Forbidden Impulse

Mary approached her son with glazed eyes.

He sat back in the kitchen chair with a grin. He had planned to do this, but never knew when. However, she fell under his spell just as easily as his principal did. That was when he knew he didn't need a plan. He just needed her to be alone and unsuspecting.

As Mary approached him step by step, unbuttoning her blouse to let her breasts spill free from them, she mounted her son's lap with hot breath panting from her succulent lips. Once close, he had a lung's full of her feminine smell. It drew him closer, bringing his lips to her bare chest. Peppering her bosom with soft smooches, Mary's breath hitched with lust. Moans escaped her lips and echoed off of the nearby walls.

Driven by his own desire, he laid his hands on Mary's hips and pulled her closer. His fingers dug into her plump hind-quarters and pulled her festering loins into his growing bulge, tight in his pants and begging to be freed from captivity.

She leaned in for a kiss, her breath something her own son shouldn't be smelling. He yearned for this forbidden taste so he readied his wet tongue for the incoming action, tail having a hard time staying still behind him. Suddenly, Mary's hand gripped Jackson by the throat. Tightly. Abruptly.

He felt his airway get cut off as her nails turned into claws, digging into his flesh.

He gagged and coughed, trying to fight her power but he couldn't beat her strength.

She glared deeply into his young eyes and snarled,

"Who are you?" Her eyes were crimson red, "And where is my real son?!"

--Days earlier--

Mary had to keep her poise professional no matter how painful the thought of her husband crossed her mind. The beautiful golden retriever, Mary, brought out a cart dressed in a white cloth. She was a waitress, serving at one of the most famous restaurants in Sun City.

On top of the cart was a fancy dinner for two and a silver bowl of ice in the center. A bottle of wine laid in the ice like a bath. One plate each, she delivered the food for the newly-engaged couple sitting before her; two love-stricken otters, "Here you are. I hope our establishment is to your liking?" Her voice was pleasant to the ears of her customers. Her blue eyes complimented her soft smile, but thickened the mask she often wore.

After serving their food and glasses, Mary pulled the bottle from the ice and pours them each a serving of the burgundy colored liquid. Afterwards, she left the bottle and gave a light bow of her head, "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, ma'am." The male otter said. He and his fiance hadn't stopped beaming at one another since they sat down.

The fiance opened her smiling lips to Mary, "Yes, thank you! You're so nice. All the other waiters and waitresses just aren't you, Mrs. Mary."

Mary smiled, "Thank you." She couldn't say too much else. The sight of the glimmering silver ring on the otter's little brown finger made it hurt for Mary to breathe. "I'll be around if you need anything else." She said. Mary turned and rolled away with the cart. As she moved out of their sight, she let out a deep breath to calm her palpating heart. Her thumb touched the diamond ring on her finger for comfort.

* * *

Later, Mary tossed her apron off where the other employees tossed theirs. Afterwards, she grabbed her purse and keys from the employee lockers, "Boss, I'm leaving." She called out. She started her exit, but was halted before she could walk two feet from the kitchen doorway.

"Hold it." A voice called back out to her.

She wasn't looking forward to any conversation. She just wanted to go home and sleep off the strain on her mind. However, somehow, she knew someone was going to confront her tonight. There was a crack in her mask here and there and it gave just enough of a glimpse for the other employees to see that something was wrong.

She clutched her purse strap tighter as she heard her boss's heavy steps behind her, "I seriously think you need to take a week off, Mary." He spoke, voice as deep as the weight in his step.

She turned to face him. He was a taller equine with brown fur all around his masculine body. He wiped water from his hands with a towel that he threw over his shoulder. Mary could smell detergent wafting from the hot sink filled with steaming water. The used dishes soaked inside its bubbly broth of grease-fighting solution.

Afterwards, he crossed his brawny arms and leaned against the frame of the doorway into the kitchen. His black tattoos were clear on his neck. His white shirt hugged his body perfectly like a second layer of fur and showed off every crease of his muscles, "I know you don't seem bothered, but I'm worried about you, Mary."

"Bothered by what?" Mary replied, brushing a bit of her brown hair out of her face, "I'm fine, boss."

"It's after-hours, Mary. You've been working here for five years. You know my name by now." He was one of those men that smiled without smiling. Mary would just have to feel it in his tone.

She corrected herself, "I'm fine, Shane. I'm just tired."

"I know." He sighed, "That's my point, Mary. Are you sleeping? Eating? You still exercise, at least, but you do so without a single rest day."

"Shane--"

"All I'm saying is that you *just* lost your husband. You came straight to work without even asking for vacation to grieve."

Mary felt it in the back of her throat. She pushed it back down with a swallow, "It's been two years since he passed. I've grieved enough at the funeral. Now it's just me and my son. He's still in school and I want to promise him college before he graduates."

"That boy of yours is a bright one." Shane shakes his head. "Adam was a damn good man." Shane didn't like it one bit. But he knew Mary like the back of his scarred hand. She had a look in her eyes. That look was enough to know that this woman was not going to surrender to him, at least not tonight.

"Alright, Mary--Fine. Just don't be a stranger if you need time off. Trust me--I'd rather give you time off than Abigail. That lazy ass fox is working my last nerve."

Mary smirked but it died fast. She respectfully took her leave, turning away from him, "Goodnight, boss."

"Night, Mary." He watched her leave. The door closed behind her and left him alone in the restaurant. Shane went back to washing the last of the dirty plates, hoping in his mind that Mary would make it home safe and sound.

* * *

It was a ten-minute drive from her two-story modern home to the restaurant. It was usually five minutes back, since traffic was slower at night in Sun City. The moon never failed to paint the tall glass buildings of the inner parts of Sun City in brilliant white. It was something that Adam would enjoy, Mary thought.

Mary stepped into her house late under the cold blanket of night. Mary had one destination and that was her bedroom. She wanted so desperately to shower, but her energy had been sapped from her like a wet vac to a soaked carpet.

She stuck her head around the corner and peered into the spacious modern kitchen of her home. She had ordered pizza for her son, Jackson, in the event she worked late. The box was sitting on the polished marble surface of the center console. It was partially closed, cracked open enough to let in air. That warmed her worries about her son who hadn't been eating much.

He had ever rarely left his room when Mary was home. Mary's concern for her son brought them to a physician, who diagnosed him with severe depression following the death of his father. Mary still had his medications in her room since he had refused to take them. That being said, she kept it in case he changed his mind, a hopeful case that she wished would come to fruition.

The only thing he agreed to take from her was a box of his dad's belongings. Since then, it never left his room.

She had to pass his door on the right side of the upper floor, right off of the stairs. Her room was on the left at the end of the hall. She couldn't hear a thing from him. Curiosity and a bit of worry touched her mind, but has he ever made much noise aside from when he was playing video games?

At first, Mary was going to ignore it and leave him be. Her connection with her baby boy was bad enough. A spying mother wouldn't help the case. But then a horrible thought crossed her mind. He hadn't taken the medication since they first received it, and Mary wasn't aware how fast his depression could develop. Being all alone in that room with his father's things--

What if he...?

Mary turned on a heel, heart thumping in her chest. She quickly but carefully pressed her ear to the door. It was silent and still. Mary lightly tapped the door with her claw, "Sweetie? Are you awake?"

No reply. Her mind started to rush now. She had been at work all day. What could've happened while she was gone?

She dared herself to grab the knob but...he could just be asleep. However, Mary never wanted to accept one possibility. Anything could happen. To ease her worries, she turned the knob and quietly gave a little force to the door. She felt cold air touch her face as the door cracked enough to peep at her son. Just one peep to see him, and make sure he was okay. That's all.

There was enough light from his computer to see him in the darkness. Mary...felt her heart skip beats a few times. Her eyes widened as big as quarters to something she never expected to see. As his mother, however, it was only a matter of time--A consequence of her worries driving her into action.

He was busy in his bed and in the 'privacy of his room'. But rather than studying or listening to a video on his phone, his hand was pumping, stroking up and down his...meaty red rocket. Mary could hear wetness from his slow and tight strokes, breath starting to hitch and skip. Her heart palpitated as if it forgot how to pump blood through her body, fur sticking up on ends. Jackson wasn't just jerking off with no material. No, he was transfixed on something in his free hand: A photograph.

"My god..." Mary breathed.

This would be the part where she would immediately back out, as any mother fucking should. But her eyes refused to peel away. Her body locked as if she was trapped by her legs. She froze as still as she could. She didn't want him to turn and catch her wide-eyed, hand over her mouth so she didn't accidentally breathe too loudly.

Once quiet before, Jackson was breathing heavier. She could see the veins of his throbbing cock get bigger the longer he stroked. Mary was mesmerized--stunned even. He was bigger than she would ever think a boy his age would have. He was only eighteen, and he was bigger than anyone Mary had been with--

Mary quickly shook her head. Jackson was her son, she thought. She shouldn't be thinking about his...size.

He bit his lip as the photograph dropped from his fingers, pleasure taking over. He was transfixed on himself at the moment, allowing Mary to see the person in the photograph: A canine woman with brown hair, golden fur and red lingerie. She had a body as curvaceous as sexy could get. Her big and natural breasts were barely covered by the bra--just enough to let the silver gears of imagination turn. It was a photo from the front, but she could see a little of the woman's rear end, as visually delicious as the rest of her body. Mary knew that photo like the back of her hand.

In fact, she remembered taking it vividly. She could still hear the flashes of cameras.

She covered her mouth with both hands now, eyes trembling as well as her whole body. There...was no way.

Her own son was masturbating to her? His own mother?

Where did he get that picture? Why does he have it? When did he get it? Why hasn't she just gone to her room yet and shut the damn door? Too many questions was running through Mary's mind as she watched the display of her son. Jackson was moving faster and harder. His balls tensed up, slowly coming towards his body and his toes curled as if trying to grab air. An area around the base of his throbbing stalk grew, swelling up like a balloon--His eager knot.

Suddenly, Jackson's body tensed up.

His hot and thick ejaculate erupted from his tip like a volcano, splattering all over his midriff. Mary watched in both shock and interest, watching the thickness of his potent cum, white with lustful intent spurt from his pulsing meat. Something in Mary began to stir. It was a feeling that she had long tried to forget since she married Adam. Her senses started to awaken, as she could suddenly smell his lust.

Her tongue was slick with saliva as the lust was so delicious to her mind, making her tail curl under. Her teeth bit into the skin of her finger, nearly breaking it, and her thighs clenched together. Her body was hot. Really hot. The space between her thighs was getting warm like an oven, and a sopping wetness was sticking to the inside of her panties. She was...ashamed to be stirred. And watching such a display before her was not making it any better. It was clawing at her from the inside and it took everything to fight it off.

He huffed loud enough for Mary to hear as he blew his load. He gave tight strokes, pacing them in near timing with the gushing orgasm. She could see his fuzzy sack clenching against his body, its contents spewing in thick spurts and ropes all over himself to a slow end. The last of his semen oozed down his knuckles, as if enticing Mary to come in and clean him up.

Mary suddenly bit her finger hard. She almost yelped but it was necessary. That feeling in her loins was not healthy and definitely not a good sign. She needed to leave. Fast. Or else she would make a bad mistake.

Mary, as carefully as she could, shut the door. Then with the grace of a middle-aged woman she darted to her room on her tiptoes. She said prayers in her head that Jackson didn't hear her.

She made it to the hall, in which she carefully speed-walked to safety. Once inside her room, lined with white walls and beige carpets, she shut her door. She threw her purse aside and immediately went to her closet. She kneeled down to the floor and drew a box from a hidden corner. She flipped small digits on the lock until the combination clicked it open. She opened it up and saw it.

She lifted it up with her hands; The only pair of red lingerie she still had from her past. It was the same lingerie from the photograph. Mary cursed to herself. She took that picture along with many others as an anniversary gift to him. Adam was the only one she gave those photographs to. Maybe...Adam was attracted to it after all. He was attracted enough to keep it in his personal box of things--the same box that Jackson had now.

There were too many questions running through her head. She slid the box back into the corner with the lingerie inside, and sat on the edge of her bed. All she could do was think about what just happened. Walking in on her son masturbating was one thing, but she was the material he used.

Her son was masturbating to her: His own mother.

'Or maybe...' Mary thought. She calmed her breathing. She was low on breath from the running and the shock. The lack of oxygen was making it hard to think. Once she got her lungs under control, she was able to think clearly: Maybe that wasn't her. She isn't the only golden retriever in the world with brown hair. That could've been anybody. But what were the odds? Mary was too tired to truly ponder it.

While thinking, she looked at the time. It was later than she needed to be awake. On top of that, she was still in her work clothes.

Mary stood from her bed and undressed, starting with her black pants. She pulled them down and stepped out of them. She could feel the chill of the air on her bare bottom, only protected by her lacy white panties. Mary unbuttoned her burgundy red top and let her hefty chest pillows spill out. Her bra, matching her panties, kept her succulent buds from being exposed.

Mary was self-conscious of her breasts. The size of her globes, her eye-catching aureole, and the suppleness of her teats was the cause. It made Mary nervous to wear anything she feared would bring her bosom into focus. In almost anything she wore, she'd be on edge. If it was showing cleavage, she'd be constantly tugging it up. If it was a bikini top, she'd refuse to move too much so they didn't spill out and flash everyone.

Mary preferred to wear clothes that covered as much of her melons and ass as much as they could. She hated the way her plump derriere wobbled when she walked, often feeling the attention they draw in. So she preferred jeans or slacks. However, their shape and size was hard to hide. She wore leggings for her runs and tried not to think about men turning their heads when she jogged by them.

Mary looked at herself in the vanity mirror. She had been exercising to get her body in shape. She also wanted to cope with the loss of Adam by physical activity. However, she still had some juice to parts of her body--primarily her thighs, butt, and midriff.

How could Jackson be attracted to his own mother? She was older and far from what boys his age should be attracted to. He should be after someone younger and more fit. But she saw it herself--He had a type, clearly. It was spelled all over his midriff in thick white writing. The size of his member in his fist, the rock hard girth and full length...Mary would be lying if she didn't feel a little bit of pride. Her son was well-endowed just like her female bits are.

She only hoped that he didn't go down the same path she did at his age. She wanted him to share that pulsing heat-seeking missile with someone that wasn't his own mother. The thought alone made Mary shiver. She could never see herself touching or sucking any inch of his big, full, steely...impressive--

As her thoughts ran, Mary ran a hand down her body, over her curves, towards her loins. One hand gripped the dresser for support and the other spread the glimmering lips of her sex. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip as she explored the mess her curiosity made with a finger, the tip of her index teasing the entrance of her moist furrow. Her ears were hot with blush as her honey pot left plenty of weeping juices on her finger.

She saw a glimpse of herself in the mirror and felt an immense weight of shame on her body. She quickly ripped her hand from her panties and saw the mess on her fingertips, stringing between them like a bridge of nectar.

What was she to do about this? Obviously, a parent would confront their child for this. He was eighteen now, yes, so of course his hormones were rushing around. He had probably jacked off to more women then just her in the safety of his room. But it shouldn't be her. And dammit, she shouldn't be aroused by it either. It was wrong. Mary needed to get that across and put her foot down on it, stomping it into the ground for good.

But how would she do so? Jackson won't talk to her much at all as it is. Confronting him about blowing his load to his own mother wouldn't make it any better.

Maybe Mary would come up with something during her exercise the next morning.