Nora in the Sun Pt. 10

"Is this about dad?" I asked, sensing where this was going.

Mom mulled it over. The light played across her chest, the smell of the ocean breezing through. "I just don't know... What are we doing? What have we done? I know we've gone too far, but I don't want to admit it to myself. I want it to go away sometimes. Be honest with me, Brett." She looked at me with a pleading gaze. "Have we gone too far?"

I knew we did.

Mom stared at me softly while I felt my erection leave. Her soft lips, the ones that had held my cock between them while she sucked on me earlier that day, turned slightly downward as she fell deeper and deeper into thinking about everything we had done -- all the forbidden barriers we crossed.

"Brett..." she tried to sound it out clearly, but her voice was breaking. "We had sex, Brett. You're my son. I'm your mother -- I gave birth to you! What we did was so, so wrong, and we're not even... we're just acting like it's a sexy game. What are we playing at? Are we pretending that any of this is right? That it's even a little okay?"

A difficult question rose within me. "Do you want to stop?"

Mom touched at her lips, standing, leaning over to pick up her robe, the loveliness of her full breasts pulling downward. She wrapped it around herself. Hid everything away. "I don't know," she said, quietly. Mom came up to me and put a hand on my arm. She looked at me with those dark, dark eyes. Struggling.

"I... like it, Brett."

"I like it too. I love it," I said, trying to reassure her.

"You... love it?" Mom bit her lip. My mother looked up at me as if she were a young, shy girl in high school. This woman, who was in the fullness of her sexual prime, more experienced than I in every possible way, looked into my eyes with deep uncertainty, looking to me for answers, hoping for some semblance of certainty. "Is it weird that I love the feeling of my own son's cock? That I actually... like the way it tastes?"

We both knew it was very, very weird, and very, very wrong.

"Do you like being inside your mother? Making her feel good?" Mom asked me, trying to keep her composure, drunk on the taboo, unsettled, turned on against her every sense of what was right. I saw her hand setting between her legs, her fingers pushing upward, subtle, as if she were trying to do it in a way I wouldn't notice.

"It's the hottest fucking thing in the world," I answered.

My mother took a deep breath and repeated what I said. "Hottest... in the world..." Her gaze grew a little sharper. Her chin lifted. I could tell she was making decisions -- the look was the exact same as all the times where she had to come up with a creative way to ground me in response for some dumb thing I did. It was a look of determination, of a plan -- meant specifically for her son.

"I want to go dancing," she said, her voice firm. Her eyes were decided. "And then," she took a deep breath, "you're going to fuck me like I'm the only woman left on Earth, whether I'm your mother or not."