PART I
As an Asian mom, I’ve always been proud of the fact that I pushed my son to work as hard as possible in school, and my son has always been so obedient, and he has never really let me down. He enjoyed studying. He loved the struggle of solving difficult math problems. Even when he had spare time, he spent hours reading college-level books on philosophy, economy, political science, just as a hobby. Whereas many other boys of his age were obsessed with video games, anime, or other meaningless activities, my son was concentrated on exercises of higher pursuit, and just thinking about how successful he has been makes me beaming with pride.
Being Asian myself, I know the game is stacked against him on college applications. But I never doubted him. He had a perfect SAT score, and he is a straight A student in school. Even then, when he told me that he was applying to Harvard, my heart skipped a beat. I told him “You can do it” but I also knew Ivy Leagues generally don’t accept Asian students, well, at least Asian students from families who are not the elite-billionaire class.
So you can imagine the overwhelming joy I felt when my son has gotten in. The acceptance letter from the most prestigious university in the entire world—Harvard University—that paper that was so light in my hand and yet so heavy in my heart!
I couldn’t repress the outpouring of my excitement when I heard the news. I screamed and I smothered my son with kisses: “You have made me so proud. So very very proud!”
I hugged him tightly in my arms, as my face rested against his manly chest, as tears of joy filled my eyes. I knew I had to do something special for my son to celebrate this occasion.
A few weeks later, I reserved two tickets to a luxury cruises ship with a private balcony suite for us. “It’s just for the two of us,” I told him, while caressing his head.
He looked a little surprised and repeated, “Just the two of us?”
“Just the two of us. You’ve earned this, and I have always wanted to have a vacation too. But don’t worry about me. You can do whatever you want.”
“Anything I want?”
“Yes! No matter what you want to do, I will support you and love you. And I will never say no to you, because you are the apple of my eye, the love of my life.”
Our eyes met and I felt this immense feeling of comfort being around my son, the feeling of pride, joy, excitement, and, dare I say, even a tiny bit feeling of romance, like I was in love all over again.
At that moment, I didn’t think much about anything else. I had no reason to be suspicious. Without ever realizing it, that trip changed everything between me and my son.
A month later, we were at the port, the summer sun beating down against the ship—a massive ten-story masterpiece of white and gold—which towered over us. My son and I walked through the check-in area, along with thousands of other passengers. For the first time in years, I actually have gone on a vacation, and I took deep breathe, as if the air itself has become lighter, as we crossed the metal gang plank.
“Well, let’s go see our suite.” I said. That was when everything began to change.
The suite was breathtaking, even more so than the photos. A king-size bed dominated the center of the room, dressed in crisp white satin sheets that glowed beneath the soft bedside lamps. Beyond it, the private balcony overlooked the endless ocean, where the setting sun painted the water in shades of orange and pink.
I was wearing a tight blue dress that accentuated my curves and despite of me being in my late 30s, I’m proud to say that, as an Asian woman, I can easily pass for 20 year-olds. I’ve had lots of suitors over the years, but after my divorce, I’ve devoted nearly all my time to raising and caring for my son, and so I never had the chance to date another man. In some way, I always joked, my son is my surrogate husband.
Changing into my evening dress in front of my son.
Looking at my phone, I said, “The captain’s gala dinner is tonight. Everyone dresses up for the first night, and we definitely don’t want to be late. I’m going to get ready.”
In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have, but I decided to change right there in front of him. He is my son after all. I hide nothing fro him. I slid my dress down my body, revealing the black lingerie set that I was wearing, the sexiest lingerie that I brought for himself just for this special occasion. I knew my son was staring at me and I felt excited knowing that he was being turned on. Then I put on a red evening gown with high side-slits that exposed nearly all of my thighs.
“What do you think?” I asked, spinning toward my son with a small smile.
My son stood there, as if transfixed.
“You are so beautiful, mom.”
I felt so flattered I kissed my son lightly on the cheeks. His eyes traveled slowly over me, like he was appraising me.
“Now it’s your turn,” I said, nodding toward the suit hanging in the closet. “Come on. We can’t be late.”
I helped my son slip into the tuxedo that I had brought for him for graduation. Then I sprayed a little Dior on his neck, and once he was completely dressed up, I looked up and almost froze. My face went completely still, as if I didn’t recognize my own son. “I’m so proud of you. You are so handsome. You’ve become a real man.”
I rose onto my tiptoes and pressed my lips to my son’s cheek, lingering there a second longer than usual.
“Tonight,” I whispered, giving his tie one final, gentle adjustment, “You’ll be my man.”
Without me even realizing it, that compliment, half-jokingly said, would beome the catalyst.
The main ballroom of the cruise ship was a spectacle of pure opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, scattering golden light over champagne flutes and the elegant dresses of the women. An orchestra played a soft waltz in the background while couples swayed in perfect harmony across the dance floor. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, polished wood, and the salty sea breeze drifting in through the open windows.
Being mistaken as a couple for the first time.
And then me and my son appeared. My son and I stepped into view as if the entire room had brightened just for us. The red dress clung to my body like a second skin, stopping every man in his tracks. The high side slit revealed my thigh with each step, and the plunging neckline dared anyone to look away. My lips, painted a deep, rich red, glistened as if I had just sipped wine.
Everyone noticed. And I knew it.
When we reached the entrance, the host—a tall white man—greeted us with a polished smile. “Good evening, couple,” he said, gesturing inside. “Your table is ready.”
I didn’t correct him. I simply smiled, my fingers tightening gently around his arm, and whispered, “He thinks we’re a couple.”
I should have felt embarrassed. I should have laughed and said, “No, he is my son,” like any normal person would. But I didn’t. Because at that moment, I didn’t care.
Then my son turned to me, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something far more dangerous, he murmured, “Maybe he’s not wrong.”
My heart stopped.
Our table was by the windows, offering a view of the dark sea beyond. I sat down first, crossing my legs in a way that drew every eye to the slit in my dress. My son took the seat across from me.
A waiter appeared almost immediately, pouring champagne.
“To you, my man,” I said, raising my glass toward him.
My son did the same, but his hand trembled slightly.
I noticed.
“Nervous?” I asked, tilting my head.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Look around.”
I did.
That’s when it hit me. We were the only ones who weren’t a couple. Everyone else—husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, fiancé and fiancée—were touching, whispering, exchanging intimate glances. And there we were, pretending we weren’t what we were.
“They’re all staring at you, mom.”
“No, my love. They’re staring at us.”
Dancing with my son.
After dinner—a sophisticated dish I barely touched—the orchestra began playing a waltz. My son finished his food and stood, extending his hand to me.
“Dance with me,” my son said. It wasn’t a request. It was a command.
I hesitated for a second, then took it.
The moment his hand settled on my waist, I felt the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of my dress. I placed my other hand on his shoulder.
“Do you even know how to dance?” He murmured, his warm breath brushing my ear. “Let me teach you.”
And he did.
His steps were smooth and precise. I let him guide me, my feet following his as if we had done this a thousand times before. The music wrapped around us, and suddenly the rest of the room disappeared. There was only us, the scent of my son’s perfume, and the way his body moved against mine.
“You’re too tense, mom. Relax.”
“Where on earth did you learn to dance so well?”
“Shhh … it’s a secret.”
“If someone saw us right now,” I whispered, my lips close to his ear and my voice was like a caress, “What do you think they would assume?”
He didn’t answer.
I couldn’t either.
The music shifted to something slower, more intimate—a song meant for getting lost in. I didn’t pull away. Instead, I pressed closer, my body now molded to his with no space left for doubt.
“Do you want to know what they’re thinking, mom?”
“What?”
“We’re lovers.”
I laughed softly. “Then I’m yours, my man. And you’re mine.”
His body reacted instantly and I could feel his arousal poking at me.
“Oh … Mom …” He started, but I cut him off.
“No. Tonight, I’m not your mother. I’m just a woman. And you’re just a man.”
A stranger approached. He was an older man, elegant, wearing a tuxedo that probably cost more than my son’s car. “May I steal your partner for a moment?” he asked, smiling at me with confidence.
I didn’t look at him. I just smiled. “Sorry, but I’ve already promised this dance to someone else.”
The man didn’t back down. “A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be tied to just one partner all night.” His gaze drifted down my body, lingering over on my breasts, my waist, and my bare thighs.
That’s when I felt my son’s hands tightened on my waist, pulling me firmly against him in a way that left no room for misunderstanding. I was his.
“She already has an escort. And she’s not interested.”
The man raised his eyebrows, surprised by the reaction. Then he laughed as if it were all a joke and stepped back. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
When he walked away, I didn’t move. I stayed there, trapped in my son’s arms, breathing fast.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did. Because it’s true.”
I swallowed hard. My eyes dropped to his lips, and I knew.
There was no turning back.
I don’t know who moved first. Maybe it was me, leaning in that single centimeter. Maybe it was my son, finally losing control after a whole night of teasing. All I knew was that suddenly our lips met, and the world stopped.
The First Kiss.
It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It wasn’t a mother’s kiss. It was hunger. It was lust. It was years of stolen glances, accidental touches, latent desires we had never dared to admit. I let out a soft moan against his mouth, my hands sliding up his chest and gripping his lapels as if I wanted to pull him inside my body. His hands ran down my back, feeling the heat of my skin through the thin fabric, stopping just above my ass. Then it happened. Suddenly, his tongue thrusted into my mouth and I felt my own tongue being stretched out of my mouth. His hand moved down to my ass and grabbed a fistful of my flesh. I felt the muscles around my pelvis tighten and a heat wave was radiating from the center of my body.
“Stop,” I whispered against his lips.
But he didn’t stop. And neither did I.
The music kept playing. The other couples kept dancing as if nothing had happened. But our world had just shattered. When we finally pulled apart, my lips were swollen and my eyes were hazy. The bulge inside his pants were prominent and visible.
“This can’t happen again,” I said, my voice trembled.
He didn’t answer.
Because we both knew it was a lie.
The walk back to the suite was silent. Not an awkward silence, but a heavy one—like any word could break the spell.
I walked ahead of him, my heels clicking against the floor, my red dress swaying with every step. He followed. When we reached the room, I closed the door harder than necessary.
“That was a mistake,” I said, turning to face him. But my eyes told a different story. As I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers trembling slightly as I untied the straps of my heels. The red dress, now wrinkled where his hands had gripped it, still clung to my curves like a second skin. He watched in silence as I let the shoes drop to the floor with a dull thud, as if disarming something dangerous.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. My fingers toyed with the edge of my neckline, as if trying to hide what had already been revealed.
He approached me slowly, unbuttoning his suit jacket with deliberate movements, as if each gesture might wake me from a dream. The fabric slipped off his shoulders and fell to the floor. He stood before me shirtless as I traced his chest, his stomach, mesmerized by every inch of his bare skin.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
I shook her head but didn’t answer.
“But didn’t you say … I can do anything I wanted on this cruise. You will never say no to any of my demands … no matter what it is.”
I reached out and touched his abdomen, my cool fingers against his warm skin. A shiver ran down my spine, as if he had lit a fire inside me I didn’t know how to put out.
“I just… I don’t know what happened to me. This isn’t right. It’s not normal.”
“I want you tonight as my woman. And you are not allowed to say no.”
I knelt down in front of him, gently holding his belt buckle in a caress. My eyes were wet, but not with sadness—with fear. Fear of what we had done. Fear of what might still happen.
“Do you feel safe with me?”
“With you? Of course. Always.”
But before he had a chance to hold me, I pulled away with a shaky sigh and stood up.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I announced, as if the water could wash the sin from my lips.
He nodded, watching as I disappeared into the bathroom.
He was left alone in the room, my scent still lingering in the air. He took off the rest of his suit, and sat on the edge of the bed.
The sound of running water filled the silence.
The way my lips had parted under his, hungry, as if I had waited for it my whole life.
The muffled moan I let out when his hand slid down my back, grabbing my asss, like I was sinking into something forbidden.
The way my body had pressed against his, as if it belonged there, as if it had always been HIS.
It was real. It wasn’t a dream. But it felt like one.
The water stopped. My bare feet on the wet marble floor. My heart raced. Slowly, I opened the bathroom door, and I emerged from the shadows of the wave of warm steam, carrying me toward him. Moon was now sliding over my damp bare skin. No towel. No modesty. I was completely naked in front of him.
Being completely naked in front of my son.
I didn’t dare look at my son. Instead, I ran my hands through my wet hair, twisting the ends with fingers that trembled slightly. I knew my son was staring at my naked form. I knew he couldn’t possibly look away. And when I finally turned my head, our eyes met. There was no shame. No regret. There was something worse.
Desire. Lust. Forbidden love.
I walked toward the bed, my hips swaying in a way that wasn’t accidental. When I turned to lie down, the moonlight illuminated everything. I pulled the cover up to my waist, as if I could still try to hide anything from him.
But it was too late. And I knew it.
I turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The only light came from the moonlight reflecting off the sea, filtering through the curtains and painting my body in silver.
I slipped into bed, keeping some distance. My son lay down beside me, his back to me at first.
“Tonight was… incredible,” I whispered in the dark.
He turned to face me. “Did you like it?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “More than I should have.”
Silence.
I moved close enough for my lips to brush against his–a quick, almost innocent peck. “Good night, son.”
He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.
But before closing my eyes, I murmured, sotto voce. “Tomorrow we’ll pretend this never happened.”
Because we both knew the truth. Nothing would ever be the same again.
PART II My son fucked me in his sleep while pretending I was someone else.
I lay with my back to my son and closed my eyes, but sleep was futile. Visions of my son’s hard cock danced through my head. My swollen nipples felt like they were going to burst. The intense throbbing between my legs left my thighs sticky. I pulled my nightgown up over my ass and slipped a hand between my legs, imagining his cock sliding between my cheeks and plunging deep into my pussy.
I looked over at the clock on the wall. It was already 2 AM.
He scooted closer to me and his cock brushed against my naked ass cheeks. I didn’t move. I pretended to be asleep as he pressed the entire length of his cock into the crack of my ass, precum oozing from his tip.
My pussy clenched. I stifled a gasp and arched my back, pushing back against him. My fingers continued to strum my clit. I was going to cum. My body jerked as the first spasms hit me. The tip of my son’s cock slid between the slimy folds of my pussy. Juices seeped down his shaft as my orgasm played out.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. My son was about to fuck me. Is that what I wanted? He pushed deeper. The searing walls of my cunt gripped him tightly. He plunged the last few inches into me and held his cock there, deep inside me.
I felt so extremely conscious of what had just happened, and yet I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to scream. My pussy desperately wanted his cock inside me, but I am his mother! This is wrong. I started moaning in my dream-like voice and suddenly I heard my son speaking.
“Shhh … baby we need to be quiet so we don’t wake my mom.”
I was confused. Was my son dreaming? Am I dreaming? I had read an article in a psychologist magazine before that people often have masturbation fantasies while sleeping, and that some couples actually have sex while asleep. This must be what was happening.
He began to fuck my pussy in earnest, slowly at first, then faster and faster. I moved with him, rocking back and forth as the boat shifted in the ocean. Reaching back to take his hand, I guided it to my breast. He squeezed, thumbing my hard nipple through the gown.
“Oh god…ooohhh…” I couldn’t control myself as my son’s cock continued its assault into me, hard and fast as I pushed back against him driving him deeper and deeper into me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was committing a terrible sin, but I could no longer think straight. Everything was spinning out of control. The pressure in my belly continued to build. It finally exploded in another mind shattering orgasm.
“Oh fuck… oh fuck… uuuggghhh…”
My body tensed and shook in a series of uncontrollable spasms. My son slammed into me again and again, sending me to new heights of pleasure. I could feel my own pussy clench against his cock each time as he thrust deeper and I dug my fingers into the bed sheet like my life depended on it, like I was dawning. My shrieks and squeals eventually turned into whimpers of submission.
But my son was not finished with me yet. He rolled me on my stomach and continued, driving his cock deep inside my pussy once again. Loud squishing sounds filled the entire state room from all the juices sloshing around inside me. Another series of violent spasms gripped my pussy. Waves of the ocean rocking against the boat could be heard from the balcony.
Then it happened. As he thrust once more into my pussy and grunted, ropes of hot cum spewed into me. It went on and on until it seeped out and dripped out. Then he finally collapsed on my back, completely drained.
I slowly came back to reality. I had crossed the line. I had fucked my own son and committed incest. Not only that but he was still on my back with his cock buried inside me.
“Mmm… that was good. I hope we didn’t wake my mom. Finish me with your mouth so we won’t make so much noise.”
I couldn’t believe it. As much as I loved my son, the thought of having my lips wrapped around his cock was not what I had expected I could have done. And besides, who is he pretending me to be? A crush from school? Before I had more time to think, my son had already rolled me around and had his cock in my face. Sucking my son’s cock had to be better than letting him cum inside me again. It wasn’t exactly incest. It was just a blowjob, so I slid my mouth over his penis. A strong taste of cum and cunt juice washed across my taste buds. I bobbed my head up and down and swirled my tongue around the veins bulging from his cock. He put his hand on my head and thrust into my mouth. The tip of his cock jabbed at the opening of my throat.
“Oh fuck … oh god … I can’t hold back … I’m going to cum, mom.”
My heart skipped a beat. Did he just call me mom just now? But I had no time to reflect on what was happening. Hot cum surged through his shaft and exploded from the tip. Spurt after spurt filled my mouth. I sealed my lips tightly around his shaft so his cum didn’t make a mess on the bed sheet. Then I slipped a hand between my legs and rubbed my pussy, sending a spray of cunt juice down my thighs. I swallowed what was in my mouth.
“That was good honey, but we need to get some sleep before we wake up my mom. I have a big day with my mom tomorrow.”
Maybe he was not thinking about me. I don’t know what was happening anymore. He climbed off me and I cuddled up to him just like I have just finished making love to any other man. My thigh brushed against his cock when I draped a leg over his. My pussy was still twitching with excitement. And to my amazement, within a few minutes, my son’s cock got hard again.
I glanced over at the clock. It was already 3 AM. My son must have wanted to fuck me all night long. I thought to myself as I felt his hand reaching between my legs until he found the wet folds of my pussy and two fingers plunged into me.
I moaned, pushing back against him. Without thinking, I spread my legs wide as I squirmed against his fingers. Before I knew what was happening, the fingers had been replaced by my son’s cock again and I had my pussy impaled down the full length of my own son’s cock again.
We fucked like two desperate lovers. I was lifted up and slammed down the length of my son’s cock again and again. He thrust into me each time as I impaled myself, forcing his cock deeper.
My orgasm hit like the crashing wave of the ocean as the cruise ship sailed forward. I threw my head back and screamed. My tits swayed back and forth. My son bit down on my nipple, sending me into another series of orgasmic spasm. I finally collapsed onto his body shaking and gasping with his cock buried deep.
PART III
Pretending to be my son’s lover again.
Waking up that morning felt like emerging from a wet dream — not from sweat, but from the vivid, almost painful memory of what had happened. My sheets were crumpled, damp, and smelled of sex, and soon, as I got up to use the bathroom, I realized, the entire room smelled of sex—a mixture of semen, my pussy juice, sweat and something else. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to grasp the last fragments of the dreams that had tormented me all night. But reality hit with the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. My son was already awake.
“Are you going to take much longer in there?” His voice came from behind the door, light but with a tone that left no room for discussion. “The cruise breakfast ends in half an hour. If you don’t hurry, I’ll go alone.”
I tried to answer but my throat was dry, as if the words had been replaced by sand. The fear of saying something wrong, of breaking the fragile bubble we were living in, paralyzed me. What if it all had been a dream? What if, when we looked at each other, the magic of last night simply… evaporated?
“I’m coming,” I managed to say, my voice sounding hoarse. A lie. I wasn’t. Not before a cold shower.
The shower was a necessary torture. Ice-cold water falling on my skin like needles, stripping away the heat from the dreams I’d had — dreams in which my son’s cock was penetrating deep inside my cunt, his fingers kneading my breast. I whispered things a mother should have never whispered to her son.
When I came out, drying my hair with a towel, my son was no longer in the room. I stood naked before the full length mirror and admired my own body. Despite of my being almost 40 years old, I still looked stunning. My creamy white legs were long and slender. My breast and nipples were still proudly erect and pointy. And my hips were wide and when I moved, it swayed like a pendulum. And my pussy lips protruding outward peeking outward as usual … I noticed my lips were swollen, as if they had been roughened up last night. As if I had spent the night biting the pillow, dreaming of something — or someone — I shouldn’t desire.
“You took too long,” he said when I found him in the cafeteria. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but the way his fingers played with the strap on his pants — squeezing, releasing, squeezing again — betrayed his nervousness.
“Sorry,” I lied. I wasn’t sorry. Not really.
He finally turned his face toward me, and even through the dark lenses, I could feel his gaze running over me. For a second, I thought he was going to say something. Anything. “What happened yesterday?” “It can never happen again.” “I want you again.” “Did you dream the same thing I’ve dreamed last night?”
“Let’s go, mom. I’m hungry.”
The breakfast hall was a hell of light and heat. The Caribbean sun beat against the windows as if trying to melt the glass, and the air conditioning could barely compete with the humidity that stuck my dress to my body. We chose a table near the open doors, where the sea breeze entered carrying the scent of salt and coconut.
I sat down first, crossing my legs in a way that made the dress ride up a few inches more than it should. My son sat across from me, trying to ignore how the white fabric clung to my sweaty chest.
A waiter appeared almost immediately, serving ice-cold orange juice and black coffee. I picked up my glass, my fingers leaving wet marks on it, and took a long, slow sip. When I lowered it, my lips were glistening, and I had to look away before I noticed how my son was watching me.
“Do you remember anything last night?”
My heart stopped.
Of course I remembered. “More or less. Why?”
“I drank too much. My memory is… blurry. Well … truth be told, everything that happened after the dance was blank.”
A lie. My son drank non-alcoholic beverage last night.
“Blurry enough that you’d want to repeat it?” The words slipped out before I could stop them and my fingers froze on the glass. For a second, I thought I’d gone too far.
But then he smiled, slow and dangerous, like a cat that had just spotted a mouse.
“Depends,” he said, leaning forward.
“What exactly are you talking about?”
These words should have been a bucket of cold water. But it wasn’t. In that moment, it sounded like an invitation.
“The dinner. The dancing. The champagne.”
“Ah. That. Yes, it was … fun. I’d repeat it.”
Fun. As if it had been a walk in the park. As if we hadn’t broken every rule in the universe later that night.
“Just that?”
“What else do you think I’d repeat, mom?”
I was confused. So maybe it was all just a wet dream, a very realistic wet dream. Maybe nothing happened between the two of us.
We returned to the room in silence, but it was a loaded silence, like the air before a storm. The sun was high now, turning the cabin into a sauna.
“Shall we go for a swim?” I suggested, turning to my son with a smile that was anything but innocent.
“Good idea.”
I went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. The dress sliding down, the bra falling to the floor. My panties laying between my feet. Just then, the door was flung wide open. And my son strutted in.
“Wow, mom, your breasts are perfect!”
“Thanks, but you shouldn’t barge in like this … especially when I’m changing.”
“Yeah, but those are not like a mother’s breast. More like a goddess’s.”
“Well mommy is flattered … but … Oh …”
As I used my hands to cover my private area, leaving my breast exposed, my son reached out both hands, thumbing my nipples between his fingers and pinched them, then stretched them and twisted them.
“You … you … shouldn’t do this to mommy. Please stop. It hurts!”
“Okay. Here. I brought you a special bikini to wear. Here here, mom. Put this on.”
“Oh my god. That is so sweet of you.”
He handed over a coil of bright red strings that turned out to be a bikini and to my embarrassment it just a few strands of ropes that barely covered my nipples and pussy and at any instance when I was not careful, my vulva lips would slip out.
“You look so hot! Let’s go to the pool?”
“Are you sure? Can I go like this to the pool?”
“You are absolutely stunning! All the men would want to bury their face in between those breast and smell your crotch.”
“You…” My voice failed. I swallowed hard. “You really want your old mom to go like this, with all the men ogling at her?”
“Yes mom! Please. You said I can do anything I want on this trip. Well, I want you to go to the pool in this bikini I brought for you. You are on vacation! Let’s do it mom. You only live once. It’s been so lone since you wore something so sexy. …”
The second time I was mistaken for being my son’s lover.
And so we left, two sinners under the Caribbean sun, pretending we weren’t a second away from burning everything down.
The pool deck was a cauldron of bare flesh, drunk laughter, and electronic music muffled by the sound of the waves. I walked barefoot in front of my son, in my string bikini that practically made me naked, my hips swaying to the rhythm of a distant reggae beat, nothing was left little to the imagination — the rope between my ass cheeks almost completely disappeared, the tiny strands on my hips were always on the edge of becoming loose, and the fabric covering my breast were so flimsy I might as well have gone topless and covered my nipples with my index fingers.
The bar beside the pool was an oasis of shade and expensive cocktails. My son ordered me a “Sex on the Beach — because it matches the vibe,” he said, with a little smile that made me want to bite my lower lip.
I drank slowly, licking from the rim of the glass as if it were a sexual act. Every movement of mine drew glances — men at the bar, passing waiters, even a group of guys around my son’s age pretending not to look. But I didn’t care. It is true, I liked it. I adjusted my bikini from time to time, as I wanted to show a little more of my breasts, as I wanted everyone to know what they can see but cannot have.
“You’re drawing so many looks, mom!” My son murmured, taking a sip of my drink.
“Isn’t this what you wanted from mommy?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’m loving it. You are so sexy!”
I gripped the glass tighter, imagining how it would feel to grip my son’s cock with the same intensity.
“How about the hot tub?” I suggested, pointing to the more secluded corner of the deck, where a steaming Jacuzzi was almost empty. “Fewer people, more … privacy.”
“Privacy? Why do we need privacy?”
“I think I need something. Before I lose control.”
“Are you getting horny from all the men staring at you?”
I nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
He took my hand. And when our fingers touched, I felt an electric current running down my arm.
There was no turning back.
The water in the hot tub was boiling and bubbling like a cauldron of desire, lust, and sin. The heat, the bubbles, the steam — everything seemed to conspire to melt us.
We sat side by side, the water covering our shoulders, steam rising between us.
“Better like this. … No one watching.”
That was when they arrived.
A couple. He was about 50, with a pot-belly under his white polo shirt, a gold watch shining on his wrist. She was a young 20-ish blonde woman in a flimsy bikini just like mine, the kind of woman men like him used as a trophy, and for a split second, I almost wanted to say that the man was old enough to be her dad.
“Good afternoon,” the man greeted, sitting down next to us. The blonde girl smiled.
“Good afternoon,” I replied, forcing a smile. My son nodded politely, and he put his hand on my thigh, slowing rubbing up and down.
The man started talking — about the cruise, about the Cayman Islands, about how life was good when you had money. I wasn’t listening. I could only think about my son’s hand on my leg, the way the water made my bikini cling even more to my body, and my hard nipples beneath the fabric.
“How many years have you been married?” the man asked suddenly.
I froze.
“We will get married next month,” my son answered smoothly. “This is our honeymoon.”
And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. His lips burned my skin, and I smelled the “Sex on the Beach” on his breath, sweet and tart at the same time.
The man laughed, as if he found it amusing. The blonde girl smiled too, her eyes were fixed on me.
That was when the man pulled the blonde girl onto his lap, as if to mark his territory. As if to impress.
My son didn’t hesitate.
With a flourish, his arms rose, grabbing me by my armpits, and lifted me up out of the water like I was a rag doll. And he sat me on his lap, my bubbly butt nearly out of the water. My son was hard — rock hard — and he knew I knew it. It was poking at my ass and it reminded of the time when I accidentally sat on my dildo.
“Sorry babe,” he murmured, but he didn’t move, his rock hard pointing directly into my crotch.
No one moved. The man went quiet, his fingers squeezing the blonde girl’s thigh with a force that must have hurt. The blonde stared at us, her lips slightly parted.
We kept talking. Or rather, they kept talking. My son spoke about something or other, his voice soft and calm, while I tried to focus on anything other than the way my son’s cock moved slightly under my ass.
Then the man kissed the blonde girl. It wasn’t a long kiss. It was quick, possessive, a seal of ownership. A challenge.
With a brusque movement, my son untied the strand on my bottoms leaving my bare pussy fully exposed, and then, once again, he lifting me up in the air, until my bare pussy was almost out of the water, and, as I was falling down back into the tub, he slithered a hand between my crotch and impaled me on his finger. My eyes widened and my mouth gaped. I couldn’t believe what was happening, and before I had time to say anything, his middle finger was buried deep inside my pussy. My face was contorted into an expression of agony, pleasure, and humiliation and I tried hard to hide from the couple facing me what was happening.
Just as his finger was buried inside my pussy under water, he used the other hand to pull my face toward him, and our lips met. And the world stopped.
And then, when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he whispered against my lips: “I love you.”
My heart stopped.
It wasn’t a son’s “I love you.” It was something forbidden. It was something ours.
We only stopped when we realized we were drawing looks from outside the hot tub.
The tub was still boiling with sexual tension, and the couple beside us had fallen into absolute silence. The old man looked like he had swallowed his own tongue, his eyes wide as if he had seen a ghost. The blonde, however, didn’t look away. And the way she nibbled on the straw of her drink, her eyes fixed on us, made it clear she wanted to participate. Not as a voyeur, but as part of that dirty game. As if we were all in the same filthy secret, and she was waiting for an invitation.
But we weren’t going to give her that pleasure.
“Show them what a slut you are, babe.” my son said out loud, his voice a mix of command and desire. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a decision. He stood up first, water streaming down his body in droplets.
I wanted to shout back. No! I’m your mother. But it felt so sexy to pretend to be lovers. It was so exicting. I haven’t had so much fun in so long!
“Why don’t you stand up and show our friends here that little sweet pussy of yours?” My heart was pounding against my chest when I heard that and there was a lump at my throat.
Mmm such a good little yellow yummy mummy 👌💛
Need a part 4 right now!
I appreciate how you give your inner thoughts as you are experiencing all of this. It helps to understand how you are processing everything that is happening as it does.
You are going to drop off your son in Boston. That is not all that far from me … let me offer you a getaway for a few days. 50 and retired. Ret762021@gmail.com
How did you know I travelled to Boston? 😱
Because he got into Harvard and schools and move-ins start around now thru first week of sept pending the school. I knew you would be in the area because I enjoy the details of your writing … all details
Ret762021@gmail.com
Offer is real on me …