A Mother's Duty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well fine, I guess tomorrow I'll text Kyle and ask if that place is still available."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clearly delighted with my answer, Damien told me to bend over. Giving me no time to do so of my own volition, Damien grabbed one of my hips with one hand and pushed my back down with the other hand. I had nothing to hold on to for balance, and could only rest my hands on my knees to keep from falling down. I had such little confidence in my own sense of balance that I didn't dare turn around to look at my son for fear of toppling over. Damien, unaware of how precarious my position was, lifted my dress above my arse and pulled my panties down, my arse pointed up at him, my moist vagina aching for my son's return into me. Without a word, he unzipped his jeans and let them fall to his ankles, followed quickly by his boxer shorts. Thank god I was already aroused and lubricated, because what happened next would have been agony otherwise. He took a moment to line his throbbing hot and hard head against my opening, then he forced himself inside me, hard. Damien was taking no prisoners today.

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

He remained standing still, with his pants and boxers still around his ankles as he waited for me to turn around and get on my knees in front of him. With one hand, I gently held his now-familiar cock (no pun intended), and couldn't help but notice it was dripping in my own juices. With the other hand, I satisfied my own curiously sinful desires and grabbed one of his arse cheeks. Soft, springy, warm, slightly hairy. In a word - perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

This was one conversation Damien was willing to have with me. "Fuck, mum, you're so fucking tight... And god, your tits are great, so big..." His pace quickened to a pace where I struggled to match him. I did the best I could, but in the end I had to give up and let myself be fucked.

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