The Gold Digger's Son

"Maybe a little for me," I said, recalling the phone call.

She brought it over to the table and undid the apron, leaving it on the back of the chair. I ate slowly, and it turned out she was a pretty good cook, when she was motivated to do so. Having just helped her, I didn't blame her for not wanting to expend some much time and energy in the kitchen after a day of work. After dinner, the conversation shifted to the living room, with her wine glass making the transition. I sat across from her on the loveseat, while she sat leaning back on the easy chair across from me. Having shared the details of my new job, the workings of the studio, and the current status of my family over the last few days, though, all I could offer were a few anecdotes from teaching. I asked her about her restaurant hostess job, but she was seemingly more in the mood to listen than to talk.

"Do you like my perfume?" Mom asked.

"Yeah. It smells good," I said as the last dribble of white wine ran down the edge of the cup into her waiting mouth. For some reason, I seemed to be getting warmer. "I was actually going to say that when you came home, you still smelled like you had just gotten right out of the shower."

"Oh, that's my kiwi melon bodywash. Can you still smell it?" I thought I smelled something, but it had more of a perfume-type scent. "Here." She put her glass down and moved across to sit beside me. She curled on the seat beside me and extended an arm toward me. Mom lifted her slender wrist. "Smell."

I nearly froze. What was she doing? Not knowing what to do, I smelled her wrist. It smelled good in the generic way that most perfume smelled good to me. "Nice," I said. "Where'd you get it?"

"Mm...now smell my neck," Mom said, ignoring my question, craning her neck, and sweeping up her red hair in her right hand to reveal bare neck. This isn't normal, I thought. I couldn't believe what was happening. It had to be a joke. Was my own mother trying to seduce me?

As these thoughts collided together in my head, I pressed my nose near her skin and sniffed. The sweet odor was incredibly enticing. "You smell great." She let her hair drop down to cover her next and looked into my eyes as she had earlier that evening. At this moment, whatever inhibitions that had been blinding me to her sensuality dropped away, the voice that shouted "this is your mother" being drowned out as I looked at her. What I saw instead of my mother was a sexy 44-year-old woman with delicate, ruddy skin dappled with brownish freckles and a smile that was at once maternal and at the same time mischievous, friendly and naughty. It just now occurred to me how hard my cock was.

"Mom," I said. She leaned toward me and opened her lips slightly. I felt her hot breath on my cheek as she kissed me gently. I closed my eyes, fearing that my eyes might give away my shock or confusion. I wanted to feel her lips touch mine so badly, but at the same time, I was afraid any such moves I made would drive her away, like a timid animal.

"Call me Tiffany, babe," she said in a throaty voice that seemed to send a surge through my member. Her lips worked their way toward my waiting mouth.

"Tiffany." Our lips met. She gave me a few shy, schoolyard pecks on the lips. I threw my arms around my mother to draw us closer and at the same moment, her mouth opened up. I tasted the white wine as my mother's tongue passed my lips and caressed my mouth. It felt like a dream. I'm getting to first base with a beautiful 44-year-old woman who happens to be my mother. My mother. My mother tilted her head to the side and a cascade of her beautiful auburn locks fell across the side of my face. She applied more pressure with her wet tongue, and I felt moisture gathering at the tip of my penis.

My mother pulled away from my mouth and looked me in the eye again, with an intensity to her brown eyes that hinted at deep wells of desire. "Jacob honey," she said simply, still wearing a grin. She lifted the v-cut violet blouse she was wearing over the swell of her chest, revealing a black and white striped bra covering two enormous breasts. I didn't know whether they'd gotten bigger or been enhanced in some way, or whether they had always been that large and I had never noticed, but the swell of my mother's firm, round tits pressed together by the bra was possibly the most erotic sight I'd ever seen to that moment.

"Do you want them, Jacob?" she asked, her voice again sending shivers of anticipation through my body.

"Yes," I said, plunging my face between Mom's cleavage. I begin licking the insides of her tits and inadvertently tugged on the left cup, revealing a very erect, very pink nipple.

"Oh, yes," she said. "That's good. Yes. Put it in your mouth, dear." I complied with Mother's wishes, wrapping my lips around her exposed left nipple while fingering the right with my left hand. She reached behind her and undid the bra, unleashing her breasts. They shuddered a bit as they shifted, and I swore I could still taste Mom's kiwi melon bodywash on her wonderful tits. "Yes, honey. You like that?" I murmured a reply. "Good, good."

I grabbed the sleeves of her blouse and helped her remove the garment, leaving my mother topless. It was truly a stunning sight. She smiled, almost shyly, and then we kissed while I played with her breasts. I snaked my tongue around her mouth and she toyed with mine in return, as my cock seemed to get ever larger. Mom's hands grasped my side firmly, and I could feel her nails digging into me through my T-shirt. I wanted to feel them on my bare skin, so I reluctantly stopped caressing her mouth so I could take off the garment.

My mother shifted her position so that she sat with her knees pointed across the room, the same position I sat in. I continued to fondle her tits and tongue kiss her, and soon her right arm was crossing paths with my arms as she began playing with the hair below my navel. We couldn't get enough of each others tongues and mouths, and we explored each other for what seemed like an hour. "Mmm...let me see it, honey." She began pulling my khakis down.

I was nervous. I had only been with one woman before, and while Jessa said it was a good size, I know my mother had been with a variety of men, so I didn't know whether my penis would be big enough to please her as she stripped me to my boxers. I only knew that it was as big as it was ever going to get when my mother decided to remove her blue jeans, revealing a matching pair of black and white-striped panties and two welcoming, soft but not doughy thighs which promptly straddled my lap. "That looks good," Mom purred, eyeing the bulge of my dick. Her crotch was about six inches away from where the front slit of my boxer shorts ended.

I pulled my mother toward me and took one of her full breasts into my mouth again. This time she dug her fingernails into my bare shoulders, which caused me to grit my teeth and bite her nipple. She let out a quick gasp. "Ooh," she cooed. "Oh please, Jacob. Bite them. Suck them. It feels so good." I was more than happy to oblige. I saw her slip one of her hands into the front of her panties. She began sliding her hand in and out of the triangle of fabric. I could barely believe my eyes. I had always had a desire to see Jessa pleasure herself, but she told me she felt too self-conscious letting anyone see her.

Before me, my very own mother was rubbing her pussy while I hungrily sucked on her tits, intermittently landing kisses on her neck, stomach, and even her upper arms. She began to make a low moan. "Oh god," she exclaimed, breathing faster. "I want to make it nice and sticky for you down here, babe. Mmm, yes—ohhh. I'm getting ready for you, honey." She placed her free hand on top of her head, holding back a massive clump of her scarlet hair. She began grinding her crotch into my thigh while simultaneously jamming her fingers in with abandon. After a few moments, my mother removed her fingers while continuing to rub her pussy, covered by thin underwear, against my leg with a steady rhythm. Not long after, she said, breathing hard, "I'm so ready for you. Take off your boxers."

She stood up, allowing me to take of my underwear while she did the same. A thin strip of darkish hair ran down to my mother's vagina, which was speckled with tiny drops of a creamy white substance. I finished removing my boxers, my cock standing straight up. "Such a good boy," my mom said.

The tone of her last comment was an odd one, and took me back to when I would get a reward for doing some mundane task, such as cleaning up my room. It was then that it hit me. "Fuck," I said, averting my eyes from the fully naked form of my own mother.

"Honey?" she asked.

"Mom, what the fuck?" She looked at me with a mixture of surprise and concern. I wrenched myself from the couch and ran upstairs into my bedroom. What the hell was wrong with me? And with her? I tried to rationally work my way through this. First, I had to figure out why my motivations in this, why I was moments away from committing a taboo act with the woman who had given birth to and raised me. I hadn't had sex since the relationship with Jessa ended, and while Jessa certainly knew how to turn me on, she wasn't a red-headed desperate housewife with proportions that would make a centerfold envious. Any straight male would have responded in the same way to a woman who looked like my mother, I told myself; the fact that it was my mother was seemingly the only thing that stopped me from completing the act. Yet the troubling fact was that there had been many moments throughout the encounter when I had felt it was wrong and continued any way. Did I want to make love to my mother?

Why would she do it? I knew that she had a younger boyfriend, but why would she commit a truly sickening act with someone as ordinary as me when she likely could be satisfied any time she chose with some young stud? Was she trying to pay me back in some way for the money? In that case, was my mother nothing more than a high-class hooker, fucking whoever it took to continue the lifestyle she chose to live? There was a knock at the bedroom door.

"Jacob, honey," she said. "I'm so sorry." I didn't know what to say. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." Mom walked in. Her silvery bathrobe covered her body.

"I should have known...I mean..." she began. "I don't want you to feel like I was forcing you into anything."

"You didn't, Mom." I thought of what Jessa would think if word somehow ever got out that I had nearly fucked my mother, or what my dad would say. Even if they never found out, how could I ever speak to them again with this hanging over me? Why was I even still asking these questions inside my head? From taking anthropology I knew that pretty much the only universal taboo across all cultures, the act that all of them, from the most obscure Amazon tribe to the most liberal of industrial societies, saw as utterly beyond contempt, was incest. My whole life, despite my many faults, I had tried to be a good person, and here I was, nearly committing what was agreed to be one of the worst acts imaginable.

"It's just...I wanted you to know how much I appreciate you," she told me. "There's only so much I can give you in return."

"So you were going to fuck me?" I almost added "for money," but decided to hold back.

"Yes, if you want to put it that way," my mother said. "I wasn't there for you when you needed me before. I wanted to give you something no one else can." This roused my member again, but I still faced away from her. "You're an incredibly thoughtful young man. You deserve to be happy." There was roughly a minute of silence. I wasn't sure that she was still there until I saw her dimly lit form in the mirror, still standing at the doorway. "I know you think there's something wrong with this, but we're two consenting adults in the privacy of my home. I have a friend your age who has had a physical relationship with his mother on and off since—"

"Please leave me alone," I said.

"I'm so sorry," my mother told me, right before I heard the door shut.

I didn't go to sleep that night. Instead, I pulled out my laptop and began looking for the next flight out of town. My original flight didn't leave until tomorrow evening. I packed my things as quietly as I could and found the number of a local taxi service before downstairs creeping downstairs. I felt bad for my mother. Obviously, her actions were a result of some deep-seated psychological problems. I had my own problems, but I would have never even conceived of having sex with her if she hadn't initiated our contact on the couch. She seemed rather pathetic to me now; I would have suggested she find some help, but I didn't want to talk to her again, even if it meant sneaking away in the early morning to avoid her.

I noticed I had received a call at 8:36 the previous night, about when my mother and I had been exploring each other on the couch. It was from Jessa. Reluctantly, I dialed my voice mail. She had left a message. "Jacob. Listen to me. It's time for you to get on with your life. I'm happy now—Alex makes me happier than I ever thought I could be. I don't know why you don't me want to be happy, but just—just don't do this, okay? Don't call me any more, and stop trying to just put yourself back into my life. Good-bye."

I clicked the phone off before it asked me what I wanted to do with the message. It felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. I started to experience what resembled nausea. I sat on the stairs and glanced at the phone's display. The sunlight was breaking through the early morning clouds, and I could see scratches across the surface of my cell that I hadn't noticed before.

It seemed I didn't move from the stairs for at least fifteen minutes. I slid the phone into my pocket. I headed upstairs. As I moved up the staircase, I looked at the photographs that hung alongside it. There was a recent one of Mom and Aunt Jane on a European trip, my mom looking more tanned than usual. There was one of Mom and a group of bridesmaids at a family friend's wedding in which she wore a wreath around her head, its greens contrasting strikingly with her hair. Another picture showed myself and my parents at some California aquarium. Her hair was shorter then, and there were fewer well-defined lines on her face. She and Dad each had their arms around each other. I recognized now a distinct curve where the swell of her breasts met just peeking out of her otherwise modest top. Finally, there was a more recent picture of me and her at my college graduation. I wondered if I looked any older now, any more masculine or desirable.

I walked to Mom's bedroom and tapped lightly on the door. No answer. I stripped down to my boxers, leaving my clothing in a heap on the floor, and slowly opened it. Mom was lying on her side with a maroon sheet pulled up to her collarbone. She looked to be still asleep. Placed on a chair nearby was the pair of underwear she had been wearing last night. I only noticed now that it was a thong. I picked it up and looked inside. The black fabric had white residue in places.

I lifted the sheet a bit, enough to catch a glimpse of Mom's tan nightie. As slowly as I could, I curled into bed beside her. I felt the surprisingly firm flesh of her bare buttocks against my thigh. My cock went instantly hard. Mom continued to breathe with the same soft rhythm, suggesting she was still asleep. I pressed my face against her uncovered shoulders and began working my boxers off. Running my fingers through her now curling red hair, I rested my stiff member between the twin mounds of her ass. I started to slip my hand between her legs. I gently nudged her left leg so her legs were no longer together but slightly staggered, leaving a potential opening.

"Hi honey," she said.

"Hi Mom," I said, feeling a rush of euphoria just at the sound of her voice.

"Why don't you call me Tiffany?" she said. "I think that will make it easier for both of us."

"Yes, Tiffany dear," I said. I run my hand along the bottom of her left thigh, but I couldn't reach what I wanted to reach.

"Wow it's hard," my mother said, grinning. "It doesn't take much, does it?" I continued to rub her thigh. "Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked as I began massaging her ass with my left hand. My mother adjusted her position just enough so I could feel the mostly shaven and fleshy outline of her opening in the palm of my left hand. I rolled her over onto her back and began kissing her luscious lips, then began grasping desperately at her slit. I wanted—needed her wet and ready at that very instant. Mom slipped her tongue around my mouth with burgeoning passion and began fingering my swollen penis.

"Jacob, honey," she said. "I want to feel you deep inside me." My mother pushed aside the sheets, revealing her bare, beautiful legs and then, slowly, spread her legs wide, showing me the pussy I had been so close to entering the night before. "Tell me you want it too." I worked on positioning myself to obtain the best angle as she removed the nightie, letting me drink in her voluptuous breasts with my eyes again. She pulled me in close for a kiss, her nails digging my bare flesh again.

"I want you," I said, dipping my hand down to feel my mother's moist orifice.

"Say my name," she said as I kissed her neck.

"I want you, Tiffany," I told my mother as I lowered my abdomen and hips into position, my waiting penis pointing directly at her pink labia. Her hand took a gentle hold of me and guided my shaft in the right direction.

"Oh god," my mother exclaimed. I was inside her. For a moment, I didn't want to move, just wanting to bask in the intensity of her moist, tight, enveloping pussy, but I could tell from the expression on her face that she was eagerly anticipating much more than that. "Give it to me, hon."

"Yes, Mommy." It slipped out from nowhere, and I momentarily feared it would lead her to react differently, but a smile graced her wet lips. I gave a first thrust.

"Mm, that's good baby," she said. "Give me more." I followed that with another thrust. I couldn't believe how good my mother's pussy felt, as if it were perfectly proportional to my cock. I thrusted again, angling it slightly upward this time.

"Does Mommy like that?" I asked.

"Yes, honey." I continued slipping my dick in and out of her welcoming passage, lowering my face to wait her opening mouth, out of which her tongue protruded as if she was desperately thirsty. While I penetrated her, Mom and I kissed in a frenzy. I didn't know how much longer I could hold out, especially when she begin moving her hips in ways that Jessa had never shown me. I dug my fingers into her sizeable ass as I plowed into her slick vagina with increasing speed. "Oh fuck!" she cried.

"Does Mommy like it when I fuck her hard?"

"Oh yes, son," she replied, as I all but launched my hips forward, ramming my dick into her. "Fuck Mommy hard. Mommy can take it." She started gasping. "Yes! Yes! Oh, keep it coming. Fuck Mommy, baby. Yes."

"I think I might cum," I called out, questioning for a moment whether I should be wearing protection, or whether my mother could even still get pregnant.

"So close, baby," she reassured me. "Please give it to Mommy." I remembered her telling me at a young age that a mother always knew best, so I continued to fuck her dripping pussy even as my erection threatened to erupt inside her. She began to let out little high pitched squeals along with an assortment of moans, the sounds of which alone would have been enough to cause me to orgasm.

"Oh fuck!" she screamed, one of her nails catching my arm hard enough to draw blood, I suspected. When she pulled her hand away, I saw that I was right—a line of red ran down one of her silvery nails. My mother rocked her hips even harder now, and I knew the end was near.