For several months, the house had felt empty, lifeless. Since Rick left for college, all Diane could do was mope around the house, trying to find meaning in her usual routine of cooking, cleaning, and watching mindless morning TV-shows, but, it was nothing like it used to.
Every day at about three in the afternoon her glance fell to the front door; and every single day her heart dropped to the floor, when the door remained shut and Rick did not storm into the house, his head filled with new knowledge and his stomach rumbling.
Now, it was only she and her husband—and their relationship had been strained for years, and only gotten worse since it'd been just the two of them.
Therefore, she was all too excitingly counting the days (and hours and minutes) for Rick to come home for the holidays. At the same time, she couldn't shred off the heart-wrenching feeling of dread; Rick hadn't contacted her for a long time and the few times she'd called, he was distant and cold—terrifyingly unlike him.
Had one semester been enough so drastically to change him? Back when he lived home, they talked all the time. Rick had never been distant, cold, never acted out, never...
She drew a deep breath—coughing from the strong rising steam—and stirred the pot; she'd almost driven herself insane pondering on what might have happened to her Ricky and how different his voice sounded over the phone.
It's nothing but him growing up, becoming the person he'll be for the rest of his life, she kept thinking during all the lonely hours of each day, and night.
Having never been to college—pregnant at seventeen and hastily married to her high-school boyfriend, who rejected a football scholarship to work at his father's garage—she could only imagine college's transformative powers and, consequently, her brain magnified everything to outrageous proportions.
She took the pot out of the fire and brewed coffee; about an hour till Dan came home and she blankly stared at the window, almost seeing Rick playing in the backyard, a happy—if a little too reserved—young boy.
Her biggest fear, in regards to college and Rick, was whether it was similar to high school (and junior high, and middle school, and...), but, without a principal to call her, without her being able to talk to other parents.
Rick, after all, was an adult now—in the eyes of the world at least—and no dean or professor would call her, if some jocks decided to pick on him. Perhaps, it was therefore Rick had sounded so cold on the phone; and wherefore he never called.
He didn't want her to know about him having a hard time; she sipped on her coffee and a couple of drops dropped on her apron.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, as countless tormenting thoughts raced through her mind regarding the hardships Rick could be facing, which forced him even deeper inside his cocoon, now that she wasn't around to help and support him.
The key hit the lock and she jumped up, somehow letting herself believe it was her son having come earlier to surprise her.
"Honey, I'm home," Dan said in his usual extravagant manner.
"Hey," she offered him a faint smile and coldly accepted his brief kiss. "How was your day?"
"Same old shit," he groaned, instantly dropping the act. "Dinner ready?"
"Yes," she nodded and moved slowly towards the kitchen.
Without exchanging another word, he took a seat while she served; they ate, in perfect silence, barely even glaring at each other.
Perhaps, Rick's homecoming would bring warmth back into their little house—especially since this could very well be the last Christmas they spent in it. Bank demanded their payments and Dan was perfectly incapable of making them; it was only a matter of time till a final notice arrived in their mailbox.
"What's wrong?" He raised his eyebrow, when she failed to drown a heavy sigh.
"Nothing, I'm just..."
"Stop worrying!" He cried in exasperation. "We'll figure it out, we'll...just, don't let Ricky see you like this, okay? Don't let him know we're having problems."
"How about his tuition fees? His..."
"We'll make it," he said sternly. "Things are bound to get better."
"When?" She retorted dryly. "I can't get a job; I tried, but...I've no experience, and I'm too old for..."
"You've been looking for work?" His eyes almost popped out of their sockets and his fork clanked loudly against the plate.
"Of course I have!" She protested. "A second paycheck would certainly help!"
"I told you," he bit the corner of his lips and clenched his fists, "I don't want you working; there's no need for that. We'll do okay, I promise. Business will pick up; things are getting better, we'll be back on our feet in no time.
"This is just a rough patch."
"It's been a rough patch for quite a while now..."
"I'm going to my office, to work," he announced coldly.
She watched him storm out askance; she buried her face in her palms and struggled not to scream.
Nothing else to do, hence she did the dishes, hardly feeling the scorching water.
Rick's homecoming would fix things; it was the one thing she had left to believe in.
* * * *
Day had finally come and Diane simply couldn't sit still even for a fraction of a second; too much to do, it felt, as she kept wiping the furniture's surfaces, rearranging various decorative items, and, in general, paced to and fro while constantly glaring at the clock.
With Dan at work, she'd have ample time properly to talk with Rick—like they always did. The clock had seemingly frozen, each minute felt like a damn century.
The sound of an idle car engine stirred her up and she rushed to the door; her jaw dropped to the ground, when she first laid eyes on Rick.
Almost didn't recognize her own son, when he waved at her with a bright smile; much leaner, modern hip clothes, muscled up...and in his eyes she saw a glint of happiness, and something undecipherable, she never had encountered before.
Partly, she rejoiced; she hugged him tightly and planted kisses all over his face, before inspecting him carefully. In some deep, nearly subconscious, level, she was horrified of the changes. Especially the faint, yet discernible to her investigative glance, redness on his nose.
"How are you, mom?" He asked, clearly impatient to get inside.
"Now that you're here, I'm good!" She grinned. "Your room's untouched, by the way."
"Great," he winked.
Momentarily alone in the living room, she scratched the back of her neck, desperately attempting to wrap her head around the changes Rick had seemingly undergone.
She rubbed her closed eyelids, desperate to stop thinking about it; two weeks were plenty of time to learn everything about college, about what's going on in his life. No reason to ruin the joyous moment with wild speculation.
"So," he asked, when they sat in the kitchen—she with a cup of coffee, he with a glass of wine— "how are things here, mom?"
"Pretty much as you know them, honey," she sighed heavily and a sharp needle went through her heart momentarily, when he chugged his glass down and instantly refilled it. "Since when did you..." She couldn't finish the sentence, just pointed at the rapidly emptying glass.
"Oh, you know...college and all; I just enjoy the taste once in a while, that's all," he shrugged inconspicuously and, with a faintly trembling hand, put the dry glass down.
"So, how's college?" She ran her fingers through her hair and cleared her throat.
"Good," he said sharply.
"That's it?" She asked, befuddled. "Good?"
"What else is there to say?" He shrugged and refilled his glass to the very top. "I mean...it's college. Going to classes, some partying in the weekends...yeah, it's good.
"Things are all right here?"
"Nothing's changed." She lowered her glance and dug her nails in her jeans, suddenly fearful he knew of their dire situation.
With just a nod as response, he tilted his head back and the wine glided down his throat; in near horror, she observed him smacking his lips with bright satisfaction, as he slammed the empty glass on the table.
"So, what are we eating tonight?"
"Veal," she smiled, as she flipped the frying ribs. "Thought I should make something special!"
"Special?"
Her heart sank to her stomach, when she noticed his bewilderment.
"Yeah, well...now you're not around," she attempted to explain, "we're trying to eat a bit more...healthy, you know?"
"Healthy," he rebuked hoarsely, "or, frugal?"
"What are you talking about?" She asked, wishing for a way to prevent her lower lip from twitching.
"Never mind," he shook his head. "Got any more wine?" He asked, his head buried inside the refrigerator.
"Why don't you wait till dinner? One pre-dinner bottle ought to be enough; don't you think?"
"Just one more glass, to...work up an appetite. That's all," he shrugged and masterfully cracked the bottle open. "Not big on wine, huh?" He chuckled, rather dryly, and held the bottle up.
"Why?" She asked, curiously.
"Most bland, drugstore wine I've seen," he retorted simply and stole a sip out of the bottle. "Tastes almost as bad as the box-wine my roommate buys—he's quite the deadbeat.
"Almost didn't get a student loan, due to his father's credit history."
She swallowed down loudly, keeping her eyes glued to the steaks; did Rick...know, or, even suspect?
Dread swarming her heart, she remained perfectly silent, choking down all comments regarding the speed, and ease, with which Rick drained the second bottle.
Dinner went by very slow and rather uneventfully—Rick polished two more bottles off and by the end of the dinner, his nose having turned scarlet, he stumbled on his words, and, when time came to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, he staggered out of the kitchen.
"Did he really just drink almost two bottles on his own?" Dan asked, dumbfounded.
"Yeah," she sighed heavily—glad she'd thrown the other two bottles away. "Just wanted to relax from the trip, I guess."
"Two bottles..." Dan said under his breath. "I should have a talk with him!"
"Not now." She grabbed his arm and pushed him back down on the chair. "Let him get some rest, clear his head up."
"Fine," he exasperated. "But, I think..."
"He's just blowing some steam off, that's all."
"You've always defended him; even when, as a teenager, he spent all his time in front of his damn computer."
"And you always told him to get away from his computer, go out, have fun, work out."
He didn't rebuke.
He jumped up, when his phone rang and walked out of the kitchen to answer it—probably a collection agency, she thought and her heart sank in her stomach.
The rest of the evening went by business as usual; Dan in his small office trying to figure out a way to improve their financial situation, and Diana seeking solace, and few moments of peace of mind, in the TV.
Rick being locked up in his room also felt a lot like old times; difference, naturally, being him sleeping a buzz off, instead of playing video games.
Time came for bed and Rick had still not come out of his room; she fought her worries off and lay down next to Dan, who snored softly, and stared into the darkness.
* * * *
Dead of the night and sleep simply refused to come; numb and tired of spinning around, she got up.
Momentarily, she froze in front of Rick's half-open door; a quick peek and it appeared empty under the bright laptop screen. What, however, made her heart jump up in her throat was the paused image on the screen.
Hesitantly, and while constantly glaring about, she took a step closer and had a clearer glimpse of the porn video of a mature woman on her knees between two younger, hung, guys.
She gulped and stepped away, not wishing to be caught spying—she hardly noticed the empty bottle of wine standing next to the laptop.
Light came out of the kitchen and she froze; fleetingly, her mind wandered back to that image on the screen and her heart fluttered.
She leaned on the wall and, just like a trainee spy, peeked behind the door; Rick was crouched next to the sink, almost half his body inside the closet wherein they hid all the liquor bottles they'd accumulated from way back when they still invited guests over and had a social life.
Her jaw dropped to the floor and she pressed her hand against her mouth, when he stood up and turned about.
She stared at her son's chiseled body; her lips twitched and her face turned crimson, when her gaze moved down to his semi-hard organ that seemed more than twice the size of his father's.
Unable to help herself, she watched him uncork the bottle—involuntarily eyeballing his dong pressed against the counter. Her heart pounded all too hard, knowing just how plain wrong it was getting all worked up.
He popped the cork and it was that moment she knew she either had to rush away, or, enter the kitchen as inconspicuously as possible.
"Wow," he exclaimed and straightened up his back, "hey, mom. Hair of the dog," he shrugged, and lifted the bottle.
"Right," she cleared her throat, desperate to maintain eye-contact and not to blush. "Just wanted some water," she explained.
"Thought you were both asleep," he said simply. "That's why..."
"It's all right," she bit the corner of her lips and poured a glass of water—unable to stop glaring, through the corner of her eye, at Rick's nakedness.
"Is everything okay?" He asked tenderly.
Shivers traversed her body, when he placed his hand gently on her shoulder.
"Yes," she nodded.
"How about some wine?" He grinned. "Will help you sleep much better than water."
"I don't...sure, one glass," she resigned and glimpsed at the door.
"In all honesty," he said, pouring wine, "I've always suffered from insomnia...discovered that wine—alcohol, in general—really helps with it."
She sat opposite him and crossed her legs high, suddenly all too conscious of both how high her nightgown had risen and his eyeballing her legs and cleavage.
She had a sip of wine, hoping it'd quench the fire raging under her skin.
"It's not really a solution, you know," she finally said, struggling to keep her glare upwards, as he sat with his legs spread, his now fully erect dong seemingly inviting her to...
"Well," he said, effectively putting a shortlived break to her impure thoughts, "maybe not, but, it works. You'll see," he winked and his wide grin caused her back to stiffen.
Where was the timid, slightly nerdy kid? In front of her sat a confident young man, who only partly looked like her son.
Of course, deep down she was glad he looked happier than ever; yet, she couldn't help but wonder whether these drastic, near damn impossible, changes in him were the reason behind her utterly wrong thoughts.
"You know," he added, after a generous gulp of wine, "it seems almost...unfair, me being naked and you...all dressed up, I mean..."
"Rick," she barked—taken aback by the sharpness of her voice.
"Just a bad joke, mom," he chuckled, raising his open hands.
"You've been working out, I see," she coughed the hoarseness out of her voice and her face turned scarlet.
"Yeah," he nodded. "My roommate's a football player, got a scholarship and all, so...he always works out and, well, he at first practically forced me to join him. Eventually, I not only liked it, but, loved it.
"So, yeah..." He shrugged and ran his fingers through his abs—meaningfully lowering his hand down to his pelvis.
She licked her lips slowly—and instantly her face turned crimson.
With an even wider grin, he wrapped his hand around his turgid member and gently twirled it, before pulling the foreskin down, exposing the dark purple, and thick, mushroom head.
Was it really happening? Was this just a twisted, yet all too enthralling, dream?
Taken by surprise, she tilted forth, her lips half-open; with two fingers she wiped the drool running down her chin, while her mind raced uncontrollably.
It is wrong; fucking wrong—a tiny voice repeated in her head.
Driven by lust—fueled by years of drought—she got down on her knees, to Rick's visible delight.
The first lick was salty; perhaps, that was how the forbidden fruit tasted, too.
She lifted her glance and smirked at Rick's rather astonished expression; still not entirely certain of what she was doing, or wherefore, she ran her tongue across her son's rod, from base till head.
She ran her nails softly across his thighs, as she arched her back and wrapped her lips around the mushroom head; her toes curled, when his hand went through her long hair and pushed her down on him.
It felt like the point of no return; up until the moment she had him balls deep down her throat, she frankly believed it was all teasing and nothing more. Just some forbidden fun that would lead nowhere.
Now—his balls resting on her chin, while she slapped his thighs begging for air—there was no coming back.
She panted heavily, drooling all over his crotch, when he finally let her up; she raised her teary eyes and met his illumined gaze that warmed her drumming heart.
She stroked him with both hands, feeling the skin getting slipperier under her palms, while she swirled her tongue around the twitching head—still incapable of fathoming the fact it was her son's taste flooding her mouth.
"Shit, mom," he grunted, when she took over the rhythm and bobbed her head, her hands following her lips, "you're...really good at it. I mean..."
It felt as if his cock was punching her heart, which had taken permanent residence in her throat.
The sound of the word mom, while she was on her knees with his member in her mouth, had a bizarrely tingling effect and she moved faster.
She massaged his swollen balls and gagged, only occasionally stealing glimpses of the door; she squirmed lightly, when he pulled the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders and it fell to her waist, exposing her still firm breasts.
His shaft drowned the moans that wished to escape her lips, when he fondled her tits.
She writhed, as shivers went up her spine under the soft pinching of her erect nipples; her lips closed tight around his shaft and she relaxed her throat.
With a huge grin—which she deep down knew how wrong it was—she buried his dong between her breasts and licked her lips slowly, and all too meaningfully, while staring deep into his beaming eyes.
First time ever and she was mesmerized by how good the throbbing meat gliding between her breasts felt.
She gasped, when he pinned her down; she stared at him aghast and her toes curled, when he took a firm grip of her breasts and pounded them, his balls slapping against her tits.
It was an unprecedented euphoria flowing through her veins—pinned down against the hard, cold tiles, while a cock moved fast and hard against her sternum. Momentarily, it didn't even matter it was her son sitting on her chest.
She opened her mouth, warmly welcoming the head with her tongue, as it thrust forth; she squirmed and grunted, when he squeezed her tits even harder.
"Fuck, I..." He groaned and slowed down; the friction of skin on skin felt even more intense, lighting a fire in her body.
She gasped—and feared they might have woken Dan up—when he jerked her head up by the hair and shoved his prick back in her mouth.
Her eyes goggled, when the head throbbed and cum flooded her throat.
His lower back jerked, as the final drops of cum leaked out of his cannon, and she sucked noisily, tears rolling down her eyes, hungrily swallowing it down.
"Damn it, mom, that..." He panted, as he sat beside her. "I didn't think I could come this quick, this..."
"You better get some sleep, honey," she smiled and kissed him on the cheek, before fixing her nightgown.
"We'll have all day tomorrow to ourselves, won't we?" He winked meaningfully—and chuckled, when her face turned crimson. "Good night, mom," he grinned and brushed his lips on hers.
Helplessly confused, she watched him walk away; her mouth and throat still filled with salt, her breasts drenched in drool, she used the counter to pull herself up and had another glass of water.
She knew it was going to be a sleepless night, filled with dark thoughts about what had just transpired—as well as about the morning that was to come—but, nevertheless she lay down next to Dan, who still snored, blissfully asleep.
However, exhaustion quickly crept in; her eyelids flickered and soon she was in dreamland.
* * * *
She stayed in bed, wide awake and her heart drumming, replaying the previous night in her head over and over. Perhaps, she thought, Rick was drunker than he let show and didn't remember.
An invisible force kept her chained down. On some level, she wanted the previous night to be repeated, especially now that Dan wasn't home, but, she also felt the dreadfulness of how completely wrong it was—even thinking about it with lust and desire was wrong.
With a deep sigh, she fought the shackles off and sat up; the pillow and cover all too invitingly called her back, like sirens, to let the day go by without leaving the bedroom.
It couldn't be done; her heart in her throat, she got up and once more paused at the door. Opening it was eerily similar to opening Pandora's Box. But, hiding in her bedroom wasn't a viable option.
After all, the right thing to do was talk to Rick about the previous night; explain it was a mistake, albeit a beautiful one, and attempt to regain some semblance of normalcy.
She briefly checked her phone; only ten in the morning. Slightly more confident, as chances of Rick being up were infinitesimal, she stepped out of the bedroom in need of coffee and a few awake moments with her thoughts.
"'Morning, mom!" He greeted her with a wide smile. "Made some coffee," he pointed at the half-filled pot. "Slept well? I slept like a baby!"
"Yeah, I...look, Rick," she sighed on her steaming coffee, "about last night..."
"It was fun, huh?" His grin expanded from ear to ear. "Though, I think today'll be even better; what with having the house all to ourselves and...
"It wasn't what you meant," he frowned.
"It was fun, honey, but—" she leaned forward and put her hand on his knee tenderly "—it was also wrong. I mean...you're my son, it's..."
"Mom," he smiled sadly and took her hand in his, "it's not wrong; we've just been taught it's wrong. Quite frankly, the main reason society tells us it's wrong, is because it can lead to children with nasty genetic diseases.
"I've got condoms; it's not like I want to get a baby brother that's also my son. Incest happens in nature; besides, right now, we are not mother and son. We're just two grown people; a young man and a more mature woman, both burning up with sexual desires.
"Our relationship only makes things...more intense. That's all."
"Rick, you..." She drew a deep breath, and chased it with some coffee. "Last night was a mistake; you were drunk, I was vulnerable...it happened. It was good, but, it also has to remain a singular instance.
"We can't repeat it."
"Why were you vulnerable?" He demanded, his eyes abruptly turning cold.
"Nothing, nothing," she shook her head, her heart already on the floor.
"Mom, what's wrong?" He sighed and averted his glance. "We're losing the house, aren't we?"
"What?" She pulled back, petrified. "What are you...talking about, honey? No, we're not; we're..."
"Have a friend," he said, biting the corner of his lips, "who works, part time, at a collection agency; you know, phone center, that shit.
"One day, we were drinking, and he...well, he said he had to call someone named...Dan Ferguson, living...well, here. Said he was way too deep in debt, house mortgaged twice...
"I was petrified; obviously, I told him it was someone else, I didn't...couldn't...but, I knew. And I'm sure he knew, too; thankfully, he let go, didn't pursue it further.
"So, mom, how bad is it?"
"Bad," she groaned and shut her eyes tight. "Your dad's business's not going so well...it never recovered from the recession And..."
"That's why I never called; I..." She shivered, when he caressed her cheek softly, and met his eyes. "I just couldn't take it, you know? I was worried, angry...everything.
"I was afraid to talk to you, afraid it'd slip up and..."
"You shouldn't have to worry about these things, honey." She took his cheeks in her hands and planted long kisses on his forehead and cheeks. "We're going to be fine, I promise."
The dark turn in their conversation had come all too quick and abrupt, catching her completely off guard—it was how she'd later explain to herself her decision to plant a kiss on his lips.
For a moment—that to her seemed like a century—they both remained perfectly still, their noses touching, his hot, heavy breath landing on her skin.
Then, he pressed his lips against hers once more, thrusting his tongue down her throat; she squirmed under the soft touch on her thighs, his hands slowly and firmly moving upwards.
She sucked on his tongue hungrily, burying her fingers inside his thick hair and suddenly she had no cares in the world. All her guilt and second thoughts vaporized and all there was were his kiss and his fingers working over her panties.
She tilted her head backwards, his hot lips connecting first to her neck and slowly working their way down to her chest. With her hands still firmly on the back of his head, she pushed him down quite demandingly, this time around not worrying about muffling her deep moans.
He got down to his knees and she lifted her legs, giggling almost girlishly, when he pulled her panties down.
"Rick, no, I..." She protested, out of pure instinct, when he lifted the bottom of her nightgown up to her waist and formed a pathway of kisses from her knees up to her pelvis.
Her legs softly trembled under the wet kisses and soft touches on her inner thighs, and she pulled him closer to her aching pussy; a soft scream escaped her mouth, when his lips first touched her.
She leaned back on the chair, when he sucked on her clit; she dug her nails on the back of his head and spread her legs wider.
Their eyes met and she grinned almost mindlessly; she took her nightgown off and threw it unceremoniously aside, then put her hands back on the back of his head.
Her eyes popped wide open, when he slipped a finger inside her; it'd been far too long and she immediately squirmed. His tongue swirled around her clit, while he bent his finger.
"God, Rick, that feels so good, it..." She bit down her lips and pressed her thighs together, wishing to trap him down there forever.
A second finger slithered inside of her, stretching her out, and a loud cry of pleasure exited her mouth, echoing back from the deaf drawers.
Still sucking on her clit, he fingered her hard—intensifying the pace as she bloomed, all the while staring up into her eyes.
Her growing wetness allowed a third finger to slip in and she was stretched further out than ever before; a constant stream of shivers traveled up her spine rendering her numb, while a fire raged underneath her flushed skin.
He pounded her hard, while still sucking on her clit; all she could do was put her hands on her breasts, to rub and twitch her erect nipples. Her legs once more wide apart, when Rick's tongue ran across her soaked labia.
His meaty tongue penetrated her and she grinded her lower back rhythmically to the flapping's intense rhythm; he rubbed her throbbing clit hard with his thumb, causing her whole body to twitch wildly.
It was absolutely fucking insane; after years of drought, her son's fast moving tongue and thumb caused fireworks to go off in her head. Her body shook uncontrollably and her toes curled tight, as a phantasmagoria of magnificent sensations flooded her mind and body.
Her face turned scarlet, when she settled down a bit and realized she'd just squirted all over her son's face—her son, who was looking up at her, his face soaked, and whose grin was all too wide and mesmerizing.
"Wow," he exclaimed, licking his lips, "that was fast, mom!"
"Felt, really good," she mumbled, still all too lightheaded. "Learned a lot in college, I see..."
"Sure have," he winked and got up.
She bit her lower lip hard, when her gaze fell on his tenting sweatpants. Still on fire—and the settling orgasmic waves still eviscerating all seconds thoughts before they could even be born—she got down on her knees, rubbing his center over the thick fabric of his sweatpants.
Despite having already seen, and tasted, it, she still gasped, and giggled, when it slapped her across the face, when she pulled his pants down; grabbing a handful of hair, he buried her face in his crotch, effectively forcing her to take his balls in her mouth.
Lovingly looking up at him, she swirled his balls in her mouth, her nostrils burning from the strong, salty scent. She sucked on his sac hungrily—his deep moans music to her ears—and stroked his pulsating shaft.
"Ah, fuck, mom!" He groaned, as she slowly ran her tongue over his rod. "Where did you learn this?"
There was no answer to be given; her face turned crimson, though, as she took him in her mouth, while massaging his balls. Weakened by her climax, her throat was more relaxed.
Perhaps, her techniques derived from the porn she'd occasionally watch, back when she was all alone in the house with nothing to do; or, maybe, she acted upon instincts buried way too deep in her brain.
Whichever the case, it was enthrallment that swarmed her body, when her son asked about her blowjob skills—her lips tightly wrapped around the shaft, she bobbed her head fast, taking him in and out of her expanding throat, while her eyes grew watery.
She pressed her breasts together and arched her back, while sporting a wide, warm grin; immediately, he caught on and buried his dick between her tits, forcefully tilting her head and driving the head of his dripping cock into her mouth.
When he loosened his grip, she stared dead into his eyes with her lips wide open, while he plowed her tits hard.
"Feels so good, honey," she said encouragingly amidst her heavy panting.
"Sure does, mom," he grunted. "Sure does..."
It was the sound of mom—the reminder of their relation that had momentarily been erased from her memory—that added even more fuel to the fire already burning her body up. She pressed her breasts even tighter together, the friction of his dong against her smooth, sweaty skin sending more shivers up her spine and into her already dazed mind.
"God, this is so great, mom," he grinned and squatted down to kiss her lips.
Impulsively, she wrapped her hand around his throbbing member and stroked; her lips curled, when he moaned in her mouth.
"Let's take this to my room, shall we?" He picked her up with ease.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, with her hands exploring his muscles, and sucked on his neck, while he carried her to his bedroom.
With her legs spread and leaning on her elbows, she lay on his bed—once more only momentarily being overwhelmed by the notion of wrongness. After all, they were inside the room of his childhood; she lay naked and soaked wet on the bed he'd slept for years.
He lifted the condom with a meaningful grin and ripped the wrapping paper.
"Here, let me..." She pulled him closer by the organ and helped him wear the rubber.
He lay down atop of her with a beaming smile; their noses touched and their gazes locked, as he got in position.
She bit her lips down hard, tasting copper, and firmly grabbed his buttocks, when the head of his cock first came in contact with her burning with anticipation pussy.
He pushed gently, spreading her outer labia, and she dug her nails in his skin, as he went deeper.
Insofar, it had only been foreplay and she could have dismissed it as fooling around, as something ultimately wrong, but, forgivable.
Now, however, where she grunted and moaned rhythmically to her son's initially tender pounding, it was without a shadow of a doubt the end of the road; the moment of no return had already passed them.
Her eyes goggled, when he wrapped his strong hand around her neck and the bed squeaked under his increasing in intensity plowing, and she hungrily sucked on his tongue thrust down her throat.
Her breathing came out in short whistles and her eyes rolled to the back of her head, as her son pounded her hard, his balls loudly slapping against her drenched pussy.
Momentarily, she felt weightless—and empty—as Rick turned her effortlessly around; eagerly, she stood on all fours, her lower back arched, and her gaze glued on her son.
"Like a good slut," he nodded approvingly and briefly just marveled at her quite slim figure.
Her face immediately turned red and she lowered her glare, only for a brief second. He buried his fingers in her waist and pushed himself balls deep in her.
Her mouth agape, she panted heavily as he fucked her hard, her inner walls stretched perfectly to accommodate him.
She cried out in surprise, when he grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head backwards. Her breasts swayed fast from his pounding and she couldn't stop herself from screaming, her cries of pure joy echoing within the walls.
At that moment, all that crossed her mind were the orgasmic waves and sensations that rendered her body completely numb and shivering; her back arched high, she warmly welcomed Rick's kiss.
It was unprecedented euphoria that conquered her brain and caused her to squirm wildly, sucking on her son's tongue to silence the screams that wished to escape her lips.
She gasped, when he slammed her face down on the pillow; she bit the soft fabric of the cover and shut her eyes, completely surrendering, both body and mind, to the sensation of her son's shaft gliding against her inner walls, reaching in deep.
She dug her nails in the mattress, her toes curled, and screamed in the pillow, as her whole body twitched from an even stronger climax that hit her like a train, rendering her perfectly numb.
He slowed down, her convulsions tightly embracing his shaft; his moans music to her ears, while a continuous stream of cries exited her lips. Her eyes goggled, when his head throbbed and expanded deep inside her.
A second orgasm in a row hit her, shivers traversing her spine, and her cries turned into low, heavy moans, as contracting spasms overwhelmed her legs and stomach.
He pulled out and she squirted all over his crotch and thighs. He collapsed on the bed next to her, wearing a wide satisfied grin, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, tenderly running her finger across his abs.
Their breaths synchronized, she looked blankly at the posters of rock bands still decorating his walls, while struggling against the reappearing voice in her head that insisted this was an iniquity and that she ought to get up, run away, seek for redemption and absolution.
Perhaps, it was the voice of societal morals, the voice representing everything she'd been taught—was it because of its wrongness it'd felt so good?
She sighed and kissed Rick's shoulder; he held her tight and for a moment, they ceased to be mother and son. They were just two lovers enjoying a minute of serenity after an intense and passionate love-making session.
Of course, there's no escaping reality; he absentmindedly checked his phone and almost threw her off the bed, when he sat up.
"Shit, I...I've got to meet some old friends, mom. I'm late. I...completely lost track of time! Sorry to be leaving you like this, it's...well, you know I'll be back, right?" He winked and kissed her softly on the lips.
Befuddled, she leaned on her elbows and watched him get dressed.
"Got to go," he repeated. "Love you, mom," he said, after another kiss, and she was speechless, as the expression, once perfectly inconspicuous and normal, had just taken an entirely different meaning.
Slowly, she got up and hit the shower; the hot water washed away the physical evidence of what had transpired, but, in her mind, the images kept playing again and again, a highlight reel that caused her heart to beat fast in both enthrallment and horror.
She got dressed and made sure to pick her nightgown and underwear up from the kitchen floor—checking the house several times to ensure she hadn't missed any incriminating evidence.
With a cup of coffee, she sat silently and contemplated everything—heat of the moment, she reasoned with her worrying self, and nothing more. A singular instance, nothing less and nothing more.
She didn't believe it; it'd felt intense and it hadn't been solely due to the long drought. It was...different than it'd ever been with Dan, different than anything she'd ever experienced—though that didn't say much, considering Rick was only her third, overall.
The important question, however, was whether there was a way back; if she could look Dan in the eyes again, without thinking how much better a lover their son is, without betraying her knowledge of their son's sexual abilities.
She slapped her face—hard enough to color her cheek a faint scarlet—and got up. Chopping up onions, mashing up tomatoes, washing lettuce; had no idea what she'd cook, but, she had to do something, as long as it prevented her from thinking.
Dan came home; they barely talked, they just ate the pasta and salad she'd made. He didn't comment on the taste, which wasn't up to her standards, due to her absentmindedly adding more salt than necessary and forgetting the garlic.
Rick texted to say he'd be late—a couple of typos in his message raised a fear in her heart about his state of drunkenness.
In perfect silence, they sat on the two edges of the couch and watched an old movie, while neither paid any attention to it; Dan was occupied with the fear of their house and his business being repossessed, while Diane fought off all the images playing in her head that increased her body temperature and reddened her skin.
The door swung open and Rick stumbled in, a stupefied grin on his face—yet murder in his eyes.
"Jesus Christ!" Dan exasperated, when Rick almost knocked a lamp off. "How much did you drink?"
"Couple of shots," Rick shrugged, with a dry chuckle.
"You're drunk!" Dan yelled. "You're a drunk!"
"Yes, dad," he retorted, leaning on the wall and speaking amidst a flurry of hiccups. "I am a fucking drunkard! Didn't you always tell me to go out more? To...party?
"Well," he spread his arms with a victorious smirk, "it's what I'm doing! Don't you like that, either? What the fuck do you want from me, huh?"
"Rick," Dan said flabbergasted, running his fingers nervously through his thinning hair, "what are you talking about?"
"You never liked it, when I sat in my room playing video games. Now, that I'm going out, drinking and partying, you still don't like it. No pleasing you, is there?"
"You're drunk," Dan dismissed him coldly. "We'll talk about it in the morning, we'll..."
"No!" The windows rattled from his thunderous voice. "We'll talk about it now! Now, that I'm drunk enough to speak my mind, but, not drunk enough to slur too bad."
Petrified, Diane watched Rick take two steady steps toward his father; if glares could kill, Dan would already lie lifeless on the floor.
"You never cared about what I wanted, dad," Rick continued. "You always only cared about what others would think; back in high-school, you wished you could tell your friends your son has girlfriends, goes to parties...does what their sons did, right?
"Now, you wish I was a good college student, get a degree, find a job...so, you can brag to your friends. Maybe," he paused and drew a deep breath, fighting with his hiccups, "you just want to see your broken dreams fulfilled through me.
"After all," his cruel laughter a stab through Dan's heart, "you've fucked up big time, haven't you? Mortgaged the house, your business, everything! And...for what?
"I remember, you see, all the trips we took, when I was younger. All the things you bought; the new TV's, the expensive furniture...was all that paid through loans? Loans you could never pay back?"
"I did this for you! To provide a good life for you and your mother, to..."
"Bullshit!" Rick yelled. "You did it for you, to show the world you are successful! You are not, dad! Your business never really flourished, did it? Just a middle-class guy that...envisioned himself a big shot!
"What's gonna happen now, dad? Now that the bubble's burst, the dream's fucking dead? You'll lose the house, your business...instead of a better life, as you called it, you're gonna live on the fucking streets!
"Tell that to your friends, to whom you loved to brag about your new cars and our trips to Europe!"
"Rick," Diane intervened, her heart in her throat, "stop it. You're drunk, you're..."
"No, mom," he said, his voice abruptly turning mellower. "Some things have to be said; and...I don't get it, really I don't. Why in the hell did you stay with him all this time?
"I mean...you've got so much to offer, so much...you could have done so much better!"
"Enough!" Dan erupted; Rick wiped his bloody lips with the back of his hand and glared at his father through the corner of his eye.
"Dan!" Diane cried and rushed to Rick. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm sorry, I just..." Dan sighed heavily.
"It's all right," Rick chuckled dryly.
Without a forewarning, he landed a headbutt, sending his father flying backwards and flat on his ass
Diane, speechless and breathless, took a step back, unable to choose whom to help.
"Never thought I'd fight back, huh?" Rick grinned, rubbing his forehead. "Always thought of me as a wimp, a nerd you couldn't be proud of. Well..."
Diane's eyes almost popped out of their sockets, when Rick thrust his tongue in her mouth. At first, she tried to push him off, unsuccessfully; however, still lightheaded from earlier, she succumbed and reciprocated—while feeling as if watching herself from a bird's eye view, not in control of her actions.
"What the fuck?" Dan gasped, still seated on the floor and rubbing his throbbing forehead.
"You failed at everything, haven't you?" Rick guffawed harshly.
"Rick," she slapped him on the shoulder, but, without attempting to escape his embrace.
"I'm sorry, mom, but...it's the truth; and you know it, too!"
"Diane," Dan got up slowly, visibly in pain (both physical and psychological), "what's going on? What..."
"We fucked, dad," Rick replied calmly—his rage and potentially the strikes having minimized the effects of alcohol. "It's your own damn fault, to be honest; you paid too much attention creating a beautiful façade, you forgot to notice the beauty next to you.
"If you hadn't been so obsessed with living the high life, you'd be a happy man now; without fancy shit and memories of trips and all that, but, far happier nonetheless.
"It's your own vanity that fucked you in the ass." He shrugged and sucked on his mother's lips. "By the way," he said, staring dead into Diane's eyes—who was petrified and still with no control over her actions and thoughts— "I'm dropping out of college; I'm not going to take a student loan and won't waste my savings in order to get a worthless piece of paper.
"Come with me. We'll find a small apartment, I'll get a job...we'll start over. And let him rot in the shithole he dug. We'll pack a few things, go to the station, board the first train to...wherever!
"As long as it's not here!"
"You're talking crazy!" Dan shoved him. "Go sleep it over, we'll talk about it in the morning, when you're sober!"
"Fuck you," Rick said all too calmly and punched his father squarely on the nose. "Well?" He asked his mother, mellow and hopeful.
"Rick, it's...not that simple, it's...perhaps, we should sleep on it, on...all this..."
"Mom," he protested, his heart suddenly falling to the floor. "I swear, I'm not that drunk; I'm just drunk enough to have the balls to speak the truth; the truth that ought to have been uttered years ago."
"Honey, it's...not that simple; I mean, what we did...earlier, and now, and...everything..."
"Forget all about right and wrong!" He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Everyone's looking for true love, everyone have their hearts broken searching for the elusive true love...isn't that what we have?"
"Not...not as...I don't know," she resigned with a moan, burying her face in his shoulder.
"You want it," he said with a wishful smile. "Deep down, you know you do."
"Maybe," she admitted, with a heavy sigh. "But, still..."
"This is sick!" Dan protested, holding his bleeding nose.
"Shut the fuck up!" Rick yelled at him.
Diane's heart fluttered, when Dan just whimpered. She stared deep into her son's eyes and saw nothing but adoration.
"Okay," she said, catching even herself by surprise—and did her best to ignore Dan's dumbfounded gasp and expression.
"Brilliant!" Rick exclaimed with childish excitement.
Holding hands, they went to the bedrooms and hurriedly threw clothes in two suitcases.
She just couldn't stop thinking about it; was it the right or the wrong decision? What should she do?
No answer descended from the heavens, no assist from anywhere but her heart, which insisted she was doing the right thing—for reasons she failed to comprehend.
They walked past Dan, who remained petrified on the floor, and climbed into the cab.
She stole a last glimpse of the house she'd spent most of her adult life in, fearing she was way too old for a fresh start, for beginning to heed her innermost impulses.
Rick took her hand in his and the warmth that rose within every fiber of her being assured her things would ultimately turn out alright.