Mom How Could You?

All characters engaged in sex acts are eighteen or older.

The day came for Quinn and Mom's trip. It had been a while since they had done anything, and not even a mention of it on Mom's page. A few days before the trip, she made a post. "Going to be out of town for about a week. I may find some time to post a pic or two in that time. I'm going to be with a special person in my life, and I will come back with updates about the future of my page. Love you all!" Not a mention of future videos or content.

Quinn read the message several times, hoping he could get some kind of insight into it. What did Mom mean? Were they not going to do anything else after this? It sounded like it was up in the air. Quinn didn't know how to feel about that. Did he want to continue what he and Mom were doing? There was no doubt that one part of him absolutely did, and the other part was withering away. He wondered what Mom had planned for the trip.

Doubt gnawed at him, and despite the joy he was sure the trip would bring, he dreaded the day they would depart. There were a thousand awful things that could happen, and half of them he knew he would quite enjoy. The night before he sent Mom a message.

HornyAlpha7216:

Have you headed out on your trip yet?

HornyAlpha7216:

You left a pretty cryptic message. Are you going to keep posting videos? The last one you posted was hot as hell. They keep getting better.

HornyAlpha7216:

Well, I hope you have a lot of fun. And don't forget about your fans. We want to see more.

And there it was. Once again he was asking Mom to molest him, making himself complicit. Every word was honest and deceptive at the same time. What he was really asking here was if she was going to fuck him again.

Finally the day came. Mom was frantic the night before getting everything ready. The next morning she drove them to the airport. She was clearly amped up. "Oh, Sugar Lump, I can't wait. We're going to have so much fun. All the beaches we could hope for. What are you more excited about? The nature tour or the dolphin experience? I think the nature tour is going to be fun and interesting. We'll see if we can even ride an elephant!" She was quiet for a second as they merged onto the highway, her enchanting grin spread across her face. Quinn would be staring out the window if he could have taken his eyes off her.

"Babe?" she said, glancing at him. "What's up?"

Quinn shook his head, "Nothing, Mom." Even as it came out, he knew it was ridiculous to think he could fool her.

"You're worried," she said, her eyes back on the road. It wasn't a question.

"Not, really," Quinn said. A ridiculous lie.

"It's going to be a lot of fun, Babe. I promise. You've been worried a lot lately. This is a chance to get away and not think about all the stressful stuff. Besides, we're good for a while. No worries about bills." She paused, and Quinn wondered if she knew what was actually on his mind. "Remember when we went to the zoo when you were a little boy and you saw the elephants? We came back four times that day to see them and every time you asked to ride them. Now it's going to be your chance. Isn't that exciting?"

It was, though Quinn didn't know why he was so loath to admit it to Mom. There were two scenarios he saw in his mind. In one, Mom would come onto him, and he would fold and crumble like always. With no other distractions, this might as well be a sex trip for them. And he would be in heaven the whole time. Mom was the best, the most beautiful woman he had ever known, and he was all hers. He longed for her to have her way with him. Of course, the deeper they got, the more wrong and sinful it became. Mom had been mad at him when he talked to her about God, and she had bad mouthed the church they went to. But whatever church you went to they would tell you that incest was a sin. The pastor didn't matter. They were both perverts beyond the pale, and in that heaven of her touch was hell.

In the other scenario, however, Mom told him it was over. It was always her choice, whatever she said would go, she was the true mistress of the house and of his heart. And truly there would be nothing he could even say, since this is what he told himself he wanted all along. They would go back to their normal lives of loneliness and disappointment. Though it would be the right thing to do, it would be heartbreak for Quinn.

Before this, the longest plane trip Quinn had been on was to Florida to visit his grandparents. It had been an excruciating six hours. The flight was nothing compared to this one. Mom slept most of the way (with the help of pills) and read. She was pretty scared of flying too, and he felt bad that she had to deal with that stress. It was a chance, though, for him to comfort her for a change. They chatted here and there and it almost felt like the old days. There was a short layover in Hawaii, and then in Tokyo. How could anything be this far away?

He knew the look Mom had when they got close. It was like when she had a hard day at work, except on overdrive. She groggily woke a couple of hours before they were finally there. "Quinn," she said, "there's something I have to tell you before we get there."

Now this tone was more familiar. It started innocuously and turned into Quinn cumming on or in Mom. But he was tired too, and his normal anemic resistance to Mom was ground to dust. Mom continued, "So Indonesia is a bit more conservative than America." Quinn still couldn't find Indonesia on a map, even though Mom had shown him. But this didn't make it sound so bad. "Some of the resorts are restrictive about who they let book cabanas. We have a really nice one and you're not going to be disappointed, but I didn't want to get two. Why would I?"

"Mom, what's wrong?" Quinn said, dread creeping inside him.

"Well, it's harder for a mom and son to find a cabana together. Isn't that crazy?"

With the kind of mother and son they were, it didn't seem crazy at all. "Just tell me, Mom."

"Well, we're registered as Mr. and Mrs. Dascalu." Mom kept her maiden name when she married Dad but it wasn't Quinn's name. It took a minute for it to sink in, and his eyes went wide. "It's ok, it's just a formality. But, yes, they think we're married. So don't get all weird when they refer to us as husband and wife."

It was too much. "Mom, how could you? Can't we have a break from you pushing... this? Can't we just be mother and son again?"

"Babe, relax. It's only a name. Nothing changes between us."

That was just it. How did Mom have such a way of twisting words like this? Change was what they needed, and Mom was acting like a mother and son playing at being married was something normal. He shook his head. "This is insane."

Mom sighed. "Well, I am tired and sweaty and have a headache. It's a done deal, so unless you want to buy a ticket back you're just going to have to deal with it. Honestly, Quinn it's like you're determined to suck the fun out of everything."

And that, indeed, did settle it. Quinn was worn out, too, and the air was thick enough to cut when they got off the plane. Mom was quiet, and gave terse answers to anything he asked her. They grabbed their luggage and Mom managed a smile for the clerk at the auto rental counter. By the time they checked into the cabana the sun had set. Their cabana was out on the ocean, and inside was like a small apartment. There was only a bathroom and the main room. It contained a king size bed, miniature kitchen, and a couch. Quinn had to admit it was nice, he had never stayed anywhere this fancy before.

Mom emerged from the bathroom with a t-shirt and panties on and covered her red eyes with a mask as she lay down. "You, ok, Mom?" Quinn asked, feeling nervous even asking.

"Not really, I'm not going to be much for conversation. I've taken some pills and I'm gonna nap for a while. Don't let me stop you from having fun. Go downstairs and have a couple of drinks." After some grumbled reassurances that she would be ok and wasn't mad, Quinn did go to get those drinks.

--

"First time in Bali, sir?" The bartender asked as he opened the beer for Quinn. He had a slight accent to his English and was dark skinned with epicanthal eyes. He assumed the man was a local, but didn't want to ask and be wrong. When Quinn timidly answered that it was, the man nodded. "I can always tell. Where you from?"

"I'm American," Quinn answered after taking a pull on his beer.

The bartender laughed. "Yes, sir, I can tell that too. Where in the States are you from?"

"California."

They went back and forth, the man asking Quinn's impressions of Indonesia, if he liked the beer, and sharing about his homeland. Quinn was relieved to find that his assumption had been correct about the man being in his home country, even if he wasn't from Bali. He ordered a second beer.

The place wasn't busy. It opened to the beach, and had the typical thatched roof of tropical tourist traps. The bartender's name was Ismail, and he had worked there for twenty-five years, starting as a poolboy and working his way up. With all that was on his mind, Quinn didn't say much. He had been to enough bars to know when the bartender wanted you to open up. He started on his third beer.

"Sir, if I can ask, who are you here with?"

"My m- my wife," Quinn answered, remembering what Mom had told him.

"She back in your cabana?"

It irked Quinn a little that this bartender was asking so many questions, but the beer had loosened him up. "Yeah, resting. She doesn't like flying. We just got here."

"How long you been married?"

Shit, he didn't know he would have to think about it this much. "Umm, it's our honeymoon," he stammered.

The bartender left to get another customer and Quinn watched the TV. It was a soccer match between two European teams. Boring. He asked the bartender for another beer.

"Travel can be rough. You might want to bring your wife something to eat if she's in a mood."

There was a spark of anger, and Quinn was about to shut Ismail up, but again the beer had softened his defenses. "She was pissed at me before we even arrived."

"You don't look too happy yourself."

Quinn furrowed his brow. "She didn't even ask me about planning this trip. She has all these ideas about what she wants to do and what she wants me to do. It's like I'm dead weight."

"You don't feel like you have a voice," Ismail said. Quinn nodded. "I've been married for thirty years, sir. Sometimes it's like that."

"Doesn't it piss you off, though? The man is supposed to be the head of the family. You believe that here, right?"

The bartender got that look in his eye that Quinn had seen when older men had real talk with younger men. It was sympathy mixed with understanding, but it was condescending too. "It's more complicated than that. And Muslims believe that too, that the man is the head of the house." That shocked Quinn and it must have shown on his face. "Most of us in Indonesia are Muslims, yes. Christians believe that as well, don't they?"

"They're supposed to, but my m- wife just gets her way whenever we argue."

"You're going to have to live with your wife for the rest of your life. You have to know when you're in the wrong and when it doesn't even matter that you're wrong or right. What's that Kenny Rogers says? 'Know when to hold them and know when to fold them?'"

Quinn couldn't help but smile at a country quote like that coming out in Ismail's accent. Ismail opened a beer without him asking. "So you just give in when your wife argues?" Quinn asked.

"Definitely not. But you get married and you're telling God that the two of you are one now. You have to think about peace and happiness. Especially in a place like this. I've seen so many tourists come through here. Some of them worry every second. They argue with their wives, they fuss at their children, and then everyone is miserable." It was madness, talking about being married to this stranger. But it was greater madness that he was describing what was happening with him and Mom.

"But I feel out of control with her... sometimes."

"Control isn't everything, sir. You're going to remember your time here one day, and what do you want to look back on?"

The honest answer was that he wanted to see Mom happy, he wanted her affection, and he told Ismail so. Of course substituting wife for Mom. "I always tell the people who are stressed that they can go back to worrying about everything when they get home," Ismail said. "This isn't the place for worries. Isn't that the whole idea?"

Quinn didn't have a response for that. It wasn't as if he could bring up that he was fucking his mom. A shrug was all he could muster. "If I were you, sir, I would take care of your wife and give her the time of her life while you're here. Whatever issues the two of you have you can work them out when you get home. You may not have another chance like this."

Heeding the bartender's advice, Quinn ordered food for Mom. She would surely be hungry and him bringing food home would earn him a few points if she was still in a mood. When he got the foam container, he peeked inside. Per the bartender's recommendation, he ordered a salad of chopped vegetables with peanut sauce, "gado-gado" they called it on the menu. It didn't look all that good to him, but Mom was a more adventurous eater and would appreciate the gesture anyway.

The cabana door opened to a dark room, and Quinn heard Mom's heavy breathing as he came in. It was well into the night by then. Awoken by the sound of the closing door, Mom sat up and awkwardly removed her eye mask. "Sugar Lump?" she called.

Quinn cautiously greeted her and asked how she was. "It's amazing the wonders that a nap and modern chemistry will do," she said. She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. Then she spied the container in Quinns hands.

"I got you a salad from the bar, Mom. It's called 'gado-gado.'" He laid the container on the bed at her feet.

"Oh I read about that before we left, I wanted to try it." She smiled at him, that damned smile. Along with her nipples, rising from her thin top, all of it gave Quinn a quiver and his cock began to sharpen. "I knew you'd come through for me, Babe."

That was the best Quinn had felt since they had arrived. The beers he had still held their spell over him, and her gratitude and approval flooded through him. "Of course, Mom," he said.

Mom leaned over and opened the box. The rich smell of the dish filled the room. "Come sit next to me, Quinn." She patted the bed next to her. Quinn obediently sat down, and he was close enough to smell her, sweaty and worn from the trip. She kissed his cheek. His cock was uncomfortably hard now.

They turned the giant TV on, which had the standard local and satellite channels, along with any streaming service they wanted. Mom ate her salad contentedly, and offered Quinn a bite, which he refused. He poured them a couple of glasses of wine from the minibar. "You sure you need that, Sugar Lump?" Mom said.

"I had a few drinks, but I'm not drunk, Mom." She kissed his cheek again as he sat down. They watched a movie, which Mom dozed off to in the middle. She laid her head on Quinn's shoulder, doing nothing to calm his raging hardon. Tonight would be the moment of truth, he supposed. He had that feeling now, horribly familiar, where he wanted to fuck Mom raw, but the guilt wasn't there, or had least faded to embers rather than the radiance it had before. And what did that mean? Shouldn't he feel bad about wanting Mom like this? He hoped it was because of the alcohol.

The bigger question blazed through him, heedless of any guilt or morality: did she still want him? With her next to him, her soft, delicate body, the delightfully pungent aroma of her fatigue, and her subtle breathing. Her presence was overwhelming, and his hand squeezed into her side. The TV's flashing lights reflected off her glasses. His beloved Mom. She was more this now than she had ever been. Sitting atop a pyramid, she was his queen, and a goddess among women, her beauty, charm, and intelligence making them base trolls by comparison. No one could ever compare. And he was her chosen, there with her when she wanted no one else.

Her side was smooth and warm, and he moved down to her thick thigh. He was her man,

the

man, here to protect and serve her forever.

Mom woke up as the movie ended. Quinn himself was ready to fall asleep. He stretched and got up as Mom stirred. "You ready for bed?" She asked. The extra long flight and the beer he had drunk made the answer an emphatic yes.

After Mom brushed her teeth and got in bed, Quinn came out, ready for bed. Mom hadn't said a word to him. She lay down, watching him as he got ready. He took a pillow and blanket, setting the couch up. It wasn't a bad couch, comfortable enough. Of course he wished he could sidle up next to Mom in bed. Poke her with his cock at first, then penetrate her with it. But as he sobered up, the fantasy floated further and further away from him.

"Don't be silly, Babe," Mom said as he laid the sheets on the couch.

"What, Mom?" He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

"The bed's a king. It's big enough for both of us. Come cuddle with me." If he did, he wasn't sure he could control himself. In fact, he knew he couldn't. And even after all they had done and all the thinking he had done about it, he still couldn't shake the guilt. Just being with Mom the way he was was bad enough, but putting the videos online was beyond depraved. It was degrading to both of them. The thought of what it would be like next to mom in her underwear threw a switch in his cock. He started to get hard once more.

"I can sleep on the couch, Mom. I don't mind." If she was his to protect, so was her virtue. None of this was right. It was even dodgy to tell the hotel that they were married. What Ismail, the bartender, had said about going with the flow seemed to make so much sense when he was out there with him. But now, all he could feel were the fires of hell. Ismail wasn't even a Christian. What did he know about this kind of thing?

"There's no need. It's been a long day, Sugar Lump. You aren't going to give me a hard time about this, are you?" She propped herself up on an elbow. "I could use some cuddles anyway, it was a rough day." Quinn felt his resolve waver, seeing her smile. With each of Mom's words, his dick got harder and harder.

It would happen just like always. Mom would say or do something that seemed innocent, he would walk into it like a fool, and before he knew what hit him, videos of the two of them being lewd would be online. All the more humiliating was that he knew what he was going into every time. "Just go to sleep, Mom," he grumbled.

"Don't you use that tone with me." She sighed and got up. Quinn lay down on the couch and turned away. With each step she took toward him, he got harder and harder. By the time she touched his shoulder he was fully erect. "Babe, this is it. We've made it and I want to celebrate getting here with you together. Chances are, we'll never be here again."

Her hand moved to his head, then down his cheek toward his chest. Quinn took her hand before she could go any further. "Mom, it's

wrong.

I know every time we talk about it you turn everything around and win the argument. But winning an argument doesn't mean you're right. It's

incest,

Mom. What would Dad think? What would grandpa think?" Despite his feelings, despite even Mom's desires, nothing could make this right.

Just the subtle tightening in Mom's wrist was enough to tell him he had struck a chord. Her breathing became heavier and for a moment Quinn thought that she would start crying. "It's just you and me, now Quinn. We're the only ones whose opinions matter now. I know you love me, and I know that you want what I want. For this week we have this time all to ourselves, to do whatever we want. No one will know, no one can judge. Just come over and keep me company. There's no one I would rather be here with now."