and brother are joined, shifts away to the dark stain on the bed and the clothes strewn across Eric’s bedroom.

She takes a shaky breath and swallows. Another breath.

Eric watches as his cock softens and slips out of his mom’s pussy.

He has already made contact with Michelle’s thoughts, and he’s growing confident that he can control his sister’s mind, too. He just wants to see her mind breaking in real time before he does anything.

Looking determined after her little breathing exercise, Michelle darts across the room and pulls all the curtains closed.

In the dark bedroom that smells freshly of sex, Michelle finally manages to say, “What the fuck is happening?”

She’s putting on a brave face, but with his new powers, Eric can feel how confused Michelle is.

He can also sense that she’s a little turned on, even though there’s a barrier that prevents her from admitting it to herself.

She tries to not look, but she can’t stop her eyes from focusing on her family’s naked bodies. As her gaze lands on Eric’s flaccid cock, he uses his powers on her and is surprised to learn that she was turned on. It also seems like she had a crush on him at some point.

The new knowledge courses from his brain, through his veins, and straight to his dick.

My little sister is looking good today, he thinks.

Michelle has been working at an ice cream stand at the beach all summer while her college classes are on break. It’s a warm day and Michelle is dressed for it. Her short shorts barely cover her ass, and her bikini top shows off her perky tits.

Eric and Michelle haven’t been hanging out much since she started college a couple of years ago. Eric has been busy with work, too.

This is the perfect time for the three of us to spend some quality time together, he thinks, smiling to himself.

Carefully, without losing his hold on his mom’s mind, Eric reaches out to remove the barrier in his sister’s mind. It’s the only thing that’s stopping her from admitting that she’s attracted to him and wants him to do to her what he’s obviously done to their mom.

“Let’s go clean up, girls.” Eric is so confident in his powers now that he starts walking out the door without looking back. He can hear his mom and sister trailing behind him in the hallway.

While he waits for them in the bathroom, he thinks about all the things he’s seen in porn and has always wanted to try. By the time the girls arrive, he’s all smiles.

“Take off your clothes, Michelle.” Turning to his mom, who is already naked, he says, “Get in the shower, Mom. Clean yourself up.”

Without a word, Catherine shuffles into the shower and turns the tap on. Eric follows.

Standing behind her, he gives her tits another squeeze as he rubs his cock on her toned ass.

Having seen it in various alluring yoga positions every morning, Eric has always wanted to touch this ass. And now he can do just that whenever he wants.

He turns to Michelle, his sister who is now standing naked by the sink. Her tits sit a little higher on her chest compared to her mom’s, but her ass isn’t as toned.

When Eric gets both his mom and his sister in the shower with him, he notices how similar they look, with their wet, brown hair and vacant, green eyes.

Eric’s cock grows hard as he puts one hand on his mom’s tits, and another on his sister’s. He grabs and squeezes to his satisfaction as hot water washes over all three of them.

Despite the water pouring down her body, Michelle’s pussy feels slick. Eric easily slides two fingers inside his sister’s cunt, making her gasp and widen her eyes.

“Tell me about this crush you had on me,” Eric commands.

Gently, he pushes his mom down to kneel on the shower floor. He inserts his cock into his mom’s mouth, which is starting to feel familiar to him—like home.

“I had a massive crush on you when you came home after you finished college,” Michelle says between heavy breaths.

With his fingers still inside his sister’s pussy, Eric makes lazy circles over her clitoris. He says, “You hugged me a little longer than usual that day. I thought you were just happy about the birthday present I got you.”

Eric had missed Michelle’s eighteenth birthday because he was going to college in a different state. So when he got a chance to come home, he bought his sister a necklace as a belated birthday present, and an apology.

“You looked so mature,” Michelle says.

“Tell me how much you want to fuck me,” Eric says, sliding his cock in and out of his mom’s mouth.

“So much.” Michelle shudders, her pussy tightening around her brother’s fingers.

Although Eric can make his family do things and answer his questions, it doesn’t seem like they’re going to start telling him long-winded stories. But that’s not what he wants now anyway, not when his cock is buried in his mom’s mouth and his sister is coating his fingers with her wetness.

He turns Michelle around so she’s facing the tiled wall, then he pulls his cock out of his mom’s mouth and slides it into his sister’s pussy, fucking her in the same shower they used to fight over just a few years ago.

He positions his mom so that she’s underneath him, licking his balls and the base of his shaft as he slides out of his sister’s pussy. The sensations are like nothing he’s experienced before—his mom’s soft tongue and his sister’s tight cunt at the same time, with hot water from the shower caressing his cock in between.

Eric has already come once. Otherwise, he would’ve shot his load as soon as his mom’s tongue touches his balls. She’s sucking them one by one now, running her tongue all over them in her mouth.

Realizing that he hasn’t sampled his sister’s mouth, Eric pulls out of her and makes her kneel in front of him.

“Suck my cock.”

Michelle licks the tip of her brother’s dick, then slides down his shaft to take in the whole length of him.

“Fuck,” Eric curses as his sister’s throat gives his cock a hug tighter than any hug she’s ever given. “You’re so good at this, little sister.”

Eric considers fucking his sister’s pussy again so he can impregnate her, too, but her throat feels too good. He has never felt two mouths down there before, and he may be addicted already.

Like a crazed junkie who has forgotten everything but his drugs, Eric greedily takes everything he can out of this moment.

He puts one hand on his mom’s head and another on his sister’s, then he slides himself forward and backward, fucking his sister’s throat while rubbing his balls all over his mom’s face.

Imitating another thing he has only seen in porn, Eric places one hand over his sister’s throat. He’s soon overcome by the extra tightness around his cock, and the fact that he can feel his cock bulging his sister’s neck.

Overwhelmed by all the delicious sensations, Eric picks up his pace, feeling cum boiling in his balls. He tightens his grip on his mom and sister’s hair, pulling it so hard it probably hurts.

When he comes, his hands grab onto the backs of the girls’ heads, keeping them in place as hot cum shoots out of his hard cock and straight into his sister’s throat.

Eric’s knees feel weak, and he leans against the wet, tiled wall as his mom and sister lick him clean.

Later, as the three of them finish their shower together, Eric smiles, thinking about how early in the day it is, and how much time he still has to do whatever he wants with his mom and his sister.

~

Hi, Brooke here. Thank you for reading this story 😊

If you want more mind control incest erotica NOW, all my stories are available on Smashwords. Find the link to my full catalog, as well as more FREE taboo erotica, on my reddit profile.

All characters 18+. MC is in his 20s, and his mom is in her 40s. More age-related details in Chapter 1.

Haven’t read Chapter 1? Find the link in the comments!

+++

After looking all over the cruise ship, I finally saw Mom. She was perched on the railing, a drink in hand, dressed in one of her thin sundresses that allowed sun rays to penetrate and display her alluring silhouette.

“It’s time for dinner,” I said.

With my heart pounding, I reached for Mom’s dainty hand and she allowed it, not gripping back but not letting go either as we walked hand in hand along the deck in silence.

“Nice evening for a romantic walk by the sea.” The waitress at the front of the restaurant greeted us with a big smile.

“Yes,” I said, awkwardly returning her smile.

As she showed us our table, I noticed Mom looking at me with a strange look on her face, and I just squeezed her hand.

Candlelight flickered on our table as we took our seats across from each other. The sea sprawled beyond the windows, turning dark and mysterious, whispering secrets only it could keep.

“Is this a special occasion? An anniversary, maybe?” A waiter asked as he brought us the drinks menu.

This was one of the specialty restaurants on the ship, which meant that only a handful of tables were taken. It was a fair assumption that a couple who chose to dine here were celebrating something.

I told the waiter that it was a special occasion without giving him any specifics and ordered a bottle of champagne. Catching Mom’s questioning gaze, I gave her a smile.

The waiter saw the looks that we were giving each other and before he left to get our order, he said, “Aww… You two look so good together.”

In the quiet restaurant, it took no time at all for the waiter to come back, uncork our champagne, and pour it into our glasses.

“To us,” I said to Mom, raising my glass.

She hesitated before clinking hers against mine, eyes searching my face for something unspoken as we sipped our drinks.

We were silent as the first courses arrived, our thoughts louder than any words we might have dared share. Her foot brushed mine under the table—not accidentally—and she didn’t pull it back.

Each moment stretched between us like taut silk as we ate slowly enough to make it last, neither of us eager to break whatever spell had taken hold.

“Everyone thinks we’re together,” she said finally, glancing around at the envious looks cast our way.

I leaned back in my chair and smiled at her discomfort—or was it something else?

“Does it bother you?” I asked.

A shadow of a smile played on her lips before she looked down into her lap where her napkin lay crumpled.

“Not really,” she admitted.

Something shifted then—an understanding without need for words; an agreement signed by silence.

She looked up again, meeting my gaze with newfound boldness that sent heat rushing through me like wildfire. Maybe it was the maritime air or being around strangers—whatever it was felt dangerously right.

We left long after dessert plates were cleared away; more staff nodded approvingly as we passed them by still holding hands—but now I felt hers grip back warmly around mine.

On the deck again with stars watching from above, she leaned into me while we strolled along polished rails slick with the night’s condensation.

A deliberate touch here, a breath soft against my neck there—and suddenly everything seemed possible out here where nobody knew us except ourselves.

Back in our cabin, amidst tangled sheets perfumed faintly by salt spray, we tore into each other’s clothes, yanking them off and tossing them to the floor.

"Wait. We need to talk. Should we really be doing this?" Mom weakly protested as she lay naked under me, her words coming out with the gasps that punctuated her labored breaths.

"Tell me why we shouldn't, and I'll consider it,” I whispered into her ear as I kissed her neck and played with her tits.

“We just… Maybe… Shouldn’t…” Her voice was thin, unconvincing. She trembled under my touch, gasping softly.

“Why not? We’re just two consenting adults, doing what many consenting adults do together.” I lowered my mouth over her sensitive nipple, licking it softly with my tongue.

“I don’t…” The rest of Mom’s sentence fell away as she let out a familiar moan that made my cock ache with yearning.

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is tell me. What we’re doing is only wrong if you don’t consent to this—” I bit her nipple and held it between my teeth “—or this—” I pressed the hardened nub nestled in her folds “—or this.”

Mom said nothing, her teeth biting down on her lower lip, as I pressed two fingers at her opening and pushed deep into her pussy. She moaned as I touched, and I grabbed, and I groped her body like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Mom was wet, her pussy soaked in her own juices as she writhed on the tangled sheets, moaning just for me.

I took my fingers out of her pussy and got on top of her, aligning the tip of my cock with her slick opening. “Tell me if you don’t want this.”

"Please,” she muttered as she lifted her hips up off the bed, pressing herself against me. “Please, please please…”

“Fuck, Mom,” I groaned.

With that eloquent expression of desire, I slid in smoothly into Mom’s pussy, burying myself balls deep inside her.

Her breath caught, and her protests dissolved into moans as I pulled her roughly against me.

We had sex that was slow and gentle at first, then wild and urgent as the small room filled with nothing but our ragged breaths and the sounds of us fucking on the bed, on the floor, in every corner that left no space unclaimed.

I pulled Mom’s hair, and I pinched her nipples until they hurt, savoring the way her eyes rolled back with pleasure, the way she arched for more.

She loved it hard and desperate as much as she loved it tender.

She came like a tidal wave, like she was drowning, like we both were drowning together, before finally collapsing against my chest.

We lay tangled in damp sheets, our skin slick with sweat and satisfaction. Out here where nobody knew us, we were free to be whatever we wanted to be. Just two consenting adults.

When our breathing finally slowed, when we could hear the gentle patter of footsteps in the hallway and the creak of the ship’s mighty bones, I kissed her shoulder and held her close.

I held her until the silence settled around us like a warm cocoon, then took her hand. Time passed in the cabin, but it hardly mattered anymore.

“I guess you won’t be needing your alone time in the bathroom tonight,” Mom said, giggling.

“You knew?”

“I’m not so old I’ve lost my hearing, you know.”

I laughed. Another secret was now out in the open, and somehow it was okay. Somehow, the evolution of our relationship felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I might have started out as Mom’s eavesdropping son. But somehow, I’d become more than that now. And Mom was not just my mom anymore—she was also my lover.

But there was one secret that lingered, one secret that I was afraid to touch.

The next day, the ship docked on a small Spanish island.

The sun baked the sand as we walked from the pier, crossed a narrow street lined with sleepy shops and restaurants, and made our way toward a secluded stretch of beach.

Waves whispered secrets to the shore as we laid our towel out and lay down side by side.

Mom wore a see-through dress over her bikini today, her mature curves clearly visible to anyone who looked closely.

Her bikini left little to the imagination, but I didn’t mind if others watched. Let them see. Out here where nobody knew us, it didn’t matter.

Still, I kept one possessive hand on Mom the entire time—an arm over her shoulders, a hand resting against the exposed skin of her tight belly.

They could look all they wanted. Nobody else was allowed to touch her but me.

If I were being honest, the text I saw on Mom’s phone still bothered me. She hadn’t mentioned anything about it, and our new dynamics were still so unfamiliar that I couldn’t tell if she was acting normal.

Some of the ship’s crew and passengers wandered to the same beach, staking their own claims on territory further down the shoreline.

They nodded and waved at us as they passed. A few even said hello, looking straight at us with envy in their eyes.

"We should be careful," Mom said softly, though she didn’t pull away when I squeezed her shoulder.

"Careful is overrated," I said, feeling bold under the Spanish sun.

Her smile was sultry beneath her sunglasses.

Everyone thought they knew who we were—a couple in love, far from home. They didn’t know any better, and we could be who we really wanted to be.

Mom turned onto her side to face me, propping herself up on one elbow. Her bare leg brushed against mine, sending electricity through my body.

"This doesn’t feel like real life," she murmured, tracing a finger along my chest. A shiver ran through me despite the heat.

"Maybe this is what real life should be like," I replied, watching how the sunlight played across her skin, making it glow golden.

She laughed then—a soft sound that left my head spinning. "You’re impossible."

"And you love that about me," I said as I pulled her closer until we were pressed together on the soft towel.

Her lips against mine answered more than words could say. It gave me the courage to finally ask her about the text from her ex-boyfriend.

I didn’t want her to think I was snooping, so I made it clear that I’d accidentally seen it. My heart pounded as I spoke the question out loud, “Do you want to get back together with him?”

Mom shook her head with reassuring confidence.

“I don’t know what lies in my future, but I know I’m not going back to the past,” she said, effortlessly moving a big weight off my shoulders with a single sentence.

Hours went by unnoticed while we let ourselves get lost in each other among strangers who would never understand how right it felt to be here with nothing between us but salt air and sunlit promises.

I snuggled close to Mom and pressed my hard-on against her ass. She shifted back against me, and I nuzzled into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin mixed with salt and sunscreen.

"We can live like this forever," I whispered as I kissed the delicate spot just below her ear. "We can go somewhere people don't know us."

Mom let out a soft, shuddering sigh that escaped like a moan, heavy with desire. Her body melted against mine.

"Yes," she breathed, arching into my touch as I slipped a hand beneath the fabric of her dress and under the thin string of her bikini bottom. "Yes."

That single word was enough to drive me wild with wanting. It was also enough to set something new in motion inside me—a purpose that burned brighter than anything else I'd ever felt before: to make it so we could live like this forever, to move somewhere nobody knew us, to love my mom the way she’d always deserved, out in the open.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting everything in warm amber hues as we gathered our things and made our way back toward the pier. The ship loomed large against the darkening sky, a temporary sanctuary but no longer enough.

In the days that followed, I thought of little else.

We stopped at new ports—Lisbon and Bordeaux—and explored hidden streets where old buildings leaned in to share their secrets.

In every port, new winds flirted with Mom’s golden tresses as waves continued to lap greedily at the shores.

Each night in our cabin, I held Mom tighter, fucked her longer, devoured every inch of her body as if to imprint myself on her soul.

She no longer held herself back with the sexy, little noises she made. Her shameless cries rang through thin walls like music from another world—the real world we were meant to inhabit once everything else fell away.

Our trip finally ended where it began at home, but nothing was quite the same. Not when we'd tasted freedom so complete.

The city felt small and stifling now, a place for other people who couldn't dream bigger than rules allowed.

Mom seemed nervous at first, unsure if I'd follow through or if it was all vacation fantasy dissolving under reality's weight.

But I was relentless as I searched for something more permanent than escape—a house on the coast of Maine with miles of empty beach; a penthouse in some foreign city where nobody would care or notice; a remote village halfway around the world with no one but us two consenting adults and endless time.

She said yes again when I showed them to her one by one, each possibility more enticing than the last.

I didn’t know where life would take us from here. But meanwhile, as we waited, I spent a lot of time fucking Mom in her bedroom.

I could wait. I could be patient. As long as I held on to the knowledge that I’d never have to just listen from the other side ever again.

+++

Hi, Brooke here! Thank you for reading this story. Check out my reddit profile for more taboo erotica! ;)

Looking for Chapter 1? Click here!

+++

After looking all over the cruise ship, I finally saw Mom. She was perched on the railing, a drink in hand, dressed in one of her thin sundresses that allowed sun rays to penetrate and display her alluring silhouette.

“It’s time for dinner,” I said.

With my heart pounding, I reached for Mom’s dainty hand and she allowed it, not gripping back but not letting go either as we walked hand in hand along the deck in silence.

“Nice evening for a romantic walk by the sea.” The waitress at the front of the restaurant greeted us with a big smile.

“Yes,” I said, awkwardly returning her smile.

As she showed us our table, I noticed Mom looking at me with a strange look on her face, and I just squeezed her hand.

Candlelight flickered on our table as we took our seats across from each other. The sea sprawled beyond the windows, turning dark and mysterious, whispering secrets only it could keep.

“Is this a special occasion? An anniversary, maybe?” A waiter asked as he brought us the drinks menu.

This was one of the specialty restaurants on the ship, which meant that only a handful of tables were taken. It was a fair assumption that a couple who chose to dine here were celebrating something.

I told the waiter that it was a special occasion without giving him any specifics and ordered a bottle of champagne. Catching Mom’s questioning gaze, I gave her a smile.

The waiter saw the looks that we were giving each other and before he left to get our order, he said, “Aww… You two look so good together.”

In the quiet restaurant, it took no time at all for the waiter to come back, uncork our champagne, and pour it into our glasses.

“To us,” I said to Mom, raising my glass.

She hesitated before clinking hers against mine, eyes searching my face for something unspoken as we sipped our drinks.

We were silent as the first courses arrived, our thoughts louder than any words we might have dared share. Her foot brushed mine under the table—not accidentally—and she didn’t pull it back.

Each moment stretched between us like taut silk as we ate slowly enough to make it last, neither of us eager to break whatever spell had taken hold.

“Everyone thinks we’re together,” she said finally, glancing around at the envious looks cast our way.

I leaned back in my chair and smiled at her discomfort—or was it something else?

“Does it bother you?” I asked.

A shadow of a smile played on her lips before she looked down into her lap where her napkin lay crumpled.

“Not really,” she admitted.

Something shifted then—an understanding without need for words; an agreement signed by silence.

She looked up again, meeting my gaze with newfound boldness that sent heat rushing through me like wildfire. Maybe it was the maritime air or being around strangers—whatever it was felt dangerously right.

We left long after dessert plates were cleared away; more staff nodded approvingly as we passed them by still holding hands—but now I felt hers grip back warmly around mine.

On the deck again with stars watching from above, she leaned into me while we strolled along polished rails slick with the night’s condensation.

A deliberate touch here, a breath soft against my neck there—and suddenly everything seemed possible out here where nobody knew us except ourselves.

Back in our cabin, amidst tangled sheets perfumed faintly by salt spray, we tore into each other’s clothes, yanking them off and tossing them to the floor.

"Wait. We need to talk. Should we really be doing this?" Mom weakly protested as she lay naked under me, her words coming out with the gasps that punctuated her labored breaths.

"Tell me why we shouldn't, and I'll consider it,” I whispered into her ear as I kissed her neck and played with her tits.

“We just… Maybe… Shouldn’t…” Her voice was thin, unconvincing. She trembled under my touch, gasping softly.

“Why not? We’re just two consenting adults, doing what many consenting adults do together.” I lowered my mouth over her sensitive nipple, licking it softly with my tongue.

“I don’t…” The rest of Mom’s sentence fell away as she let out a familiar moan that made my cock ache with yearning.

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is tell me. What we’re doing is only wrong if you don’t consent to this—” I bit her nipple and held it between my teeth “—or this—” I pressed the hardened nub nestled in her folds “—or this.”

Mom said nothing, her teeth biting down on her lower lip, as I pressed two fingers at her opening and pushed deep into her pussy. She moaned as I touched, and I grabbed, and I groped her body like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Mom was wet, her pussy soaked in her own juices as she writhed on the tangled sheets, moaning just for me.

I took my fingers out of her pussy and got on top of her, aligning the tip of my cock with her slick opening. “Tell me if you don’t want this.”

"Please,” she muttered as she lifted her hips up off the bed, pressing herself against me. “Please, please please…”

“Fuck, Mom,” I groaned.

With that eloquent expression of desire, I slid in smoothly into Mom’s pussy, burying myself balls deep inside her.

Her breath caught, and her protests dissolved into moans as I pulled her roughly against me.

We had sex that was slow and gentle at first, then wild and urgent as the small room filled with nothing but our ragged breaths and the sounds of us fucking on the bed, on the floor, in every corner that left no space unclaimed.

I pulled Mom’s hair, and I pinched her nipples until they hurt, savoring the way her eyes rolled back with pleasure, the way she arched for more.

She loved it hard and desperate as much as she loved it tender.

She came like a tidal wave, like she was drowning, like we both were drowning together, before finally collapsing against my chest.

We lay tangled in damp sheets, our skin slick with sweat and satisfaction. Out here where nobody knew us, we were free to be whatever we wanted to be. Just two consenting adults.

When our breathing finally slowed, when we could hear the gentle patter of footsteps in the hallway and the creak of the ship’s mighty bones, I kissed her shoulder and held her close.

I held her until the silence settled around us like a warm cocoon, then took her hand. Time passed in the cabin, but it hardly mattered anymore.

“I guess you won’t be needing your alone time in the bathroom tonight,” Mom said, giggling.

“You knew?”

“I’m not so old I’ve lost my hearing, you know.”

I laughed. Another secret was now out in the open, and somehow it was okay. Somehow, the evolution of our relationship felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I might have started out as Mom’s eavesdropping son. But somehow, I’d become more than that now. And Mom was not just my mom anymore—she was also my lover.

But there was one secret that lingered, one secret that I was afraid to touch.

The next day, the ship docked on a small Spanish island.

The sun baked the sand as we walked from the pier, crossed a narrow street lined with sleepy shops and restaurants, and made our way toward a secluded stretch of beach.

Waves whispered secrets to the shore as we laid our towel out and lay down side by side.

Mom wore a see-through dress over her bikini today, her mature curves clearly visible to anyone who looked closely.

Her bikini left little to the imagination, but I didn’t mind if others watched. Let them see. Out here where nobody knew us, it didn’t matter.

Still, I kept one possessive hand on Mom the entire time—an arm over her shoulders, a hand resting against the exposed skin of her tight belly.

They could look all they wanted. Nobody else was allowed to touch her but me.

If I were being honest, the text I saw on Mom’s phone still bothered me. She hadn’t mentioned anything about it, and our new dynamics were still so unfamiliar that I couldn’t tell if she was acting normal.

Some of the ship’s crew and passengers wandered to the same beach, staking their own claims on territory further down the shoreline.

They nodded and waved at us as they passed. A few even said hello, looking straight at us with envy in their eyes.

"We should be careful," Mom said softly, though she didn’t pull away when I squeezed her shoulder.

"Careful is overrated," I said, feeling bold under the Spanish sun.

Her smile was sultry beneath her sunglasses.

Everyone thought they knew who we were—a couple in love, far from home. They didn’t know any better, and we could be who we really wanted to be.

Mom turned onto her side to face me, propping herself up on one elbow. Her bare leg brushed against mine, sending electricity through my body.

"This doesn’t feel like real life," she murmured, tracing a finger along my chest. A shiver ran through me despite the heat.

"Maybe this is what real life should be like," I replied, watching how the sunlight played across her skin, making it glow golden.

She laughed then—a soft sound that left my head spinning. "You’re impossible."

"And you love that about me," I said as I pulled her closer until we were pressed together on the soft towel.

Her lips against mine answered more than words could say. It gave me the courage to finally ask her about the text from her ex-boyfriend.

I didn’t want her to think I was snooping, so I made it clear that I’d accidentally seen it. My heart pounded as I spoke the question out loud, “Do you want to get back together with him?”

Mom shook her head with reassuring confidence.

“I don’t know what lies in my future, but I know I’m not going back to the past,” she said, effortlessly moving a big weight off my shoulders with a single sentence.

Hours went by unnoticed while we let ourselves get lost in each other among strangers who would never understand how right it felt to be here with nothing between us but salt air and sunlit promises.

I snuggled close to Mom and pressed my hard-on against her ass. She shifted back against me, and I nuzzled into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin mixed with salt and sunscreen.

"We can live like this forever," I whispered as I kissed the delicate spot just below her ear. "We can go somewhere people don't know us."

Mom let out a soft, shuddering sigh that escaped like a moan, heavy with desire. Her body melted against mine.

"Yes," she breathed, arching into my touch as I slipped a hand beneath the fabric of her dress and under the thin string of her bikini bottom. "Yes."

That single word was enough to drive me wild with wanting. It was also enough to set something new in motion inside me—a purpose that burned brighter than anything else I'd ever felt before: to make it so we could live like this forever, to move somewhere nobody knew us, to love my mom the way she’d always deserved, out in the open.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting everything in warm amber hues as we gathered our things and made our way back toward the pier. The ship loomed large against the darkening sky, a temporary sanctuary but no longer enough.

In the days that followed, I thought of little else.

We stopped at new ports—Lisbon and Bordeaux—and explored hidden streets where old buildings leaned in to share their secrets.

In every port, new winds flirted with Mom’s golden tresses as waves continued to lap greedily at the shores.

Each night in our cabin, I held Mom tighter, fucked her longer, devoured every inch of her body as if to imprint myself on her soul.

She no longer held herself back with the sexy, little noises she made. Her shameless cries rang through thin walls like music from another world—the real world we were meant to inhabit once everything else fell away.

Our trip finally ended where it began at home, but nothing was quite the same. Not when we'd tasted freedom so complete.

The city felt small and stifling now, a place for other people who couldn't dream bigger than rules allowed.

Mom seemed nervous at first, unsure if I'd follow through or if it was all vacation fantasy dissolving under reality's weight.

But I was relentless as I searched for something more permanent than escape—a house on the coast of Maine with miles of empty beach; a penthouse in some foreign city where nobody would care or notice; a remote village halfway around the world with no one but us two consenting adults and endless time.

She said yes again when I showed them to her one by one, each possibility more enticing than the last.

I didn’t know where life would take us from here. But meanwhile, as we waited, I spent a lot of time fucking Mom in her bedroom.

I could wait. I could be patient. As long as I held on to the knowledge that I’d never have to just listen from the other side ever again.

+++

Hi, Brooke here :) Thank you for reading this story. Check out my reddit profile for more taboo erotica!

All characters 18+. MC is 27 and his mom is in her 40s. Check out Chapter 1 for more details—link in the comments!

+++

I felt the tension in Mom’s shoulders beneath my fingers, a tightness that seemed to pulse and resist every stroke.

She lay face down on the bed, her dress pulled low to expose the soft line of her back. The faint light from the portholes cast circular shapes across her skin as my fingers explored the forms and features of her body.

"You're so tense," I murmured, leaning closer. Her hair was fanned out around her head like a halo.

She sighed, a sound that vibrated with weariness and something else, something deeper, something that almost reminded me of her breathy moans.

"It’s been… a long day." Her voice was quiet, almost fragile. I pressed harder, feeling the knots give way slowly beneath my palms, and she shivered involuntarily.

"Just relax," I said. My hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her spine. Her skin was warm, silky beneath my touch. "Let go."

She shifted slightly, a soft exhale escaping her lips. Encouraged, I slid my hands over the small of her back and along her sides slowly, feeling every little detail of her skin. Her breath quickened when I grazed the sensitive area just above her hips.

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, pausing.

"No." The word was immediate and breathless. "Don't stop."

Her response sent a thrill through me. I remember hearing those exact same words through the wall of my bedroom as I held my cock in my hand, all the cells in my body focused on listening to her.

I adjusted my position over her body, letting my fingers dip lower as they traveled past the waistband of her dress.

There was no hiding my intention if I kept going.

Mom was quiet, her body rising and falling with her breaths, which I noticed were growing heavier.

Her fingers grabbed onto the bedsheets, reminding me of the way my ex-girlfriends had acted while we were fucking. And despite my efforts, her body was still tense—just like mine.

In this position, with me straddling her, my hard cock hovering so close to her ass, it was impossible to rein in my thoughts. All of my forbidden fantasies screamed in my head, telling me to seize the moment.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I said, making sure I wasn’t crossing any lines she didn’t want me to cross.

I pulled the hem of Mom’s dress up until it bunched up around her waist, revealing the most perfect, round ass I’d ever seen.

Like a moth to a flame, I reached my hands out to touch it before I could even think. I’d dreamed of this moment so many times I’d lost count.

Sliding my hands to her hips, tentatively, I gripped her like I’d held past girlfriends during sex, when I was pumping my cock in and out of them. My mind went wild with dark desires as I imagined myself doing the same with my mom.

A small, almost imperceptible moan snapped me out of my thoughts. The moan ended abruptly, as if Mom had just realized she’d made the sound and stopped herself.

I pricked my ears up. Soft, instrumental music gently played in our small room as waves lapped at the ship. Mom’s breaths sounded fast and shallow, as if her heart was beating as hard as mine.

I moved my hands lower, sliding them over her thighs and feeling the muscle quiver under my touch. The sound of her breathing filled the room, louder than anything else.

My cock throbbed so hard that it almost hurt.

I ran my hands up and down her thighs, getting closer to the inside every time they slid back up. The first deliberate touch on her inner leg made Mom gasp softly.

The second time around, when I pressed harder against the tender skin there, she let out a louder moan, not bothering to cut it short this time.

Blood roared in my ears. I didn’t bother asking if she wanted me to stop again.

I moved one hand up her thigh until there was only one place left for it to go. No pretense left at all. No turning back now.

She arched into the touch when I slipped my hands between her legs, finding her pussy over her panties. She was already wet, the lacy material soaked with her juices.

Every caress elicited a quiver, a gasp that set fire to the space between us.

Mom’s hips instinctively rose off the mattress as she pushed herself closer to me.

In one swift motion that surprised even me, I tugged the crotch of her panties aside and pressed my finger against her clit from behind.

“Fuck,” she whispered quietly into the sheets.

I rubbed small circles against it until she writhed so much that she almost squirmed away from me.

Then I pushed one finger deep inside of her before sliding it back out again.

Her pussy was slick but tight as hell, wrapping around my finger as if begging for more.

I gave her two fingers next, angling my hand so that I hit a different spot every time they went back in.

Her moans grew louder with each thrust of my hand, more frantic than I’d ever heard before.

Desperate.

Needy.

A rush of blood flooded through me at the thought that I was making her feel this way—not her dumb boyfriend, not any other man. Me.

I started fingering her faster. Harder.

Mom clamped both hands onto the bed sheets as if holding on for dear life. She sounded just like she had during those long nights, when I’d listened through my wall with my cock in my hand.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, sounding so much like my fantasies that a wave of pure lust knocked everything else out of me: restraint, hesitation, doubt, reason—all gone now. Every single bit gone except desire for her and need to make her come harder than anyone had before.

“Come for me, Mom,” I whispered in her ear.

Her whole body tensed. Then her breath caught, and she exploded around my fingers with a raw, guttural sound that made my cock throb uncontrollably.

I kept thrusting my fingers into her until the spasms stopped and she collapsed onto the bed in a shuddering heap.

Slowly, she turned over to face me. Her eyes were dark with desire.

My breath caught. I’d never seen Mom like this before—her hair a mess, her skin flushed red as she came down from her orgasm, her eyes boring deep into mine, inviting me, challenging me to do my worst to her.

She didn’t hesitate before pulling me down on top of her, forcing me to meet her lips in a deep, hungry kiss that sent tremors through every cell in my body.

With one hand still tangled in my hair, she reached for the front of my jeans. The zipper came undone, and then I was out. Bare against bare.

She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer until I felt the heat of her pussy against the head of my cock.

I couldn’t hold back any longer.

I pushed inside her slowly, feeling inch after inch of myself disappear into her wetness.

“Fuck,” I groaned against her neck as I sank deeper and deeper until there was nothing left to give.

We both paused there for a moment. Her tight warmth surrounded me completely—a sensation so intense that it almost floored me right then and there.

Then we started moving together—gently at first, feeling each other out with soft gasps and slow thrusts while our hands explored every bit of skin they could reach.

Mom’s hips rose to meet mine over and over again, faster every time until we found a rhythm so perfect that neither of us had words left for anything.

Every time I sank my cock into her pussy, her muscles gripped harder and tighter. I could feel her body tensing up as another orgasm approached.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed into my ear as she dug her nails into my back. “Don’t you fucking stop!”

I pistoned into her harder than ever before, guided by every familiar moan that escaped from her lips, every quiver of her body beneath mine.

I fucked her faster, more desperately, as we both raced toward release together.

Her legs tightened around my waist as her movements became frantic again—her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open wide with the sounds that used to drive me insane from the room next door.

I remembered all those times when I could only imagine what she looked like just before coming apart. Now I was seeing it all—the way she spasmed underneath me as another orgasm rocked through her body, feeling it all as her pussy tightened like a vice around my engorged cock.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. Years of repressed lust roared to the surface, boiled in my balls, and shot out of my cock, straight into Mom’s unprotected pussy. I came so hard that I almost blacked out. Then I collapsed against her, feeling our hearts pound together in the aftermath.

Neither of us said anything for a long while.

As my cock softened inside her, even as my body relaxed from the orgasm, my mind raced.

What had we done? What did this mean for us? Had she wanted this for some time? Did she regret it?

Did I regret it?

I swallowed.

Did I?

I’d wanted to fuck Mom for years. Now that we’d done it, did I regret it?

A tinge of guilt and shame crept into my chest as I really thought about what we’d just done. But was it just because I’d conditioned myself to feel this way after any kind of sexual release that involved Mom?

Softly, Mom excused herself, quietly slipping out from under me and disappearing into the bathroom.

Water ran for a few minutes before she returned with damp washcloths. Her eyes flicked toward me, hesitant now, unsure of what to say or where to start.

We cleaned up without speaking, avoiding each other’s gaze and moving carefully around one another like strangers who’d just met—a huge gulf between us despite what we’d just done together.

When we were finished, she dressed swiftly and stood by the door as if she were about to leave.

“Maybe… Maybe we should talk later,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Yeah,” I agreed, stuffing my legs into my jeans and trying to ignore how hollow everything sounded now that it was all over. “Later.”

She nodded once and walked out of the cabin—probably to clear out her head and think without this thick scent of sex hanging in the air clouding her mind.

It was a good idea. Maybe I needed some fresh air, too.

I got up from the bed, slid the door open, and stood in the small balcony where I stared out into the sea for a while as thoughts battled in my head.

I didn’t know how long I stayed out there, but it was starting to get dark when I went back inside.

Mom wasn’t back yet—probably hiding away in some corner of the ship that wouldn’t remind her of what we’d just done—but something else caught my eye instead.

Her phone was on the bedspread, lighting up with a message notification from her ex-boyfriend.

A knot twisted tight in my stomach at what it said:

“I’m sorry about everything. I love you. Call me.”

+++

Hi, Brooke here. Thank you for reading this story! Give me a few days and I’ll post the last chapter from this first book in the Romancing Mom series. Follow my reddit profile and never miss out! ;)

Click here for Chapter 1.

+++

I felt the tension in Mom’s shoulders beneath my fingers, a tightness that seemed to pulse and resist every stroke.

She lay face down on the bed, her dress pulled low to expose the soft line of her back. The faint light from the portholes cast circular shapes across her skin as my fingers explored the forms and features of her body.

"You're so tense," I murmured, leaning closer. Her hair was fanned out around her head like a halo.

She sighed, a sound that vibrated with weariness and something else, something deeper, something that almost reminded me of her breathy moans.

"It’s been… a long day." Her voice was quiet, almost fragile. I pressed harder, feeling the knots give way slowly beneath my palms, and she shivered involuntarily.

"Just relax," I said. My hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her spine. Her skin was warm, silky beneath my touch. "Let go."

She shifted slightly, a soft exhale escaping her lips. Encouraged, I slid my hands over the small of her back and along her sides slowly, feeling every little detail of her skin. Her breath quickened when I grazed the sensitive area just above her hips.

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, pausing.

"No." The word was immediate and breathless. "Don't stop."

Her response sent a thrill through me. I remember hearing those exact same words through the wall of my bedroom as I held my cock in my hand, all the cells in my body focused on listening to her.

I adjusted my position over her body, letting my fingers dip lower as they traveled past the waistband of her dress.

There was no hiding my intention if I kept going.

Mom was quiet, her body rising and falling with her breaths, which I noticed were growing heavier.

Her fingers grabbed onto the bedsheets, reminding me of the way my ex-girlfriends had acted while we were fucking. And despite my efforts, her body was still tense—just like mine.

In this position, with me straddling her, my hard cock hovering so close to her ass, it was impossible to rein in my thoughts. All of my forbidden fantasies screamed in my head, telling me to seize the moment.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I said, making sure I wasn’t crossing any lines she didn’t want me to cross.

I pulled the hem of Mom’s dress up until it bunched up around her waist, revealing the most perfect, round ass I’d ever seen.

Like a moth to a flame, I reached my hands out to touch it before I could even think. I’d dreamed of this moment so many times I’d lost count.

Sliding my hands to her hips, tentatively, I gripped her like I’d held past girlfriends during sex, when I was pumping my cock in and out of them. My mind went wild with dark desires as I imagined myself doing the same with my mom.

A small, almost imperceptible moan snapped me out of my thoughts. The moan ended abruptly, as if Mom had just realized she’d made the sound and stopped herself.

I pricked my ears up. Soft, instrumental music gently played in our small room as waves lapped at the ship. Mom’s breaths sounded fast and shallow, as if her heart was beating as hard as mine.

I moved my hands lower, sliding them over her thighs and feeling the muscle quiver under my touch. The sound of her breathing filled the room, louder than anything else.

My cock throbbed so hard that it almost hurt.

I ran my hands up and down her thighs, getting closer to the inside every time they slid back up. The first deliberate touch on her inner leg made Mom gasp softly.

The second time around, when I pressed harder against the tender skin there, she let out a louder moan, not bothering to cut it short this time.

Blood roared in my ears. I didn’t bother asking if she wanted me to stop again.

I moved one hand up her thigh until there was only one place left for it to go. No pretense left at all. No turning back now.

She arched into the touch when I slipped my hands between her legs, finding her pussy over her panties. She was already wet, the lacy material soaked with her juices.

Every caress elicited a quiver, a gasp that set fire to the space between us.

Mom’s hips instinctively rose off the mattress as she pushed herself closer to me.

In one swift motion that surprised even me, I tugged the crotch of her panties aside and pressed my finger against her clit from behind.

“Fuck,” she whispered quietly into the sheets.

I rubbed small circles against it until she writhed so much that she almost squirmed away from me.

Then I pushed one finger deep inside of her before sliding it back out again.

Her pussy was slick but tight as hell, wrapping around my finger as if begging for more.

I gave her two fingers next, angling my hand so that I hit a different spot every time they went back in.

Her moans grew louder with each thrust of my hand, more frantic than I’d ever heard before.

Desperate.

Needy.

A rush of blood flooded through me at the thought that I was making her feel this way—not her dumb boyfriend, not any other man. Me.

I started fingering her faster. Harder.

Mom clamped both hands onto the bed sheets as if holding on for dear life. She sounded just like she had during those long nights, when I’d listened through my wall with my cock in my hand.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, sounding so much like my fantasies that a wave of pure lust knocked everything else out of me: restraint, hesitation, doubt, reason—all gone now. Every single bit gone except desire for her and need to make her come harder than anyone had before.

“Come for me, Mom,” I whispered in her ear.

Her whole body tensed. Then her breath caught, and she exploded around my fingers with a raw, guttural sound that made my cock throb uncontrollably.

I kept thrusting my fingers into her until the spasms stopped and she collapsed onto the bed in a shuddering heap.

Slowly, she turned over to face me. Her eyes were dark with desire.

My breath caught. I’d never seen Mom like this before—her hair a mess, her skin flushed red as she came down from her orgasm, her eyes boring deep into mine, inviting me, challenging me to do my worst to her.

She didn’t hesitate before pulling me down on top of her, forcing me to meet her lips in a deep, hungry kiss that sent tremors through every cell in my body.

With one hand still tangled in my hair, she reached for the front of my jeans. The zipper came undone, and then I was out. Bare against bare.

She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer until I felt the heat of her pussy against the head of my cock.

I couldn’t hold back any longer.

I pushed inside her slowly, feeling inch after inch of myself disappear into her wetness.

“Fuck,” I groaned against her neck as I sank deeper and deeper until there was nothing left to give.

We both paused there for a moment. Her tight warmth surrounded me completely—a sensation so intense that it almost floored me right then and there.

Then we started moving together—gently at first, feeling each other out with soft gasps and slow thrusts while our hands explored every bit of skin they could reach.

Mom’s hips rose to meet mine over and over again, faster every time until we found a rhythm so perfect that neither of us had words left for anything.

Every time I sank my cock into her pussy, her muscles gripped harder and tighter. I could feel her body tensing up as another orgasm approached.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed into my ear as she dug her nails into my back. “Don’t you fucking stop!”

I pistoned into her harder than ever before, guided by every familiar moan that escaped from her lips, every quiver of her body beneath mine.

I fucked her faster, more desperately, as we both raced toward release together.

Her legs tightened around my waist as her movements became frantic again—her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open wide with the sounds that used to drive me insane from the room next door.

I remembered all those times when I could only imagine what she looked like just before coming apart. Now I was seeing it all—the way she spasmed underneath me as another orgasm rocked through her body, feeling it all as her pussy tightened like a vice around my engorged cock.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. Years of repressed lust roared to the surface, boiled in my balls, and shot out of my cock, straight into Mom’s unprotected pussy. I came so hard that I almost blacked out. Then I collapsed against her, feeling our hearts pound together in the aftermath.

Neither of us said anything for a long while.

As my cock softened inside her, even as my body relaxed from the orgasm, my mind raced.

What had we done? What did this mean for us? Had she wanted this for some time? Did she regret it?

Did I regret it?

I swallowed.

Did I?

I’d wanted to fuck Mom for years. Now that we’d done it, did I regret it?

A tinge of guilt and shame crept into my chest as I really thought about what we’d just done. But was it just because I’d conditioned myself to feel this way after any kind of sexual release that involved Mom?

Softly, Mom excused herself, quietly slipping out from under me and disappearing into the bathroom.

Water ran for a few minutes before she returned with damp washcloths. Her eyes flicked toward me, hesitant now, unsure of what to say or where to start.

We cleaned up without speaking, avoiding each other’s gaze and moving carefully around one another like strangers who’d just met—a huge gulf between us despite what we’d just done together.

When we were finished, she dressed swiftly and stood by the door as if she were about to leave.

“Maybe… Maybe we should talk later,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Yeah,” I agreed, stuffing my legs into my jeans and trying to ignore how hollow everything sounded now that it was all over. “Later.”

She nodded once and walked out of the cabin—probably to clear out her head and think without this thick scent of sex hanging in the air clouding her mind.

It was a good idea. Maybe I needed some fresh air, too.

I got up from the bed, slid the door open, and stood in the small balcony where I stared out into the sea for a while as thoughts battled in my head.

I didn’t know how long I stayed out there, but it was starting to get dark when I went back inside.

Mom wasn’t back yet—probably hiding away in some corner of the ship that wouldn’t remind her of what we’d just done—but something else caught my eye instead.

Her phone was on the bedspread, lighting up with a message notification from her ex-boyfriend.

A knot twisted tight in my stomach at what it said:

“I’m sorry about everything. I love you. Call me.”

+++

Hi, Brooke here. Thank you for reading this story! Give me a few days and I’ll post the last chapter from this first book in my Romancing Mom series. Follow my reddit profile and never miss out! ;)

Looking for Chapter 1? Find the link in the comments section.

All characters 18+. In Chapter 1, MC is 22. In this chapter, he’s 27. His mom is in her 40s.

+++

Five years had slipped by since I moved out of Mom’s house. I’d started and ended several relationships since then. Needless to say, I’d gotten out of the habit of jerking it to my mom every night.

But on a day like today, when she looked like the most beautiful woman in the world, I could feel little shards of my old, familiar obsession piercing through my defenses.

It was a bright afternoon when I took her for lunch at her favorite place, the one with the sun-drenched patio and ivy curling up its brick walls.

She toyed with her wine glass and sighed about her ex-boyfriend, her lips curving into a resigned smile as she described their breakup.

“We were too similar,” she admitted, flicking at the crumbs of bread on the tablecloth. “Both stubborn to a fault.”

Her eyes lingered on mine, searching for something like understanding or just comfort.

“You can do better than that guy, Mom.” I gave her a sympathetic nod.

As she told me her friends were happy to hear about the break-up, I found myself getting distracted by the way her fingers slid across her glass, smearing the condensation on the shiny surface.

Under the table, my cock stirred. I imagined her holding me just like that, her fingers running up and down my shaft, playing with a drop of pre-cum at the tip of my cock.

I don’t know what made me do what I did next. It could’ve been my yearning to be close to Mom, guilt at feeling this way, or maybe I just wanted her to stop being sad.

In any case, I’d just received a bonus from work and thought a trip might brighten things up.

She froze when I first told her over the phone that night. She was worried it’d be too expensive.

But I’d made good money, and who was I supposed to share it with if not her? After everything she’d sacrificed for me, she deserved to be pampered.

It didn’t take much to convince her after that. She’d always wanted to go on a European cruise.

But a week later, when I opened the door to our cabin, it was my turn to freeze.

The room was small, intimate—one queen bed instead of the two twins I’d requested. The lush expanse of white linens gleamed provocatively in the filtered sunlight streaming through the circular portholes and the big sliding doors that led to our little private balcony.

“Cozy,” Mom said behind me, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I rushed to the front desk and spent an hour negotiating amidst the long lines of impatient travelers, but every room was booked. Instead, they offered us free vouchers for drinks and meals at their specialty restaurants, even some time at the spa.

“Looks like we’re stuck pretending to be honeymooners,” I joked when I got back.

Mom arched an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You planned this.”

A silky tension filled the space between us as we unpacked amid scattered silences that seemed to hum with anticipation.

I could almost swear that there was something different about the way Mom looked at me. She was acting almost like a girlfriend who was expecting something to happen between us.

But that was impossible. I was indulging in one of my fantasies again.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I said quickly before I had a chance to change my mind. If Mom found out how I felt about her, it’d ruin our relationship.

She moved closer, and I caught a whiff of her perfume, light and teasing. “Don’t be silly. We used to sleep together all the time.”

I hesitated, but she turned away to unpack, giving me little choice.

As night fell, we lay side by side in the darkened room. I could feel the heat from her body warming the small space between us.

Despite the gentle rocking of the ship and Mom’s even breaths beside me, sleep felt impossible. My mind raced back to how easy it had been the last time we’d shared a bed, many years ago when I still had no idea these kinds of forbidden feelings existed.

Hours slipped by on waves of restless tension. Every slightest movement she made sent jolts through my body, filling it with need.

When she finally nestled against me, an arm draping softly over my chest as she murmured something incomprehensible in her sleep, it was more than I could take.

Her face was just inches away from mine, each exhalation a soft caress on my neck.

I waited until I couldn’t stand it any longer before slowly untangling myself and slipping into the bathroom. My cock ached with unrelenting urgency.

Leaning against the sink, I closed my eyes and gave in, jerking off to thoughts of her breasts, the breasts I’d suckled on for nourishment, pressed tightly against me as she let out those sexy, little moans.

In my fantasy, it wasn’t an accident that she’d shifted closer to me, or that she’d breathed on my skin. In the dark, with a girlfriend, it would’ve been a clear invitation to start something.

In my head, I saw myself doing just that—kissing her, touching her until she woke up. Looking at me with sleepy eyes, she let out a familiar moan, accompanied by a sigh that landed on my lips right before I kissed her.

In the dark, in our little private space, we made love. As her body grew hot and needy, I started to fuck her rougher, pulling her hair, ramming hard into her, just the way I knew she liked it.

I came to the image of my mom coming on my cock, her pussy gripping me, milking me, draining me until I had nothing left to give her.

In the silence that followed my release, guilt mingled with relief as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. It was a familiar feeling, one I wasn’t thrilled to revisit on my first night sharing a bed with Mom.

When I returned to bed and lifted the covers to slide back in beside her, I could almost swear I saw her eyes open and focused on me for a second. She had this curious look on her face, her gaze drifting down to the front of my pants like she was checking me out.

I racked my brain trying to come up with something to say, but before I could even open my mouth, I noticed her eyes were shut. The only movement I could see in the dark was her breathing, slow and regular, her chest rising and falling under the covers.

“Mom?” I whispered.

There was no answer.

Maybe it had just been my imagination.

In the following days, we fell into a routine.

We’d spend the day doing excursions when the ship docked. In Athens, we climbed up to the Acropolis to admire the ruins, then had octopus for dinner—Mom wasn’t a fan; she said it was too rubbery. In Barcelona, we slowly savored plate after plate of jamón ibérico and patatas bravas in a lively tapas bar that overlooked the Sagrada Familia.

Back on the ship, we’d make good use of our food and drink vouchers, living it up at the bars and restaurants until we’d stumble, drunk, into bed together.

Every night, I’d make a short visit to the bathroom. I’d reimagine the events of the day through the lens of my forbidden, incestuous thoughts. In my mind, I’d fucked her against the cold stone of the Acropolis and against the altar at the Sagrada Familia, her moans echoing across ancient structures as I fucked her into one explosive orgasm after another.

In Florence, Mom did something that would fuel my fantasies for years to come.

The day started innocently enough. After walking off the ship and into the city, as usual, we split off from the other passengers.

I trailed after Mom, going wherever she wanted to wander. Today, she didn’t have her thick travel guidebook with her.

Mom had spent some time as an art student in Florence. When she boasted about still knowing all the streets by heart that morning, I challenged her to leave her book in our cabin for the day.

As we meandered through the sunlit streets, it was obvious Mom hadn’t needed my challenge to abandon her guidebook.

She knew every hidden alley and turn, leading me with a confidence that bordered on nostalgia. Her steps quickened as we approached a narrow street lined with galleries.

Inside one of them, her face lit up at the sight of familiar paintings, each piece a window to her past. She told me about the times she’d seen these same paintings when she was a young college student, words streaming out endlessly from her lips as she gestured excitedly with her hands, pointing at this painting and that sculpture.

I imagined myself sitting in art class beside her—as a fellow student, not her son. I’d seen pictures of her when she was younger, and even though her curves hadn’t been as pronounced as they were now, she was a definite hottie.

The air smelled richly of oil paints and varnish, mingling with the faint scent of dust from the aging floors. Mom would wander away from me, and whenever she came back I’d catch a whiff of her soft, sultry scent.

We lingered in the hushed spaces of each gallery, where she recounted stories of her time as an art student.

“These places haven’t changed a bit,” she whispered as we stood before a large canvas ablaze with color. “I used to spend hours sketching here.”

“Did you have a lot of friends?” I asked, curious about the life she’d led before I was born.

“Friends,” she said slowly, savoring the word. Her eyes twinkled with a mischievous gleam. “And more than friends.”

“Oh?” My curiosity was piqued.

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice, as if confessing secrets to a lover. “There were these older professors...”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to sound casual despite the sudden tightness in my chest.

“Older?”

“Much older.” Her lips curled into a playful smile. Her expression turned dreamy, wistful. “I guess I always liked the maturity. The experience.”

We drifted through the gallery’s dim corridors, her words igniting jealous thoughts in my head.

“And younger?” I ventured as we paused before another piece.

Her gaze shifted away, and a blush spread over her cheeks.

“I’ve never truly had the opportunity to find out,” she admitted with a soft, almost nervous laugh.

But then, in a fleeting glance over her eyelashes, she seemed to entertain the possibility—an enigmatic look that, had she not been my mom, I might have interpreted as unmistakable interest.

Heat surged through me at the thought. I was starting to wonder if maybe Mom wasn’t oblivious after all.

After all, during my nightly visit to the bathroom, I’d sometimes been so lost in my forbidden fantasies that I forgot to keep the volume down. It was possible she’d heard me beat my meat every night.

We left the gallery and strolled back into the streets of Florence. Each step crackled with a new tension between us, alive and electric.

We ambled toward a sun-drenched piazza where an old stone fountain spilled water into a circular basin. Couples sat together on shaded benches, holding hands and kissing softly beneath the afternoon sky.

As we passed them, I caught a sideways glance from Mom. Her eyes were filled with something more than playful curiosity—it was closer to longing.

“You’re quiet,” she said as we stopped by the fountain’s edge.

“Just thinking.” I watched her as she dipped her fingers into the cool water.

“About?” She didn’t press for an answer right away; she just looked at me with a knowing smile.

“I don’t know... Looks like you’re... having a good time,” I said finally, choosing my words carefully.

“I am,” she replied, her voice low and sincere. “Even without my guidebook.”

I chuckled, but the sound came out strained because what I wanted to say—what I really wanted to say—was stuck somewhere between my chest and throat.

Back on the cruise ship, exhaustion set in. Mom leaned against the door of our cabin, the golden glow of her skin deepened by the long day under the Italian sun, the freckles smattered across her shoulders and chest standing out like glitter.

“I’d love a massage,” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head.

“Should we check out the spa?” I suggested.

She brightened at the idea, and we made our way there. The air inside was warm and fragrant with essential oils. But as we approached the reception, a clipboard clutched by an overwhelmed attendant told us all we needed to know.

“Sorry,” she said apologetically. “We’re completely booked today.”

Disappointed, Mom turned away.

On impulse, I touched her elbow.

“I’ll do it,” I blurted out before I could second guess myself. “I’ll give you a massage.”

There was a moment of silence between us. Her eyes flickered with something that seemed to hover between decision and indecision, as if she were weighing not just my offer but everything unspoken swirling beneath it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she gave me a slight nod. It was uncertain and yet tinged with a hint of longing.

“Okay,” she agreed softly.

We walked back to our cabin, the air between us thick with new possibilities.

+++

Hi, Brooke here. Thank you for reading this story! I’ll post more chapters in the coming weeks—follow my reddit profile and never miss out! ;)

Whenever my mom brought her boyfriend home, like clockwork, they’d fight, then they’d fuck. I‘d press my ear against my thin bedroom wall, my ears pricked up to catch Mom’s breathy moans.

She finally dumped her boyfriend, so I decided to celebrate by taking her on a trip. She’d always dreamed of a European cruise.

But they messed up our reservations, and now we’re stuck sharing a bed on a romantic European cruise. How am I going to survive this, when the mere sound of my mom breathing in the dark beside me gets me rock hard?

All characters 18+.

+++

Mom and her new boyfriend (F, M, 40s) were at it again. This time, they were fighting over the dishes in the sink.

With a sigh, I (M, 22) got up from the dining table where I’d been working on my university assignment.

The tap water ran warm over my hands as I washed the dishes. Mom and her boyfriend were still going at it, both voices rising and crashing like waves against the walls.

I would give anything to make it stop, anything for them to find some kind of peace. The arguments exhausted me. I hated to see her hurt.

I hated even more to be a helpless witness, caught in a cycle that was not my own. As I rinsed the dirty plates from dinner, the shouting began to die down.

I knew the drill. I knew it too well. They’d fight, and then they’d fuck. It was their routine, one I was never happy about, one I’d been forced to take part in.

To be fair, nobody made me do it. It wasn’t as if I had a gun to my head. I could have put on my noise-canceling headphones and buried my head in my textbooks.

Nobody made me wash the dishes. Nobody made me stay in the house while they got up to their antics. And nobody made me go to my room, take my pants off, and jerk myself off while I listened to the sounds of Mom being fucked in the next room.

I don’t remember when it started.

When I was growing up with my single mother, I never saw her with a man. But something changed when I moved away for college.

I noticed it when I visited—the cigarette lighters that couldn’t have belonged to my non-smoker mom, the men’s clothes in the laundry hamper, Mom’s phone that constantly demanded her attention.

After I got my degree, I moved back in with Mom. It wasn’t easy to get a job in this economy, so I’d been taking extra courses to pad my resume.

In the few months since moving back into the house, it had become a familiar pattern, watching Mom bring her boyfriend home late at night. His visits grew more frequent, and soon he was a constant background in the house.

They'd come in like a tempest, always in the middle of some argument, the door slamming behind them, his heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors.

He didn’t speak to me much. When he did, a curt nod or a passing grunt was the most I could expect.

His presence loomed large, drowning the house in testosterone and tension. This was his territory as much as ours now, even if he wouldn’t look me in the eye.

Most of the time, they’d spend the night outside the house and then come home to fight and fuck.

Otherwise, we’d have a tense, quiet dinner together, all three of us, and then they’d go into Mom’s bedroom to fight and fuck.

Lately, I’d started to join them.

As much as I hated Mom’s boyfriend and their fights, I’d spent a lot of time in bed tossing and turning to the sounds of their lovemaking.

At some point, somewhere between waking and dreaming, my mom’s moans buried themselves in my mind and refused to leave. All I could think about was what was happening right behind the thin wall I shared with Mom’s bedroom.

I tried to stop myself, to replace images of my mom in my fantasies with past girlfriends, but I couldn’t get away from those fucking moans.

I saw my mom’s face then, her mouth wide open, her breathing heavy and punctuated with those fucking, inescapable moans.

I thought about what she looked like being fucked. Was she lying on her back, or was she on all fours, being fucked like an animal?

I couldn’t stop it from overtaking me, this sinful ache to know, this wicked hunger to imagine. I kept thinking about my mom and her boyfriend, their bodies entwined right beyond that thin wall, his cock thrusting, her cries rising, filling all the empty spaces in the house.

My own cock was suddenly in my hand, already hard and throbbing as I squeezed it. I pumped it in time to their fucking, to the sound of their panting, to the rhythm of the headboard’s relentless banging on the wall.

I wanted to hate myself, wanted to stop, but instead I imagined them on top of each other, tangled and slick and shameless.

When they came, I came too, spurting ropes of hot white cum onto my stomach and chest, my eyes squeezed shut as I imagined it was me, not him, who was making my mom moan.

The day after the first time I’d done the dirty deed, after her boyfriend had left, I sat at the dining table as Mom fluttered around me, making coffee and toast while fielding phone calls from her clients.

As she moved around the kitchen, I could hear the soft swish of her skirt against her thighs. When she leaned over to pour coffee, I could hear the gentle rustle of her shirt against her skin. And when she spoke, I heard her soft voice as a series of moans in my head.

A faint hint of vanilla from her lotion entered my nostrils as Mom joined me at the table. The faint musk of perfume, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, gave her a warm, comforting scent I’d come to associate with mornings.

I was frozen in place, surrounded by last night’s clutter and the echoes of my own shame. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Mom might know, whether she’d heard me, whether she was looking at me different that morning with those unreadable eyes.

Despite her calm demeanor, I kept imagining that she must’ve known that I'd listened to her being fucked, that she’d sensed the sick pull of it whenever I was around her, that she knew which fantasies got me off.

I could see her in my mind, whispering to herself, piecing it together, realizing that I came to fantasies about me fucking her instead of her boyfriend.

But she acted like it was just any other morning, and she soon left for work, but not before giving me a kiss that felt different from other kisses she’d given me in the past.

My mom had always been a beautiful woman. As I got older and my friends started to notice, I had to tell them to knock it off when they started to stare too long, or when they made lewd, disrespectful comments about her womanly curves.

I hadn’t allowed myself to think about what she looked like under her clothes then. But now that I’d come to the sounds she made while being fucked, I couldn’t help but study her.

She was lean with subtle curves, still toned from years of playing sports in her youth. Her curves were soft and alluring, with just the right amount of fullness in all the right places.

Her skin was a warm shade of olive, with freckles scattered across her shoulders and chest. Long, blonde hair fell in loose waves around her face.

Her breasts were covered in a modest, button-down shirt for work. When she bent down and pulled me into a hug, they squished against my chest. Her skin was smooth and soft to the touch, like silk against my fingertips.

The harder I tried, the harder it became to control myself. As I sat there at the dining table, I felt my cock stir in my pants and begged the universe to not let my mom notice my erection.

Luckily, she was in a rush this morning, as she often was.

As I watched her leave for work, her full hips swaying tantalizingly in the driveway, I couldn’t help but imagine running my hands over every inch of her.

The lingering scent of her vanilla lotion curled around me, weaving through the air like a haunting melody. I watched through the window as the sound of her heels clicking against the ground and the hum of her car engine disappeared.

The world outside was quiet and still, but my heart was racing as I fought against the fantasies that threatened to consume me whole.

I could almost hear the echo of her laughter from moments before, light and airy, contrasting sharply with the weight of my thoughts.

The warmth of her embrace lingered on my skin, a ghostly reminder of our closeness that filled me with both longing and dread.

My pulse quickened at the memory of her warmth—how she had pressed herself against me, her body just a breath away from igniting a spark I dared not acknowledge.

A rush of guilt washed over me as I recalled those intimate moments. Mom had touched me with warmth and innocence, and here I was, twisting it into something dark with my fucked up mind.

I felt trapped between two worlds: the son who loved his mother and the man who couldn’t escape his own darkest desires. And as much as I tried to drown them out with other thoughts, my mind drifted back to her—my beautiful mom—and the moans that crept under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

I wandered into the living room, half-heartedly attempting to focus on my assignments spread out on the coffee table. But the words blurred together, twisting into indecipherable shapes that mocked me.

The echoes of last night still lingered in my ears. They were sharper than before, vivid.

My thoughts swirled in the silence, slowly driving me insane.

I’d had enough.

I swore, then and there, that I’d never, ever, think about my mom like that again—sexually.

Abandoning my assignment, I went out to the drugstore to buy myself a pair of the best earplugs they had.

I was determined. And I stuck with it—for two whole weeks.

Then one night, Mom came home with her boyfriend again.

The air in the house instantly thickened with tension as they entered, their voices raised so loud they rippled through the walls.

I pressed my back against the cool surface of my bedroom door, breathing in the scent of Mom’s laundry softener that wafted from the pile of clean clothes on my bed.

I tried to drown out the sounds, to bury myself in thoughts of academia, but every syllable Mom emitted slipped through the cracks of my resolve.

They fought like wounded animals, raw and feral—her voice rising high and desperate, his response a growl filled with frustration. It was intoxicating and agonizing all at once; I couldn’t escape it.

Curiosity tugged at me. I crept closer to the wall that separated our worlds, leaning against it as if it could somehow reveal its secrets to me.

Then there was silence—a heavy pause that felt pregnant with unsaid words and unfulfilled desires—before everything erupted again into a fresh cycle of heated whispers and urgent breaths.

The cadence shifted from anger to something darker, more primal.

A shiver of anticipation slithered down my spine as I realized this was morphing into something else entirely.

“Just shut up!” he barked suddenly, and I could almost picture her flinching at his harsh tone.

I held my breath, the darkness of the night wrapping around me like a shroud. In that moment, time felt suspended, the air crackling with an electric tension that both terrified and exhilarated me.

I pressed my ear against the wall, desperate to catch even the faintest hint of what was happening beyond that thin barrier. Their voices softened into a murmur.

“Please…” Mom’s voice trembled, the word laced with something achingly vulnerable.

A plea? A challenge? I couldn't tell. But it ignited an insatiable fire within me, a perverse curiosity mixed with unyielding desire.

Then came another sound—an unmistakable thud as her body connected with something solid. I imagined her on the other side of the wall, her petite body pressed against it, her skin flushed, her chest heaving with every breath.

She must’ve known I could hear her. A thought crept into my mind: did she want me to hear her?

I imagined my mom caught in a tempest of conflicting emotions just like mine, her mind filled with thoughts of me every time she moaned. My fingers trembled as I shoved my hand into my pants and grabbed my cock, which was already aching, throbbing.

My heart raced. I was standing on the precipice of something forbidden, teetering at the edge of a dark abyss. The walls around me felt alive, pulsing with my mom’s desire.

I closed my eyes, imagining the wall disappearing, the boyfriend disappearing, until it was just me and my mom, caught in a spiral of guilt and lust.

I was gone. I couldn’t quit even if I wanted to.

The more I gave in, the less guilt I felt, the easier it got.

My mom became my obsession. I spent my nights fantasizing about an incestuous union between us. And when Mom was at work, I spent my days collecting material from her social media accounts and old photo albums to fuel my fantasies. I even started to take pictures of her when she wasn’t looking.

I had one of her sitting in her favorite armchair, reading a book. Another one of her loading the dishwasher, her svelte body bent at the waist. In my favorite picture of her, she was gardening in a summer dress, the sun partially shining through the thin, floral material.

That summer, I got myself my first job out of college. I knew I couldn’t break this addiction if Mom was always around, so I moved out before it took me any further into the dark.

+++

Hi, Brooke here! Thanks for reading the first chapter of Romancing Mom. Watch this space for the next few chapters, which I’ll post over the next couple of weeks. Follow my reddit profile and never miss out!