Matched with Mom? Ch. 01

"Mom..." I tried, my voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

"My own son, and we...no no no this isn't happening..." Mom cried out before staring at me with unhinged eyes. "I'm...I'm sorry," Mom tried, her face twisting in anguish. "I'm sorry, honey, I'm so, so sorry. This...this is my fault..."

"Please," I begged, staring down at the floor. "I need to understand."

"I don't know," Mom whimpered, sinking to her knees before me. "I don't know, Zach. It's wrong. It's so, so wrong, and I'm...I'm a bad mother. I'm a bad wife. But I've been so lonely. Barry hasn't touched me in years and he's always out, and I was feeling so desperate for something, I just wanted to feel like a real woman again, for someone to want me..." she pleaded, babbling as she tried to explain. "But I shouldn't have done this...!"

"I want you," I said quietly, finally looking at her.

"No. NO. NO, Zach," she gasped, recoiling from me. "We didn't know. We didn't. Know. We were stupid, me most of all," she tried to convince herself. "This is the end of it."

"What are you saying?" I asked, devastated, watching her with pained eyes as she rose up, her chest shuddering as she gripped her head.

"It's over, Zach," Mom said with a tone of agonized, emotional finality. "No more. I'm deleting everything. It was a mistake. We forget this ever happened. It never happened."

"I can't," I said firmly, standing, feeling like I was watching myself in an out-of-body experience rather than being in control of my actions. "I still want you."

"Don't say that, Zach, please, god, no," Mom begged, backing away from me, her face screwed up in horror. She started as she bumped her back up against the wall. "Oh!"

"Look at my body, Mom, I'm still Aaron," I said, holding my arms out as an offering, hardly believing what was coming out of my mouth but allowing it. Growing bolder as I did. "We're the same person. Tell me you don't want what I can give you."

"You're my son, Zach," Mom cried, her voice strained, her eyes welling with tears. "You can't talk like this to me..."

"Tell me," I demanded, approaching her, pressing her up against the wall, her full breasts mashing into my chest, her breathing ragged as she squirmed, her head shaking from side to side as she closed her eyes tight.

"Please," Mom whimpered. "I can't. Please don't make me."

"Tell me," I growled, reaching behind her and grabbing her ass with both hands, squeezing her firm flesh possessively to pull her body tight against mine. It felt so wrong. So utterly depraved. But I'd given control to my dick completely and it felt good too. I let my mother feel my big rigid cock crush up against her pussy and pelvis. Mom's lip was bit so hard I thought it might bleed. I felt the heat of her cunt. I couldn't tell if she was struggling or grinding back, but her nipples hardened through her shirt, digging into my chest. Mom's mouth worked like she wanted to say something, but then the spell was broken and she pushed me away.

"NO!" Mom wailed. "No, Zach, what's wrong with you?? We can't we CAN'T!"

She fled from me, slamming the door behind her with a shriek.

"Fuck!" I cursed with a snarl, punching the wall.

I lay awake that night, not knowing what was going to happen. When I checked Tinder again, SensualSiren was gone, so were all our messages. Mom had deleted her account. Was she going to call the cops? Tell Dad? Run away? I had no idea. I started looking through all the illicit, incestuous videos Mom had sent me and jacked off angrily, my mind cursed with the memory of her on the bed, the scent of her desire, the curves of her body. The way her breasts rose and pointed to the ceiling as her back arched in orgasm.

There was no Siren anymore. Just Mom. And I still wanted her more than anything.

The next morning, Dad left early to pick up his shift at Kroger. Mom, who'd ironically taken time off from the hospital to spend more with me, was left behind. Trapped in the same house without a convenient excuse to escape my incestuous attentions. She was clearly uncomfortable, not making eye contact, flustered and tense. We sat in awkward, charged silence at the breakfast table, her in another old shirt and barefoot pajama bottoms, me in sweats and a tank top.

"Zach," Mom started, her voice small and timid.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, my tone neutral, eyes on my bowl of cereal.

"I don't know," Mom replied, her voice quivering. "I'm your mother, Zach."

"We can't deny what's happening between us, Mom," I said firmly.

"There's nothing," Mom managed, voice strained, pathetic. I knew she was lying.

"Bullshit," I said through tight lips, raising my eyes to stare at her angrily. "Don't lie."

"Zach, please, just stop," Mom said hoarsely, her voice breaking.

I got up bitterly and dumped my bowl in the sink, then went to grab Chance for a morning run.

"I'm going for a jog," I called mechanically, as if things could ever be normal again. Mom was just sitting at the table, her face in her hands. She looked up, near tears again, tortured eyes upon mine.

"O-oh-okay. I'll just do some yoga..."

***

Chance and I had a good run that day, probably the only normal thing in my life anymore. Eberwhite was the same as always, though it felt even smaller and quainter than ever before. I kept thinking about my body against Mom's last night, how she felt like she was giving in. Her heat. The press of her slender frame. Her smell. Her breasts and their fat, stiffened nips. It was less of a courtship now and more a chase of predator and prey. I couldn't give up the hunt and let her slip away.

That was how we settled into our new, incestuous reality; a twisted, lust-filled dance between us. The week passed with me circling her, never truly relenting. Stealing glances or even brushes when I could in the hall or the kitchen; a graze of her hip, her breast, her ass. A hand sliding up her thigh. I was persistent, insistent, and grew bolder when Mom just wormed away or gave me a hot, needy glare under all that shame and disgust and pain. I knew what I was doing was so wrong, but it was like wires had been cut and rerouted in my brain. Mom was Siren. She was my fucking girlfriend, my lover. The one who'd carry my children. She just didn't want to face it yet. She was resisting, but I knew that part of her that wanted nothing more than to fuck, blood-related or not. I saw it in her eyes every single day.

One morning during my routine a week or so later, I came back from my run with Chance covered in a good sweat. Mom's yoga mat was still out in the living room, along with the blocks, ball, and other stuff that came with the routine. I could hear the shower running upstairs. Given over to the pull of my desires, I followed the sound into my parents' bedroom and stripped naked, stepping into the adjoining bathroom. The pound in my chest beat in time with the pulse engorging my cock. I don't know what I set out to accomplish, but I needed my woman; needed to feel her again whether or not she was my mother. Somehow I was committed to seeing this to the end, whatever that was. To slaking the incestuous thirst that had just built and built to screaming over the last weeks, spilling over after my first night.

The shower fogged the glass, obscuring my vision, but I could see her shape, a blurry, feminine outline. Mom's body. Her beautiful, voluptuous form, water sluicing enticingly down her curves. She was facing away from me, rinsing lilac-scented shampoo out of her hair. All I saw was Siren. And Siren was my mother.

I slid open the door and stepped inside the large stall with her. She didn't hear me at first, so I pressed my hard body up against her slippery back, my big, naked hard cock grinding into the cleft of her ass. I reached up to grab her breasts in my hands with a deep growl.

"Ohh!" Mom gasped, her voice echoing off the tiles. She struggled, trying to break free, but I had a firm grip on her large tits, squeezing her big, long nipples between my fingers.

"ZACH! NO!!" Mom screamed, her voice racing, high and panicked.

"Just let it happen..." I heard myself say as I luxuriated in her even as she resisted. "I know you want this."

"Stop, Zach, please," Mom begged.

"Why are you fighting it, Mom? Why can't we have each other?" I hissed into her ear.

"Because it's WRONG," she cried.

"So? You still love it, don't you, Mom?" I countered. "You're turned on. Your body's begging for me."

"It's wrong," my mother whimpered again, her voice shaking.

"Does this feel wrong, Mom?" I asked, one hand sliding down to cup her hairy pussy with firm, lascivious intent.

"Mmmmph!" Mom moaned as I pressed my palm against her swollen mons, fingers stroking over her cunt lips.

"Does it?" I repeated, running my probing digits along her slit. I could barely believe I was doing this, my dick throbbing, steel-hard between her cheeks. I felt electrified, like I was a creature of pure lust.

"Yes," Mom lied breathlessly. "Zach please..."

I kissed the crook of my mother's neck and she shivered, her ass grinding back against my thick pole. I slipped a finger inside her folds to elicit another gasp, her walls clenching around me. Mom squirmed again at first, trying to get away, but weakly this time, body betraying her.

"Oh, fuck, Zach," my mother whimpered, her resolve crumbling.

"I need you so bad," I grunted, pumping myself against her in a slow, deep grind, pushing in another finger to join the first as I gripped and kneaded her perfect breast. "Let me inside you."

"We can't," Mom pleaded, her voice barely more than a whisper, trembling. "We can't..."

"You wanted it when you thought I was Aaron," I said lowly, fingering her faster, curling my digits over the deep places Dad hadn't touched in years, if ever, making her moan and writhe against me. "Just like me, just as young as me..."

"Zach, noohhhhhhhh," Mom shuddered, her hot juices running down my wrist along with the constant splash of the shower. "I'm your motherrrrr..."

"Yes," I groaned, slipping a third finger into her.

"Fuuuckkk," Mom whined, her ass smacking back against me, her hips rolling.

"That's right, take it, Mom," I encouraged with a hiss in her ear before kissing down her neck, her shoulder.

She came, hard. Mom squealed as her body convulsed, legs shaking, her hairy cunt gushing, clenching down and rippling around my fingers. My mother let out a whining, moaning cry as she crashed down from her high and leaned heavily against me, still trembling. When she came back to herself, panting softly, her hand touched my wrist to pull my fingers out from her pussy.

Mom turned to face me with the spray of the shower and steam rising around her, hair wet, naked breasts heaving as she panted, looking so different and beautiful. So vulnerable. Mom's dark eyes stared into mine, her lips parted. She took in my broad shoulders, my thick, muscular arms, my big, powerful chest, the ridges of my abs, and the stiff pillar of flesh that was my hard, throbbing cock. She looked so ashamed, but that sultry arousal I'd seen in Siren, unmistakable, glinted in her dark green eyes.

"Zach..." she breathed hoarsely, even now trying to cover herself. "Why...did you do that?"

"We can't stop," I said, stepping forward, pushing her against the tiles, the water cascading down our bodies.

"We have to," Mom repeated weakly, her voice almost a moan. She looked frantic as I advanced, my big, bobbing cock insistent, so potent as it flared angrily from between my legs and pointed directly at her womb. "Please, Zach, no!"

Mom bit her lip hard again as she looked down at my raging erection, the focus of all her sexual desire for so many weeks. She stared at me desperately, probably realizing I wasn't going to stop until my awful, unnatural lusts were sated.

"W-we can't have sex," she pleaded. "But...but...if I..." Mom let out a long, shuddering, despairing sigh. "If I get you off, can you stop this?"

"I don't know," I said simply, closing the distance, the head of my prick bumping against her navel, the length of my shaft sliding along her lower belly and mound. "Unnnm...You can try..."

"Ohhh," Mom groaned, her face twisting in a painful mix of desire and shame. She looked so conflicted as she let me smear across her for a moment, then shook her head again with that look of lusty revulsion. Mom's fingers moved to snake around my big, proud young shaft -- maybe just to move it away at first, but her touch lingered, tightened instead.

"Yessss," I hissed, feeling her delicate hand gripping my cock, her thumb and forefinger struggling to meet. Mom wasn't wearing her wedding ring at least, but I wouldn't have cared if she was.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Mom whimpered as she began stroking me, her touch sending shockwaves up my spine. I throbbed as she stroked me, leaking a long string of pre. "Oh god it's so big, Zach," she whispered, her face screwed up in guilt and need. "We shouldn't be doing this, we shouldn't..."

I was like another person as I watched her and the water slide down her curves as she pumped my dick, forced to use both hands because of how large it was.

"Oh, Zach...please let's just stop --" Mom gasped, her gaze fixed on my cock as she continued jerking me.

"Shhh. Just keep doing that," I urged firmly, staring into her eyes. I groaned as her hands moved up and down the full length of my shaft, her experienced fingers squeezing and twisting around the thick head, then sliding down the sensitive underside before her palm cupped my balls. The taboo of what we were doing, the sheer sinfulness of it was somehow such a turn-on for me. I'd wanted her so badly, had ached and suffered, and now I was getting what I'd yearned for.

"Zach, fuck," Mom moaned, her hands moving faster, the shower dulling her gasps and the slick sound of my precum lubricating my massive teenage erection. She couldn't tear her gaze away from it, her hands working, stroking, jerking, adoring, reviling, heavy breasts moving with the motions, nipples so hard. "Please just cum, Zach."

"Mff...Keep going," I grunted, thrusting into her grip with languid motions of my hips.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she repeated, her words hollow, her face twisting with guilty pleasure as her long, slender fingers masturbated her own son.

"Do you want to taste it?" I growled.

"No, I can't," Mom groaned, her voice catching, her hands never stopping. She turned her head away, pursing her lips tight as if afraid I'd force her, but never took her eyes off of it.

"You will soon. I want to see your lips around my dick," I breathed, leaning forward, my mouth almost brushing her ear.

"Ohhh godddh," Mom moaned, her strokes quickening, her fingers tightening, the pressure building.

"I'm gonna cum," I strained, my breath coming faster, the tension in my balls reaching a breaking point.

"Just cum, Zach," Mom urged, her face still wracked with conflicting emotions as her hands twisted, caressed, and jerked my throbbing, swollen meat in her hands. "Please cum."

I groaned loudly, the muscles in my legs and groin contracting. I exploded, the first incestuous rope shooting up and hitting Mom on her heaving breasts, then her belly. She gasped in revulsion and lust, her hands milking and stroking and coaxing out every rope of semen that they could as they pumped up and down my bucking, spasming shaft. It was the biggest load I'd ever blown, thick white globs coating her large, upturned tits, dripping down her stomach.

"Oh, God, oh fuck, what did I just do?" Mom half-sobbed, though tears didn't come this time.

I was breathing hard, my legs and pelvis weak from the intensity of the orgasm. I slipped from her grasp leaning back against the glass wall of the stall, letting the water run down my body.

Mom was still distraught, her expression stricken, body marked by my fertile, incestuous seed. I could see the shame and disgust and self-loathing on her face. The way she looked at me was heartbreaking, but I tell she was also very turned on. I was hit by a pang of regret and guilt, but it'd felt so fucking good...

As I stepped away from the blast of the hot shower, she numbly took my place, washing her son's cum from her body. I watched Mom like a predator, admiring her fertile curves, her full, round ass and big, swinging tits. When she was clean, Mom turned off the shower and pushed open the door, stepping out of the stall, her hair matted and dripping.

"I'll...I'll go make lunch," Mom mumbled, not looking at me, her tone dull and flat, her face pale, eyes glazed. She quickly wrapped a towel around herself and left.

"Fuck," I groaned, running my hands through my hair, leaning my head against the tile, the water still cascading around me.

What was wrong with me? I'd pushed my fingers inside my own mother and forced her to give me a handjob. I'd come on her tits, the same ones I'd sucked on as a baby. What kind of sick fuck was I? And yet, despite all that, the sin, the shame, the utter wrongness, the memory of Mom's body, the feel of her fleshy, furry cunt; her hands stroking my cock -- it was enough to make me hard again.

***

Neither of us talked about it for the rest of the day. Mom, still trying to avoid me and cling to any shreds of sanity in our new, completely fucked-up normal. Me, biding my time and watching her hungrily. Mom found some pretense to escape the house and go on some errands while I hit up the local gym. I tried not to think about what I'd done and what more I wanted to do, but it was all-consuming.

Over the next few days I was more brazen with Mom, taking every opportunity to touch her, to push her, to grind my growing erection against her, or to grope her breasts or ass, whispering in her ear how much I needed her. Mom's eyes would widen in alarm and she'd gasp, her mouth hanging open, her breathing quickening, her cheeks flushing, her body quivering, but she'd never protest, and she'd never say no. Mom would just shake her head and wriggle away. And through it all, she didn't run from our house. Didn't call the police. Didn't tell Dad.

Once or twice I was able to corner her, to force her to satisfy me with her hands again. Mom tried to make it a highly mechanical thing, a necessity to get me to leave her alone, but I could it enflamed her desires so much, to feel her aching touch, to see how much she worshipped her son's large, fine young cock under the veneer of coercion and disgust. We hid what we were doing from my father, who seemed more interested in being in the garage with his Camero or out with his friends than with us anyway.

Near the end of the week, I needed more. Her hands weren't enough. Not even close. That night, Dad was predictably out again and Mom was curled up on the couch with a glass of wine, looking haunted and small as she tried to watch more reality TV. The accompanying bottle was unusual, as she normally didn't drink much. Mom was wearing clothes that maybe she thought might make her look less attractive to me -- an old pair of sweats and a baggy UofM Wolverine t-shirt. It didn't work. My mother was quiet as I entered the room, though her eyes flicked briefly towards me before returning to the screen. I'd caught her glancing at me like that a lot since we'd started this, her green eyes burning with lust and shame in equal measure.

I sat beside Mom but not too close, and watched the show with her in silence, a mindless episode of House Hunters. Neither of us spoke or acknowledged each other, though I could see her glancing at me, stealing surreptitious looks at my chest and the bulge in my shorts. It was obvious from her flushed skin and the way she was breathing that Mom was aroused.

When the show ended, I put my hand on her thigh, feeling the heat radiating off her.