Compulsive Behavior from Mom

I give Hannah truth mixed with exaggeration regarding thoughts about my daughter. I confess that Aleah is the occasional object of my lust and masturbation fantasies. Oral sex. Giving and receiving. I spin the story and make it more salacious, talking about rimjobs and dildo play.

My voice is shaky because of the taboo subject. It's my first time verbally expressing these thoughts. I keep quiet or else my daughter could hear.

"God," she says. "I understand. Aleah is gorgeous. You're lucky to have a daughter like her."

"Thank you. And yourself? Do you think about Matthew often?"

"All the time, Daria. All the time. I don't know why -- I don't understand -- but it's like a new craving. Something that compels me."

"No one will ever know."

Except there's a strong chance we're being spied on by the government. I feel terrible for luring Hannah into this position. This trap. I know I'm betraying her. But this is the only way to help her.

"Have you ever touched your daughter?" she whispers.

"No, god, never. Have you ever touched Matthew?"

The line goes silent for a long moment. I know she's still there. I can hear her breathing. If she wanted to reject this conversation, she would have done it already.

"Our relationship has become seductive," she says. "It's my fault, so don't blame him. I wear erotic lingerie beneath my home clothes, and when I bend over -- sometimes on purpose -- he can see it. We're toeing a fine line. I get off being a household exhibitionist for my son. Matthew looks, admires, but he's aware that it's a dangerous game. I know he's attracted to me, but I'm his mother. And being a mother is a sacred position of authority."

"You dodged the question," I say. "Have you ever touched him, sexually?"

The line goes quiet again.

"I may have taken him inside my mouth," she says.

"His penis?"

"Maybe."

There's a clenching feeling between my legs as I'm listening to her confession. Even as she tells me these things, I'm aware that her tone is changing. Hannah is aroused by these admissions. But there's also a pang of regret.

"Did you suck it?" I ask.

"That's too personal, Daria. I'm sorry. I know we've been close friends for many years, but I can't go there. I can't. You probably think I'm insane."

Hannah's tone has flipped. The excitement in her voice is gone and she regrets expressing these deeply personal thoughts and actions to me. I understand. These kinds of secrets can ruin a person.

If I'm being honest with myself, I regret betraying Hannah on behalf of the government. This isn't part of my job. Destroying a loyal friend like Hannah isn't worth the big promotion that I've been promised.

"No, I'm sorry for asking," I say. "Way out of line. Let's pretend this conversation never happened, okay?"

The line goes quiet for a few seconds. I hope she never mentions this again. I don't care anymore if the director ruins my career.

"How about a trade?" she asks. "It would be nice having a friend like you to confide in. If you show me a picture of your daughter, then I'll show something with my son. A short video. That way, we'll be bound together."

"I'm assuming you mean something explicit," I say.

"This is horrible. I need someone to talk to. I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"I know what you mean."

Our conversation ends without firm resolve. Hannah was smart to avoid admitting that she's in a sexual relationship with her son, but it's heavily implied. She has no idea that our research project is the likely reason she's becoming a nymphomaniac for her son.

I regret not telling her. I regret not being honest with her. I hold my phone. I'm seriously considering calling her again and telling her about the classified report, hoping she stops these deviant acts.

Sure enough, the director calls me, explaining that they'd intercepted our phone conversation. The director tells me to keep things going with Hannah and get as much information as possible. The director then tells me to "do whatever it takes to get that fucking video," of Hannah with her son.

The call ends and I know what I'm expected to do. How easily I fold. All it took was one call from my boss and I've fallen back in line, assuming the subservient role. Back to betraying my friend. I'm expected to get that video, which means I'll eventually need a dirty picture of my daughter.

It makes me shudder to think about. It also makes me ache between the legs. I remind myself that I'm not required to do any of this, that there's no way my employers can punish me without creating a big scandal, or a lawsuit. But then again, maybe they can? They're the government.

A twisting feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea what to do, but I can't stay in the room all night. I don't want my family knowing what I'm involved with.

I go back to the living room and continue watching tv with my husband, but all I can think about is my daughter. What would it feel like to kiss her? To touch her small breasts. To play with her youthful pussy. I cringe thinking about it, but I can't stop. I don't want to.

We prepare for bed when it gets late. Aleah is already in her room after using the bathroom. Her door is closed as usual. She's down the hall. While my husband is getting ready for bed, I decide to take things further with my daughter.

Just an inquiry. I need my daughter to push me away, so I can tell the director that I tried and failed. It'll give me cover, deniability, and peace of mind. After that, I'll be done with probing Hannah's sexual life.

I go to Aleah's bedroom, give a light knock, and open the door. The room is dark except for the bright screen of her phone. She's laying in bed listening to music with earbuds. When I enter, she takes the earbuds out and turns the lamp on.

"Yes?" she asks, sitting upright.

I sit on the bed, while her legs are under the blanket and her back is against the wall. She's curious why I'm here, which puts more pressure on me.

"Your father is brushing his teeth," I say. "Then he'll go to sleep. We can talk quietly for a while. There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Sure, what's up?"

The lamp light casts a beautiful shade across her face as she waits for the question. Her eyes are innocent but I know she's a vivacious young woman. I feel guilty for being here, for attempting to broach such a taboo topic, but Aleah is a sexual creature who's far more open-minded than I am.

"Tell me about your friends," I say. "What are they like?"

"You've met them countless times before. You know how they are. Quirky, crazy, athletic. We laugh a lot."

"I know, I wanted to hear it from you."

Aleah gives a skeptical look. "We're not doing drugs, if that's what you're worried about."

"That's not a concern that I have."

"Mom, what are you doing here?" she asks. "Why are you asking about my friends? You already know them."

She's not questioning me. Her voice is inviting. Her eyes remain innocent but her lips tell a different story, pulling me in further. Wanting me to dig deeper.

I relent. "Nevermind. I was just wondering, that's all. I look at pictures of you and your friends sometimes."

"Which? The girls on the soccer team?"

"Yes."

"Why? What do you think they're doing?"

I shake my head. "Nevermind."

"It's okay. You're right. It's kind of obvious. Why? Does it bother you?"

"Not at all," I reply.

"Are you curious?"

"Every woman is curious."

I immediately regret my words, but Aleah has the opposite reaction, holding back a look of delight that desperately wants to appear on her pretty face.

"Dad's in the bathroom," she says. "And you're in here whispering, talking about curiosity? Mom, be honest with me. What do you want? Why are you here?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Goodnight, sleep well."

When I try to tuck her in bed, she does the opposite. She pulls her blanket to the side in a gradual, cautious, motion. Then pulls her pajama bottom down with even more caution. Her panties go down as well. The lamp light illuminates her mocha skin and I see that she's clean shaven.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asks.

My husband has left the bathroom and made his way into bed. I can hear his footsteps down the hall. I'm sure he can hear the faint conversation I'm having with our daughter, but doesn't know what we're talking about.

"Put that way. Please."

"Make me."

I try to pull her panties up, but she grabs my left wrist and brings my hand to her vagina. It's my first time touching another woman in that area. Because it's hers, the feeling is electric. My index finger goes inside. She's dripping wet. I've aroused her.

I mutter words no mother should ever say. Not to a daughter.

"Do you want me to eat you out?" I whisper.

"Only if you're quiet about it. We wouldn't want dad coming here, unless he already knows?"

"Your father doesn't know."

I bend down and press my mouth against her pussy. So it all comes down to this. Our maternal relationship, the years of her undressing around the house and teasing me, results in oral sex. I never thought this day would come. Women like me aren't supposed to be doing this. I'm supposed to live by the rules.

My tongue slips inside. Delicious. Aleah moans. My tongue strokes up and down her folds, tasting her sweet fluids. She runs her fingers through my long hair and I feel her eyes watching me. I'm sure the lamp light paints an interesting image of my face. She's never seen me like this before. The color of the lamp. My face in her crotch. My tongue in her cunt.

I justify my actions by thinking it's not cheating. How can it be? She's my daughter. Surely there's something in the rule book of marriage which says it's not cheating if it's in the family, right? This is for my career. National security. Science. My boss has given me orders to do this, on behalf of the government.

When my tongue strokes Aleah's clitoris enough time, licks inside her pussy enough time, I'm close to making her cum. She'll do it in my mouth. It's only fitting for our first time. It should be special. This isn't cheating. Giving my daughter an orgasm isn't cheating. I repeat those thoughts, as if a mantra, to relieve myself of any guilt. This is national security.

Aleah cums in my mouth and holds my head. I find out why she's holding my head when a trickle of fluids squirts from her pussy, into my mouth. I swallow like a wonderful mother. Delicious. I devour every drop and Aleah keeps this quiet. My husband won't know. Aleah's body relaxes.

Serving my daughter is the ultimate pleasure. I can try to deny that, but I know it's true. I live to serve my daughter's pussy. It feels natural. Primal.

"Fuck, mom, where did you learn that?" she asks.

I sit upright and wipe my lips. "That was my first time."

"Yeah right. You've done this before, haven't you?"

"No, never. We'll talk tomorrow. Goodnight, I love you."

I lean over to kiss her. Usually it's on the forehead, this time I kiss her on the lips. She tastes her orgasm when her tongue comes out. She doesn't wipe her pussy, she just pulls her bottom up. I cover her with a blanket, then turn the lamp off, making the room dark.

After closing the door, I walk down the hall to find my husband in bed, drifting to sleep. Perfect. I use our bathroom, sit on the toilet, and make myself cum. Two fingers is enough. After brushing my teeth, I go to bed.

I text Hannah while I'm in bed, in the darkness.

Me: I did something with my daughter tonight, id love to discuss it with you tommorow. No picture yet, youll have to trust me. I swear it happened

I put the phone on the bedside table and lay on my back. The bedroom is dark except for moonlight. It's been almost an hour and I can't sleep. All I think about is my daughter's pussy, how sweet it tasted, how good it felt to make her cum. To serve my daughter is a blessing.

The screen of my phone lights up. I check, it's Hannah, of course.

Hannah: Our first blowjob. Happened two days ago. Think about it all the time. Going to bed now, hopefully we can talk about this tomorrow during lunch. nite nite. : )

There's a video attached to the text message and I click play.

I'm watching a video recording where the phone is propped on a table facing Hannah's bedroom. It's daytime. An erect penis comes into view and I can only assume that it's Matthew's penis. Hannah gets on her knees in front of the erection with her thin-framed glasses on. She's wearing a sheer bra and the faint color of pink nipples are showing.

This is definitely Hannah's first time, as she said in the text message. Her nervousness, her hesitation, reveals it. She looks at the penis with amazement. Up close. She strokes the penis. The moment her hand touches the hard cock, Matthew steps back for a moment, before returning to place. Both of them are hesitant about this.

Hannah strokes the cock a few more times, adjusts her glasses, tucks her hair behind her ears, then takes it into her mouth. The look of curiosity in her eyes. This isn't a porn-style blowjob. She's making love to her son's dick. She's feeling around the tip with her mouth. She's using her tongue to get a sense of the shape and taste. Hannah even nibbles on the head and playfully bounces it in her mouth.

And her eyes tell the story of longing. Of sexual desire. I realize this is more than curiosity or lust. There's something deep within her. She hums when her son moans. The look of shock in her eyes. The tightening of her lips. The cum in her mouth.

The video ends abruptly and I'm disappointed. What an awful, deviant video. Why do I want more? I shouldn't be watching this, much less enjoying it. But here we are.

I close the phone and put it on the table. My husband is sleeping. I think about Hannah with her son's ejaculate in her mouth. I think about my daughter again. My mind is a hurricane. I reach down and touch myself, because what else am I supposed to do with these unholy emotions?

Then I'm struck by an epiphany. A striking realization. The Power.

Whatever is happening to Hannah... is happening to me.

***

Six months later.

I'm sitting on the couch in Hannah's ordinary living room. Everything is methodically arranged, there are framed family pictures on the wall. It's a weekday. I'm properly dressed for any occasion. I look like I should be in the office, but I'm here instead.

Hannah lays on a rug and gets mounted by her naked son. Even at a moment like this, she's still wearing glasses and her hair is slicked back in a new style. She's wearing a sheer bra with an opening on each cup for pink nipples to protrude. Panties that are crotchless for easy access. A total slut. A complete whore.

I envy her.

Everyone in the lab knows that I've eaten my daughter's pussy on several occasions (though Aleah and I have concealed that she eats my pussy in return). Everyone also knows that Hannah routinely gets drilled by her son. As shameful as that may be, the sexual pleasure feels worth it. Our reputations are ruined in the lab, with endless gossip at our expense, but at least I have Hannah as a friend.

We've gone through extensive treatment and blood testing. No one knows the source of the Power and the meteorite retains the highest level of classification. Working in the lab requires iron clad non-disclosure agreements, so the public (and our community) will never know of our incest. Aleah's reputation is safe.

The good news is that the effects of the Power are waning. Hannah and I are returning to our normal selves. We can think clearly again. We've even gotten a generous amount of bonus pay for our troubles.

The bad news is that quitting these sexual activities is far from easy. Once you've experienced a certain level of orgasm, it's nearly impossible to end. As I mentioned before, great orgasms are a drug, and we've become addicted. There's something about taboo sex with a son or daughter that produces a different kind of euphoria. We've made a pact, as friends and colleagues, to help each other stop these incestuous romps, but so far we aren't doing a great job of holding each other accountable.

Hannah is crying on the floor as Matthew picks up the pace. Tears roll down and wet the rim of her glasses. Her fingers scratch her son's back. Her toes curl. She's calling out to be fucked harder and faster, which always makes me chuckle. Many would say that Matthew is living every son's dream, but this is hard work. Fucking a nymphomaniac mother to a satisfactory completion is a full-time job.

She cums and her eyes roll back. Her toes curl into balls. Then I hear Matthew groaning, he cums, too. He lays on top of mother and they breathe heavily, their bodies glistening with sweat under the morning sunlight.

When he rolls to the side, I see my best friend, a train wreck of a mess. Hannah looks like she's been steamrolled. Her body is in the star position, arms outstretched, legs spread-eagled. Her eyes are glazed as she looks at the ceiling, wondering why life threw this curveball in her direction. Her once perfect life is now anything but ordinary.

Her gaping pussy leaks an abundance of cum. I do Hannah a favor, because I know how much she likes keeping a clean household, and how much the rug means to her (it's a Persian, a gift I gave her). I grab a tissue from the table and plug it into her pussy, allowing the material to absorb the thick, hot cum.

She appreciates the gesture and smiles. I look at the rosy pink nipples, which are still erect and protruding from the open-cut bra. As a tease, I pinch one of them, which brings her to life.

"Thanks for the tissue, you're a lifesaver," she says.

"I know."

We kiss as she remains on the floor. Hannah is great with her tongue, which has me itching for something else, so I stand and take my pants off, then squat down over her mouth. She eats me. That tongue. I moan in delight as her tongue goes inside. Matthew sits on the couch and watches two nymphomaniac mothers at play.

The End

always remember ~~ you are important

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