My eldest son crossed the line I couldn’t stop

According to Tomás, I was the one who started everything. I don’t think that’s true, but I do feel guilty about something: not stopping it in time, giving him the green light for what finally happened. There are silences that count as permission, and I stayed quiet too many times.

It was an ordinary day. We bumped into each other by chance at a shopping center a few blocks from home. We greeted each other as always, with a kiss on the cheek and a “hi.” He offered to buy me a coffee and we sat down to talk about everything and nothing.

—What are you up to, Mom? —he asked me.

—The same as you, shopping. And you?

—I came to look at a cell phone. What were you looking for?

—My things.

Closing time was approaching, and I got up to leave. He offered to walk me home and I turned him down, saying I still had errands. Under his insistence, I finally confessed that I had gone to buy lingerie in one of those brand-name stores.

—Wow, Mom, I didn’t know you wore that kind of sensual stuff.

—You didn’t need to know, Tomás.

—I’ll go with you.

—I’d feel uncomfortable.

—Come on, Mom, let me see that side of you.

I went in anyway. I bought three pieces: a sea-green one, a black one, and a white one, all tiny and daring, very much the style of the store. All the while, my son’s eyes stared in stunned disbelief at the lingerie his mother was going to wear. As soon as we left, he blurted out:

—Damn, Mom, that’s sexy.

—Tell your father that.

—Does it do anything for him?

—Nothing.

—Then why do you buy it?

—For me, Tomás. For me. I want to feel beautiful, sensual, even if your father doesn’t notice anymore.

—You are beautiful, Mom. Doesn’t Dad see it, feel it?

—I suppose those things go hand in hand.

Silence fell. We were heading out when he stopped me, took my hands, and spoke into my ear.

—I’d like to see you in it, Mom.

—Don’t even dream about it.

—Dreaming is like doing it. Why not, Mom?

—It’s something intimate.

—You say that like something could happen.

It was the first time either of us had hinted at it, even indirectly. Instead of thinking through my answer, I told him the first thing that came to mind.

—Knowing you, one has to be careful.

It was awkward. We looked at each other, and in his eyes I saw something different: a fire, a look that frightened me. “I’m leaving, it’s late,” I said, and when I gave him the kiss on the cheek, he turned his face. We kissed on the mouth and, although I didn’t part my lips, I felt his hot tongue press against the seam of mine, seeking me out, wet and shameless. I pulled away, uncomfortable, my panties already soaked from my own son.

—Don’t do that again, Tomás.

—Because we’re in a public place or because I’m your son?

—A lot of the first and a little of the second.

—So you liked it, Mom?

—Let’s say your surprise didn’t disgust me.

***

From that point on, he started looking for me. He knew that three mornings a week I worked from home, alone, and he showed up unannounced. When he saw my surprised face, he said he had afternoon classes. He didn’t waste any time: he hugged me, pressing himself against me, tried to kiss me, and I wouldn’t let him. We struggled a little, between my “no, Tomás” and his “just a little kiss, Mom.” I made him sit down and stay still.

—What do you want, Tomás? I’m working.

—To see how your new lingerie fits.

—That’s not going to happen.

—I dreamed it, Mom.

—Leave it at that.

—Coward.

—Be careful. You don’t know what you’re getting into. Now go, I have to work.

—And how do I say goodbye, Mom?

The moment was unimaginable, but it had something dirty about it, something forbidden, and that made it exciting. I couldn’t help but answer. He stood up, we kissed with tongue, our bodies pressed together. I felt his swollen cock digging into my belly, hard as iron inside his jeans, and I didn’t move: I let him rub himself against me while his tongue fucked my mouth. When he put his hands on my ass and squeezed it with both of them, sinking his fingers between my cheeks over my pants, I broke away. I was very nervous; so was he, because when I kicked him out, he left in silence, with an erection that strained his jeans and outlined the entire bulge: the tip of his cock was visible against the fabric.

It was more than clear that my son was hot for me and determined to live something forbidden. And the sick thing was that I liked the situation. That a twenty-six-year-old boy got turned on by a forty-seven-year-old woman who was also his mother seemed morbid, twisted, and that turned me on. The taboo was trapping me fast, and it wouldn’t be long before it became flesh in our lives. That afternoon, after he left, I went into the bathroom, pulled down my soaked panties, and touched myself thinking about him, about his cock outlined against the jeans, about how he would fuck me. I came biting my hand so I wouldn’t scream.

***

The next day the scene repeated itself, with one difference: I was wearing a dress. We started off shyly. He asked again to see how the new lingerie fit, and I told him not to even dream about it.

—Then a kiss, Mom?

—Just one kiss and you leave. Promise?

We kissed again with a lot of tongue, moans, tightly pressed together. Tomás had an erection hard as a rock, and I let him rub it against me, against my pussy over the dress, the outline of his cock pressing between my thighs. A moan escaped into his mouth when he bit my lip. When he slipped his hands under the dress, first caressing my thighs and then moving up to the edge of my panties, and with two fingers tried to pull down my underwear, I felt my legs close on their own around his hand. I pulled away.

—Enough, not that. Sit down, we need to talk.

We sat across from each other at the table we used as a breakfast nook. I took his hands. He was breathing hard and the bulge was still hard, so swollen that the tip was poking out against the waistband of his jeans. I tried not to look at it.

—Tomás, what’s going on? What do you want?

—You know, Mom.

—Say it. I need to hear it. What do you want to do with me?

—That, Mom. I want to be with you.

—You already are with me, just like your siblings.

—In a different way.

—And how would that be? What would we do?

I wasn’t willing to give him a break. I wanted to hear it from his mouth, in front of me. He stood up, grabbed his cock over his pants—I saw the whole thing outlined, thick, long—and answered very nervously.

—Fuck you, Mom. I want to fuck you. I want to put my cock in you and come inside you.

And he stormed off, furious, slamming the door. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe what was happening. My son and me in this? I tried to focus on work—I’m an editor at an architecture magazine—but no matter how hard I tried, that phrase kept thundering in my head. “Put my cock in you and come inside you.” My pussy was pulsing. I ended up with my hand back between my legs, rubbing my clit with my fingers until I came, imagining my own son emptying himself inside me.

***

Luckily, the next day was Saturday and we all had lunch together with his grandparents, which in some way guaranteed that nothing weird would happen between us. Maybe, in such a family setting, things would cool off.

Tomás arrived with chocolates for me and his usual bag of laundry; he lived in a residence near the university. When I thanked him, he whispered, “Sweetness for the sweet one.” Lunch went by with normal scenes. He played with his younger sister, Renata, fifteen, and Iván, the middle one, seventeen. Every so often our eyes met. Not the innocent ones of mother and son: his were full of desire, mine tried to hide how scared, vulnerable, and excited I was.

When he said goodbye, knowing I would be alone that weekend, he asked in my ear.

—Will I see you Monday, Mom?

—Yes —I murmured.

It was crystal clear that my son wanted me and that the feeling was mutual, but as his mother I still had defenses. On Sunday some messages arrived: “I miss you, I want to see you,” hearts, flowers. I had to cut this off, I couldn’t keep going like this. It was killing me. To the nerves was added a level of excitement that had me wet all day, with my panties stuck to my swollen pussy, my thighs clenching every time I remembered his voice saying “fuck you.”

On top of that, I was angry with my husband. Diego had let himself go, and my son had noticed. We hadn’t had sex in almost a year, and before that it had been good; now everything seemed far away. Diego had put on weight and seemed to have lost interest in sex. I couldn’t understand how two successful professionals had ended up at a point where, if I slept with my son, there would be no turning back.

And it’s not that I felt ugly. I’m slim, not a bit of fat on me, tall, with light hair and slanted eyes. I have a small, firm ass, breasts that are firm with pink nipples that are always awake, a neatly shaved pussy. When I was younger I had more opportunities than I could count to be unfaithful, and I never took them. Now, for the first time, I was about to do it, and with my own flesh and blood. I had never lived through anything so stressful and so hot at the same time.

***

On Sunday I locked myself in my room and had a video call with my counselor, an older man I had trusted for years. I told him everything as neatly as I could.

—Why did you kiss him? —he asked.

—I couldn’t help it.

—And what does this do to you?

—Fear and…

—Say it.

—Excitement.

—So you’re decided?

—I don’t know how to say it. I want to give it to him, but it scares me.

—No. What scares you is that it depends on you. That’s what weighs on you.

—So what do I do?

—Propose a deal. Nothing I tell you is going to stop it from happening. But ask him for it to be a one-time thing. That matters, because otherwise you expose yourselves to something you can’t come back from.

—And if we don’t keep the promise?

—Then maybe you’ll need help. That’s beyond me.

After that conversation, I slipped into a strange calm. Hot and determined, yes, but with a certain peace: we were going to live through a beautiful madness, no one would know, it would bring us closer, it would be only once and it would remain a memory. I was in that state when a message from him came in.

—Is tomorrow still on?

—More than ever.

Lying next to my husband, I understood something: what was going to happen could not happen in the bed I shared with his father. Impossible. I wouldn’t be able to look at those walls after that. Sitting in the bathroom, I looked for a discreet hotel a little away from home. I liked the rooms: spacious, pretty, with a large mirror facing the bed. I sent my son the link and wrote: “Tomorrow, there, at 10:30 at night.” He replied with applause.

***

I had breakfast with my husband and my two younger children. I was somewhere else, imagining what I was going to live through. So distracted that I put the wrong can of soda in Iván’s lunch bag. As soon as they left, I locked myself in the bathroom.

I had never prepared myself to have sex: with my husband we simply looked for each other and that was that. This time it was different. Not only was he my son, he was more than twenty years younger, and I needed to look and feel attractive. I shaved my pussy until it was smooth, slid a finger in to check that everything was neat, perfumed myself between my breasts and between my thighs. I put on one of the new pieces, the sea-green one, a thin bra that barely covered my nipples and a thong that dug into the crease of my ass, a thin bra, a blouse with just a hint of cleavage, and tight white jeans. I turned in front of the mirror several times. My ass looked gorgeous. “I’m ready,” I thought. “Tomás is going to feast.” And he wasn’t falling behind: tall, with black hair like his father’s, with a deep voice that was all his own.

I took a taxi and left. A few minutes later, another message.

—I’m here, Mom. What do I do?

—Wait for me in the café, I’ll be there in twenty.

At that moment the promise came back to me: today, and only today. It would be very hard to look at his little siblings if I slept with him every day. A little mischief between the two of us, a few “I love yous,” and that’s it. Being unfaithful to his father didn’t weigh on me; he had neglected me. Better that it be with Tomás, who is my son, whom I adore, and with whom the secret was more than guaranteed.

I checked in and paid in cash. From the reception I could see Tomás’s head; he hadn’t noticed my arrival. I hugged him from behind and kissed his neck with tongue. To loosen the mood I said, “Your prey has arrived.” “And my mom,” he replied. “You can count on it. Today more than ever, your mom.”

I ordered two coffees. He didn’t like it.

—I thought we were going upstairs.

—We have six hours, of course we’re going upstairs. But first I have something to tell you.

—Now?

—I’m terrified. If you want us to go up, listen to me. I’m going to give it to you, I want to do it, we’re going to do it… but this is a promise: only for today. As many times as you want today, but only today.

—Why, Mom?

—It’s that or nothing. You decide.

—Yes, Mom.

—Okay, baby. Let’s go.

***

We went up in the elevator with a couple and a bellhop. As we walked down the hallway I felt my son’s eyes fixed on my ass. For the first time I thought about what he must be thinking, minutes away from touching the flesh that had brought him into the world. The surprising thing was how calm and self-possessed he was.

I slid in the card, the green light came on, and we went in. Tomás locked the door. There was no time for anything: he threw himself at me, shoved me against the wall, and devoured my mouth with a desperate tongue while his hands yanked my blouse up. We kissed and fell onto the bed. He moaned “mom, mom” while unbuttoning my jeans and sliding his whole hand inside my thong; his fingers found my soaked pussy and a long moan slipped out of me when two of them sank in at once.

—You’re all wet, Mom. Look how you are for me.

—It’s for you, baby, all for you.

I grabbed the bulge over his jeans and squeezed it. His cock moved on its own against my hand, thick, throbbing. I pulled it out of his pants before I realized what I was doing: my son’s cock in my hand, hard, thick, the tip shining with fluid. I started jerking him off slowly, looking at his face.

—Give me a minute, I’m going to the bathroom.

—Mom, now?

—I’m nervous. Wait for me.

I washed up. It’s very intense for a mother to prepare the body with which she gave birth to a son in order to hand it over to that same son. It’s so morbidly intense it goes beyond any words. I looked at myself in the mirror with the sea-green thong wedged into my pussy and thought: “I’m going to give him everything. Let him use me, let him open me, let him come wherever he wants.” I came out covered only by the green piece. Tomás was speechless, naked on the bed, his cock standing and pointing at me, his hand moving it slowly.

—This is how I look —I told him.

—Mom… —he exclaimed.

—I’m going to make you feel it, baby.

I knelt between his legs. There was no shame, no doubt: I took his cock with both hands and slid it halfway into my mouth, savoring it. It was hot, hard, and it tasted like him, like my son. I started sucking it slowly, up and down, coating it all with saliva, then faster, taking it down until it hit my throat and made me cough. Tomás had me by the hair and watched me with half-closed eyes.

—Your son’s cock, Mom. You’re sucking your son’s cock, Mom.

—Yes, my love. Mom’s sucking it. Mom’s sucking it all.

I ran my tongue over the whole shaft, then over his balls, one and then the other, taking them into my mouth. I went back to the tip, took it all the way in, and started sucking him deep, with both hands squeezing his thighs. I felt his cock swell even more, felt he was about to come, and I stopped. I didn’t want him to finish yet.

I got onto the bed. He tore off the green bra and sucked my nipples one by one, biting them gently, tugging, while his hands pulled my thong down. When I was naked he spread my legs without asking. He looked at his mother’s shaved pussy and buried his face there. The first lick made me jump. It was my son eating my pussy. My son, with his tongue between the lips of my cunt, sucking my clit, sliding two fingers into me and moving them inside.

—There, baby, there, don’t stop, Mom’s going to come in your mouth.

—Come on my face, Mom. Come for your son.

A long, brutal orgasm shook me, arching me against his face while I grabbed his head and pressed my cunt to his mouth. No one had ever made me come like that. Not even Diego in his best days.

When I could breathe, he was already on top of me, pressing the tip of his cock to my entrance. He looked me in the eyes and thrust in. I screamed. My son’s cock inside me, widening me, filling me completely. He stayed still for a second, mouth open, and then started fucking me. Hard. Rhythmic. Each thrust hit deep inside me and made my breasts tremble.

—Fuck me, baby, fuck your mom, don’t stop.

—You’re mine, Mom. You’re mine. Look how it goes in, look how I’m putting it all the way inside you.

He pulled out and turned me over. He put me on all fours in front of the mirror; that bed had a huge mirror and there we were: me with my ass in the air, my son behind me holding my hips, driving his cock into me again. I watched my face as he fucked me. It was transformed by pleasure. He was behind me, teeth clenched, driving his cock into me to the balls.

—Look at yourself, Mom. Look how your son is fucking you.

—Yes, baby, look how you’re fucking me, look how you’re opening me.

He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back without stopping his thrusts. He ran his other hand over my clit and rubbed me while he was inside me. I came again, screaming at my son not to stop, clenching his cock inside me with spasms from my whole pussy. He held on, pulled out his cock and put it against my ass, the tip dripping with me.

—There too, Mom?

—There too, everything of mine is yours today.

He pushed it into my ass slowly, patiently, all the way in. It hurt and I liked it at the same time. He fucked me like that, holding my hips, both of us looking at ourselves in the mirror, until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He pulled out, turned me around, made me open my mouth, and finished right there, shooting hot jets of cum into his mother’s mouth, on my tongue, on my lips, a little on my cheek. I swallowed it all. I wiped with my finger what was left and sucked it while looking at him.

—All Mommy’s, baby. All for you.

What can I say. It was unforgettable. We kissed and touched each other like possessed people after that first time, and we fucked again. And again. And again. No one had ever touched me so much, in every corner. I didn’t fall behind either. He took me from behind again, me on all fours in front of the mirror, and I screamed at him not to stop, to fill me up, to get me pregnant even if it was impossible at my age, anything as long as I had him inside me. He drove me crazy. It was impossible to keep the promise; the two of us went further than ourselves. My counselor, later, told me he had expected that. Two years have passed and we love each other more every day, and every week I have him between my legs at least two or three times.