Claimed by My Son

Author's Note: This is a fantasy, please don't be offended by the content or anyone's depiction. I read all your comments and appreciate your feedback.

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I wish I had someone I could confide the events of last night. There are things too big to keep in my chest, and therefore, I must risk writing them down.

There's an old shoebox in a hidden compartment of my wardrobe. I take it out, as dusty as anything can be, and flick through the pages of my perversions. But this one is different from them all and gets its own special paper to be written down upon.

My husband left for work two hours ago to do a 24-hour shift. My son is sleeping on his bed, snoring loudly after a Friday night out. And I just called in sick for work, such a migraine, I said in my most convincing fake voice - I know I'll be written up for it - in the restaurant they don't like us to call in sick, but how could I not?

I'm sure they'll manage.

I drank a cup of wine after dinner, as usual, and watched a movie with my husband, Cleveland. Maybe two cups of wine - it doesn't matter. Cleveland was insufferable, ranting on and on about how my carelessness was costing us money. By this, he meant leaving the lights on in the bathroom after leaving. Which I did once.

Maybe twice.

Frank texted me, saying he was going to go for drinks with his friends and don't be worried about him. It was a nice gesture, and he's been doing that ever since I didn't hear from him for two days, and he was with his frat mates on a bender with girls and alcohol.

At least there were no drugs.

Cleveland thinks I give him too much freedom, but I see it as being realistic - how can you chain down a 6ft something rugby player that carries my weight in one thigh alone?

I'm not saying he's scary. All I'm saying is I wrote on a piece of paper how I feel doing his laundry. And maybe I've checked his wallet and found all those extra large condoms. Maybe it was just a casual finding.

But I love my son, no matter what. He was such a complicated, and late pregnancy, a miracle baby, and Cleveland used that to accuse me of spoiling him. I do not.

By the time the movie is over, Cleveland is almost asleep, so we finish our evening rituals and go to bed.

There was no kiss. No touch. No warmth.

After almost thirty years of marriage, it's difficult to expect that, but I never thought my fifties would bring such a horny desire for men. And your hands can only do so much.

At precisely 02:01 in the morning, I heard a noise. I had my eyes open, as Cleveland's snoring woke me up just moments before, and I shook him gently, so he would change positions. He kept sleeping, the earplugs blocking any sound, and I heard the noise again. Someone talking, laughing, and then things falling on the floor, muffled by the carpeted surface. I recognized Frank's voice, and the front door shut with such a loud bang that it made the walls tremble.

I put my cardigan over my nightgown and went to check what was going on. This was not the first time Frank gets drunk at home, but he was doing better. He's wasted, for fuck sake.

Frank couldn't walk in a straight line, and when I got to the living room, he was holding onto the couch, eyes closed, and a big smile on his stupid face. I called his name, and he looked up.

"Mother!" he almost shouted, and I told him off.

"Look at you," I was frustrated. He's a stubborn piece of shit when he gets into this state, and my only thought was I needed to get him into the room. "If your dad sees you in this state, you know what happens."

He stared longly at me. "He kicks me out of here?"

"That's right, my love." It wasn't an empty threat. For Cleveland, having to feed Frank was something unfair, as he should have left home at 18. He eats for three, he accuses. Cleveland is a prick.

"But I don't want to leave you." He let go of the couch to wrap his arms around me.

He had a strong scent of beer, so I unhooked him from me and walked him to his bedroom. It was a slow process, dragging him across the room and ignoring the way he played with my hair or the times he kissed my cheek. His breath was making me question if Cleveland was right after all.

"You're so pretty," he says, playing with the fabric of the nightgown, but I slapped his hand.

If I can confess, the warmth of his body alone was making me feel... things. It was more than the warmth. It was his weight on me, my fingers couldn't wrap around his wrists, his forearms so hard, pure muscle. He was getting me horny without realizing it.

I have a few notes written about my son. This ain't the first time he gets me horny without knowing. And it's not him specifically. Any tall, handsome man that compliments me has that effect.

It was like cutting the finish line when we got to his bedroom. "You smell like candy," he says, biting my neck. I had to push his face away, his smile melting me down and his hands holding me.

"Stop it, Frank. Go to sleep."

"I don't wanna."

"Frank!" I said in a stern voice. He understood, "alright alright," he mumbled, sat on the bed, and immediately lay down.

"Your shoes, Frank." If there is one thing that bothers me, is to have your street clothes on a bed.

"I'm in bed, that's what you wanted," he laughed. "Come to bed with me."

I didn't like the way that sounded or the way his eyes took my measurements. I warned him one last time, that I'd get his dad if he didn't obey me, but he just said he was too tired to even give a fuck.

He knows he owes me a dollar for the swearing jar.

I've written somewhere about how his youth makes me feel alive. He's my miracle son, who would have thought something so small would grow up to be this big? I've found his cum rags countless times, there's an energy to him that seems unstoppable.

I go back to the bender of beer and sex he had. I couldn't believe it when I heard, walking inside that frat house, opening the door of a room, and finding him in bed, lying on his stomach, a perfectly round peach ass naked in full view. And then, five girls sleeping naked, and another two jocks just like him.

Such debauchery.

Maybe it wasn't five girls. My memory makes things up sometimes.

But that ass was imprinted on my mind.

"Take your shoes off, at least!"

"Can't do it, too tired. James thought it was funny to drink a whole bottle of vodka!"

Not unheard of, but it explains the state.

And this is not the first time I have helped him undress as an adult. He made an attempt to remove one of his trainers, but gave up two seconds after, placed both arms behind his head, and whistled a tune. My kingdom for those dimples.

I decided to give him a hand, after all, because those shoes in the bed were causing me distress. I looked back at him, and he kept the smile on his face, the dimples in his cheeks, and eyes of flaming desire. So innocent, yet so dangerous.

"You owe me one after this," I told him, returning his smile and gently unlacing his shoes. He was quiet, looking back at me.

"You look so pretty," that's all he said. My nightgown was probably looking ridiculous, I thought, but I ignored his comment.

"That's the alcohol talking," I said, removing his shoes. Such big feet, I couldn't help but notice, but I knew that already, buying him a new shoe size every time we went shopping. He wiggled his toes, letting a few healthy laughs come out.

"It's not," he said back, his hand reaching for my nightgown, but I brushed him away.

He sat up on the bed, and I took off his jacket, and he even put on a bit of a fight, pretending he couldn't get it out. I looked at him sternly, pointing at the time. "I need to sleep, Frank. I'm not playing these silly drunk games like you."

He removed his shirt, and that shirtless torso looked even more tempting. Instead of apologizing for making me lose my time, he grabbed me instead, making me fall on his lap, and for a second, his eyes were deep inside mine, and I thought he was going to kiss me.

If I didn't avoid his lips, he would. But like an eel, I managed to get rid of his big arms and caught my breath. Damn, since when the room became this hot?

"What are you doing? You're drunk," I accused him. The last thing I wanted was to be accused of abusing his decision-making. But he looked at me and just smiled.

"It was worth a shot."

I shook my head. "What are you thinking? Right, that's you sorted. I need to sleep."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"I'm half dressed! You said you'd help."

I clicked my tongue, feeling the air escaping my lungs and the blood entrapping my cunt.

"You're a big boy, you won't die."

"Please?" He begged me with his eyes. "I promise I'll behave."

I know a lie when I hear one, but I couldn't resist. I picked up his pajama top and helped him dress it, realizing he was playing a dangerous game with me. He was enjoying the attention, and his drunken state was passing quicker than anticipated.

"Can't sleep with these jeans on," he said.

It was more the way he said it.

That languid desire hidden in his tongue, that accentuation on "jeans", how his tongue swirled deep in my thoughts. Put some breaks on, girl, I think I said that to myself. Any excuse is good to take the guilt away.

I bent over to get to that button on his jeans, the one that holds everything together like a man so strong nothing can hurt him. He could do it himself, surely, but I looked at him, and his eyes were closed. Ok, it was safe, I assumed. The last thing I want is dirty jeans in a clean bed.

And when I was about to touch said button, there was a volume, a bulge if you'd like.

And I dare write this down.

And all the moments I could have stopped, I ignored the signs. One deep breath and my fingers grabbed the waistband of his jeans, touching the hard skin beneath, and opened it. I looked back at Frank, and he was staring back at me, his lips a fine, straight line.

"Is this ok?" I asked, and he turned his lips into a smile.

"Can't wait to get my pajama bottoms and go to sleep, mother."

The most innocent face in the world - if not for that thick beard, delicious lips, and tempting eyes. His jawline was pulling me, like a black hole, and I was willingly falling into his trap.

I pulled the zipper down, pressing softly against his bulge, and closed my eyes. I said a prayer, a gentle whisper, and told him to raise his butt and then pulled down his trousers, avoiding looking at his crotch.

His scent got to me as I revealed his hairy legs and as I pulled the jeans from his feet, and then, I looked.

He wasn't hard. But the volume between his legs was far too generous - a blessing from the fertility gods. He gave it a good squeeze, keeping one arm behind his head.

"Thanks, mom," he said as I got his pajama bottoms up his legs.

"It's fine, you'll get some rest. Lift up that lazy ass," I said.

It was almost ridiculous. Me, dressing a fully grown man. What was I doing?

And I got my face maybe a little bit too close. He saw me staring at his bulge, the head of his cock was easily perceptible under the red fabric of his CKs. And he did what I asked him to do, lifting his hips, and I bent over to bring the waistband over his massive body.

And maybe Frank pushed my face down. Or maybe he lifted his hips higher than necessary.

But the next thing I knew, I was inhaling the scent of his warm crotch.

It grew faster than I thought possible. My hair was spread out on his lap, his hand pressed down on my face, and all I could feel was a warmth, spreading like a disease over my dry lips.

Did I resist?

No.

Because I've dreamt of this for too long. Because as soon as I engaged in this game of undressing, I wanted him to take me and plough me like a whore. Why is this need so visceral?

He thrusted against my face, as I felt his cock grow inside his red underwear, and it all became a mess of scents and fluids, his big head engorging and even coming out under the elastic band.

A hand getting inside my nightgown with surgical precision.

"You are so fucking beautiful."

I didn't expect this. But I wanted it. There's a difference.

Now, face down on his crotch, I did what any mother would: released that member from the underwear. This was a mistake.

A shiver ran through my spine, as I, greedy and lustful, ran my tongue all over his shaft, making him moan. A deep, guttural moan echoed through the walls of the room. Frank wasn't quiet at all. The more he moaned, the more I took him inside my mouth, remembering my college days of whoring around in the football team locker rooms before meeting my husband and settling down for family life.

My fingers grabbed him hard, his hands held my motherly breasts, and I knew it before Frank did - the sweet aroma of his orgasm drawing near, his big heavy balls releasing a musky scent, my hair spread between his legs, taking in the oily mess of a boy he was. Not a boy, a fucking man.

His hairy legs thrust his cock into my mouth, and suddenly he couldn't stop, his moans becoming prayers.

His warmth came liquid and he shoot all over my mouth and hair, a virile execution of an act of love I so desperately needed. I even squeezed his long member, passing my tongue over the last drop coming out of that large slit, and gave him one last slow suck that made him shiver and shake.

Then, he put his head down and fell asleep.

After tucking him in, I returned to my bedroom, where my husband was still snoring, earplugs on, and a promise of desperation.

I must have dozed off.

The dawn was entering the bedroom when a gentle touch woke me up. What was the time? It was just hours ago, but it feels like an eternity. The soft snoring of Cleveland next to me. The voice of another, "wake up," in a gentle whisper.

In my eyes, a blur. Frank? Frank. It was him, squatting at the side of my bed, passing a hand on my forehead. The smile was his, and my eyes adjusted, revealing his image to me.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, my voice still in deep slumber, but his taste still on my lips. In a flash, it dawned on me what I'd done to him.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, the dimples showing on the sides of his face. So gorgeous.

I close my eyes, remembering his warm love ejaculating on me. My body purrs with the memory while Cleveland snores louder. Frank reached for me and kissed me. I wasn't expecting that, although I had wanted it for a long time. A sweet and soft kiss, warm lips, sugary tongue.

What started as a simple and innocent act turned into way more. His big hands entered the blankets, and he crawled inside the bed, revealing to me his nakedness. His hard as steel cock against my soft tummy, hard muscles against my soft fabric, pulling up the nightgown as his mouth feasted on my breasts. God, never felt so fucking alive.

Cleveland being there was not important. I pushed his head down, opened up my legs for my son, hidden beneath the blankets, and bit the pillow to stop myself from screaming. Frank, please, don't dare to stop.

He munches on my cunt, in ways I never knew it was possible and shows me a universe I thought was just a fairy tale. He was a man that was not afraid to show himself to me.

Frank came out for air, while I saw his body in the mirror on the wall, his perfect back arched with muscles, his strong arms controlling me, his cock brushing on my bush - to kiss me again with my slick in his lips, his cock drooling over my married pussy, where he came from, and I saw him smiling, his big chest breathing faster.

He takes one look at my husband, his father, still asleep, turned to the opposite side, snoring loudly, and then back at me. What we were doing had no place in a family home. He used his spit to lube the head of his beautiful member and held my legs apart - then he pierced me, covering my mouth with his big palm and entering me as silently as he could.

I rolled my eyes back.

He had no mercy. He didn't care I was his mother - just someone to empty his desire in.

And it's what I fucking needed.

He's almost motionless, the bed barely moving, but his cock surely enters me in repeated motions, taking so much space, conquering me with every inch. I can see his smile, a devil, fucking me.

"Fucking hell, mom, best pussy of my life."

He's fucking me gently with his love. I look nervously at Cleveland, but his back is still turned on us. Instead, I focus on my son's chest, red with the effort of fucking me, his muscles sweating, his balls softly hitting my slit.

My legs wrap around his hips, and I pull him deeper, deeper, please. He wrapped his arms around my back and pulled me up, our bodies joined together, my breasts crushing against his chest and then into his mouth, and I never felt this impaled before. He's on his knees in the bed, and my orgasm hits so hard because he was where no man reached before. And my pussy clenching around his cock made him throw his head back and flood me.

There was no stopping it. There was nothing I could do.

And while my son claimed my womb, my husband slept comfortably.

I put the pages back in the shoebox and close the wardrobe. I still have my son's seed inside me as I go grocery shopping, and I still carry it with me as I talk to my friends in the park. I get home, and instead of doing lunch, I enter my son's bed and, this time, beg him to fuck me like a one-night stand.

Like the ones he fucked in his frat house.

I watch as he pulls my hair back and slaps my ass, making it giggle with each thrust of his young body. He cums inside me more times than my husband did last year.

And when Cleveland gets home, I kiss him with the same lips that swallowed his son's seed.

It's only after three months I realize my mistake.

The nausea. The morning sickness. What I thought could be something serious is something else. Equally serious.

I thought I was too old. But Frank's seed knew the way to my eggs, and now I'm expecting. It's going to be nice to give Frank a brother.