Once again, Peter woke up to realise he'd fallen asleep on the sofa with his laptop computer still up, the screen lighting up the dark lounge room. But that isn't what concerned him tonight. No, that honour went to the cold, sharp knife he could feel against his throat.
"Oh good. You're awake," the gruff voice observed. "Tell me, boy, is there anyone else home?"
Peter swallowed hard, then winced. Probably not the best idea with a knife held to your throat, he realised as a tiny trickle of blood ran down his neck. "Uh, yeah, j-j-just my mum."
"Your mum, eh? Nice. Very nice. Lead the way, kiddo." Peter was hesitant, as surely even the man with the knife could understand. "Show me where your mum's room is, or I can just slit your throat and find her myself."
"Okay, okay, I'm cooperating. I'll do anything you say. Just don't hurt us." As he stood up, Peter tried to put a face to the gruff, angry voice of his assailant. No such luck; the man was wearing a balaclava. Raising his hands above his head like he'd seen done in so many movies, Peter led the man to his mother's room, the knife occasionally pricking him in the back. They walked down the hallway and Peter opened the door to his mother's bedroom and turned on the light. His father was, of course, away driving his truck to some godforsaken part of the country.
"Um...mum?" He watched as his mother stirred groggily in bed, then resumed her snoring. "Mum, wake up." When she didn't move, Peter shook her awake.
"Wha- Peter? What's wrong?"
"Uh, well, there's a guy in the house - right behind me, actually - and he held a knife to my throat and told me to lead him here."
"You're kidding," she groaned, still at least half asleep.
"'fraid not, my dear," the man chuckled. Nicki jumped, now fully awake and equally terrified. She saw the knife was once again pressed against her son's neck.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Peter. I told you to lock the front door when you got home. How many times-"
"It's not the boy's fault, mummy dearest," the man interrupted. "There's not a lock on this green earth that can keep me out of a house if I wanna get inside. Now, do me a favour and strip for me, okay?"
"What? Right now? In front of my fucking son?" Insane killer or not, Nicki couldn't believe what the man was suggesting.
"Strip, or your little boy gets it, my dear," the man retorted.
Peter watched, terrified, as his mother looked around for some other option - some way to subdue the intruder and escape this nightmare - and failed to do so. She sat up in her bed, hands shaking, and lifted her baby blue cotton nightie above her head. Peter hated himself for appreciating how firm and large her breasts were, especially for a woman in her 40s. He watched them bounce free of her nightie, staring as her nipples hardened in the cool summer night air. How long has Mum had such a great body? No, stop it, you fucking perv. God, what's wrong with you? But those big tits... Peter's mind raced. He watched as his mother slid her bikini briefs down with trembling fingers. She could feel both Peter's and the intruder's eyes on her pubic mound, taking in every detail of her hair-free pussy. She felt horribly self-conscious and ashamed. But why? So what if she was 46 and still got her pubes waxed? It certainly made her and her husband happy. She didn't do it for anybody else, least of all these two.
"Ooh, very nice, Mummy," the balaclava mocked. "Now you, sonny-boy."
"What are you- Why are you doing this to us?" Nicki pleaded with the man.
"Quiet," he snapped back. "Clothes off now, boy," he ordered Peter.
Peter's hands shook as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing his young, lean torso. Despite the circumstances, his mother couldn't help but admire the young man he was becoming, physically and otherwise. Especially compared to his father, who was definitely letting himself go.
"Pants too, sonny."
Peter reluctantly complied, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. He stuck his trembling thumbs in the waistband of his underpants and removed the rest of his clothing, exposing himself to his mother for the first time since before puberty. Not to mention the masked man brandishing a knife.
Nicki tried to avert her eyes, but morbid curiosity drew her gaze to her son's genitals. He kept his pubic hair trimmed very short all over, and his uncut cock... She had always been intrigued by how men's penises were so much darker than the rest of their skin, and her son's was no exception. But even more intriguing, Peter's penis wasn't shrunken or withdrawn, the way she thought fear would have done. No, instead, her son stood naked in front of her bed, at least half erect. Are you serious? Is he really getting hard? Now? Fucking hell. Well, I guess that's sort of a compliment... Her eyes still glued to her boy's dick, she felt that old familiar warmth starting to creep between her legs. No, Nicki, push those fucking weird thoughts out of your head. Right now.
"Okay, we've done what you asked. Can you let us go now?" Peter asked impatiently.
"Oh no, we're just getting started here," the man replied. In their worst nightmares, neither mother nor son could have expected what the strange man said next. "Now, you're going to fuck your mum, kid."
