Skip to content This is part 2 of the Literotica Mom Series. For part 1, I found out that my mother writes incest erotica
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The second time I fucked my mother, it was because we decided to write a story about it together. It happened on a Tuesday. The sky was dark enough that the streetlights outside our window had kicked on, and the whole house glowed blue and gold. I’d just gotten home from the gym, still floating from the memory of that first night, how she’d bounced on my cock while the TV babbled in the background and then made me promise we’d try it again. I guess I’d imagined it would be a once-in-a-lifetime thing, or maybe an only-in-fantasy thing, but Mom didn’t let the subject drop. If anything, she doubled down.
She came into my room wearing a V-neck tee and pajama shorts, hair loose, no bra, and that smile that said she’d been waiting for me all afternoon.
“You busy?” she asked, leaning on my door frame.
“Not really.” I tried to look normal, though I’d been half-hard since the minute I walked in.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and bit the inside of her cheek. “I was going to finish a chapter, if you want to hang out. Or we could…” Her eyes did a lap around my room. “We could do something else.”
My brain crashed and rebooted. “Yeah. I mean, yes, whatever you want.”
Mom grinned, like she’d been hoping I’d say that, then padded across the carpet and sat next to me on the edge of the bed. Her thigh pressed against mine, warm through the cotton. She turned so she was facing me, her knees bent up, the shorts hitching higher with every movement.
She didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, she said, “Do you want to read one?”
I stared. “Read what?”
“My stories. I mean, I know you’ve already read them, but—” She trailed off, cheeks coloring. “Never mind.”
“No, I want to.” I surprised myself with how fast I said it.
Mom did a little half-laugh and reached for my hand. “Will you read it out loud? To me?”
She looked so nervous I almost couldn’t believe this was the same woman who’d ridden my cock like a theme park ride not even a week before. I squeezed her hand. “Only if you sit with me.”
She gave a dramatic sigh of relief. “Deal.”
We went into her room, which smelled like her shampoo and a trace of yesterday’s perfume. The laptop was open on her desk, the cursor blinking in a sea of words. I pulled her desk chair out and sat, while she curled up on her bed, hugging her knees, watching me with her chin balanced on her arm.
I scrolled through her drafts. There were at least a dozen unfinished stories, and one fresh one at the top called “Study Buddy.” The summary made my heart thump: “A college son’s long night of homework turns into a lesson in taboo pleasure from his hot, single mom.”
“You wrote a new one,” I said.
She shrugged. “I had some inspiration.”
I opened it. The story started with a description of the son: tall, tired from midterms, hair a mess, sweatpants and an old high school T-shirt. I realized, with a jolt, she’d described exactly what I was wearing.
“Subtle,” I said, and she grinned, ducking her face behind her knees.
I began to read. The story was textbook SonsSweetMom: the son is burnt out, the mom brings him coffee, then offers him “something to take the edge off.” The dialogue was so real I could almost hear our voices, and when the mom touched her son’s thigh, the line of dialogue was verbatim what Mom had said to me the first time. I got as far as the first blowjob scene before I had to stop reading and adjust my sweatpants, which had tented in my lap.
“You can keep going,” she said, voice so soft I barely heard it.
I kept reading, the story growing filthier with every line, the writing so much more detailed and raw than any of her previous stories. The mom sucked her son until he begged her to stop, then begged her to never stop, and the descriptions were so vivid that I could see them like a highlight reel behind my eyelids. I could feel Mom’s eyes on me as I read, and when I hit a particularly explicit line, “She sucked him like she’d never tasted cock before, like she’d been starving for it since the day he was born” Mom let out a shaky breath and pressed her face to the pillow.
I finished the story, my hands shaking.
She sat up, face flushed, and said, “You’re a really good reader.”
“You’re a really good writer.”
Mom laughed, then stopped, a new idea lighting her up from the inside. “You know what would be fun?”
“What?”
“If we wrote one together.”
I couldn’t tell if she was joking, so I said, “Yeah. That would be fun.”
“No, really. You write a line, then I’ll write a line, and we’ll just see where it goes.”
It felt like a game, but also like a dare. I stood up, switched seats with her, and let her pull the laptop into her lap. She patted the bed for me to join her, and when I sat down, she angled the screen so we could both see. Our legs touched from knee to thigh.
She opened a new doc and typed: “The first time he touched his mother’s body, he was terrified he’d wake up.”
She looked at me, waiting. I reached for the keyboard. My hands were sweaty. “But her skin was warm and real under his fingers, her breath coming faster with every stroke.”
Mom chewed on the tip of her thumb, then typed: “She let him explore her, running his hands over her curves, letting him see how much she liked it. Letting him touch wherever he wanted.”
I typed: “He wanted to taste her, to bury his face in the place between her legs he’d only ever seen by accident.”
She typed, “She spread her thighs for him and pulled him closer. He licked her the way she showed him, slow and gentle at first, then harder when she begged him. He’d never tasted anything like her before. He never wanted to stop.”
My cock strained at the fly of my sweats, pulsing with each line. I peeked sideways at her: Mom’s face was fully flushed, eyes locked on the screen, breathing so shallow I could see her chest flutter with each word.
I reached over and typed: “He ate her out until her pussy flooded his mouth, until she cried out and came so hard she pulled his hair.”
She typed: “She begged him to fuck her. She needed to feel her son inside her, needed it more than air, more than anything in the world.”
The words on the screen made my balls ache. I reached for her thigh under the laptop, fingers tracing the hem of her shorts. She didn’t stop me. She kept typing:
“He got on top of her, lined up his cock with her soaked pussy, and slid inside. She was so tight it almost hurt, but so wet it felt like sinking into heaven.”
I typed: “She wrapped her arms and legs around him and begged him not to stop. She wanted him to breed her, to fill her up with his cum, to make her his completely.”
Mom hit enter a few times, then let her hands fall to her lap. “I can’t,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m so fucking horny right now.”
I closed the laptop and set it aside. My hand moved to her thigh, squeezed.
“I want to do it for real,” I said, quoting my own words from that first night.
She nodded, swallowing hard. “You can do anything you want to me.”
It was like the story had dissolved the last layer of decency between us. I shoved my hand into her shorts, rubbing her pussy through the cotton. She was drenched, hotter and wetter than I’d ever felt a girl in my life. She clawed at my shirt, pulling it up, and I let her, then slipped her shirt off in turn. Her tits spilled out, nipples dark and stiff, her whole body shivering with need.
She rolled onto her back, pulling me on top of her. I yanked her shorts down and off, taking her underwear with them. Her pussy was shaved smooth except for a perfect strip, swollen and glistening with her arousal. The sight of it made my vision blur. I licked her, slow and greedy, burying my tongue as deep as it would go. She grabbed handfuls of my hair and held me there, grinding her hips against my face, her breath breaking into high, needy gasps.
“That’s it, baby,” she panted. “Just like that. Eat your mommy’s pussy. Oh, fuck, yes—”
I devoured her, tasting her on my tongue, my nose pressed against her mound. Her legs shook, her back arched, and she came with a sob, soaking my face and the sheets beneath us. I kept licking, kept sucking on her clit until she went limp and breathless.
When I looked up, her eyes were glassy and wild. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me up to kiss her, hard and deep, sharing the taste of her pussy between our mouths.
She reached for my sweats and tugged them down, freeing my cock. It slapped against her thigh, glistening with precum. She wrapped her hand around it and stroked me, thumb teasing the slit.
“You want to put it in?” she whispered, like it was a secret. “You want to fuck me, Ty?”
I pushed the head against her entrance and she reached down, guiding me in. The first inch felt like being eaten alive. She was so hot, so tight, the velvet hug of her insides squeezing me. I sank all the way in, balls pressed flush to her ass, and she moaned loud enough I was sure the neighbors could hear.
I fucked her slowly, enjoying it. Each thrust made her tits bounce, made her pussy milk me. She wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me in deeper, her nails clawing my back.
“God, yes, baby, just like that,” she whimpered. “You feel so good. Better than anything I ever wrote.”
I laughed, out of breath. “Better than you imagined?”
She nodded, desperate. “A million times better. Please don’t stop. Please, Ty.”
I sped up, fucking her with deep, hard strokes. The room filled with the slap of skin, the wet noises of her pussy, and the sounds of her begging for more. She squeezed my cock with every thrust, her body greedy for every inch.
I could feel my orgasm building, tight and savage. I tried to hold it back, but Mom must have felt it, because she grabbed my ass and pulled me in as deep as possible.
“Cum in me,” she said. “Fill me up, just like in the stories. Make it real, baby.”
That broke me. I drove into her, hard and fast, and came with a roar, jets of cum painting her insides. She came again as I did, her pussy clenching and milking me, her legs locking me in place.
We collapsed together, sticky and shaking, sweat cooling on our skin.
Mom stroked my hair, eyes shining with something like pride.
“You’re a natural,” she whispered.
“You’re insane,” I said, and kissed her.
She laughed and bit my lip.
After a long minute, I propped myself up and looked at her, the mother I’d only ever known as Mom until a week ago, now flushed and panting and so beautiful it almost hurt.
“We should write the ending together,” I said.
Mom grinned. “We just did.”
I kissed her again, then rolled over, arms tangled, hearts pounding. I wondered what we’d write about tomorrow.
The story stayed open on Mom’s laptop, the blue light cutting across our bodies where we lay tangled on her bed. I could still feel her pussy leaking around my cock, the soreness in my jaw from eating her out, the animal pride humming through me every time I remembered the things she’d begged for. I wondered if that would ever get old. I doubted it.
She stretched, catlike, and rolled to face me, sheets clinging to her hips. “We should post it,” she said, nodding at the screen.
I snorted. “You really want people to read that?”
“It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever written,” she said, and she was right. “We should share it.”
I propped myself up and studied the page. She quickly wrote the final lines … exactly what we’d done, exactly what had happened, word for word, the pure perversion of a mother and her son making each other cum. A week ago the idea would’ve made me sick with guilt. Now it made my heart thump like I’d just gotten away with something huge.
Mom sat up, breasts swaying as she leaned over the laptop and clicked “Submit.” She paused, then scrolled down to the bottom, ticking the little box for “true story.” Her hands trembled, but her eyes never left the screen.
“Doesn’t that seem, I don’t know, risky?” I asked, though I could barely keep the smile out of my voice.
She glanced at me. “No one will ever believe it. That’s why it’s so perfect.” Her voice was low, giddy with power.
I watched as she filled out the story info: “By SonsSweetMom. Inspired by real events.” Then she set the genre: Incest/Taboo. I could almost feel the tsunami of readers lining up to devour what we’d just done.
Mom hit “Post.” For a second, nothing happened. Then the page reloaded, and the story appeared at the top of the Literotica queue, live for anyone to read. She leaned back and let out a breath. “Done,” she said, and something in her voice told me that she’d crossed a line she’d been tiptoeing for years.
We lay in the quiet for a while, my head on her shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy lines along my chest. I wondered what my old self would think, seeing me like this: naked in bed with my own mom, grinning about it, planning our next story. I realized I didn’t care.
After a while, Mom opened her phone and refreshed the story page. “Already got a comment,” she said.
“What’s it say?”
She held it up for me to read. “This can’t be real. No way a mom would ever do this with her son, but damn, I wish it was.”
We laughed until we cried.
The second comment came in a minute later. It was just one word: “Hot.”
I turned to Mom, the best writer I’d ever read, and the only woman I’d ever wanted this way. “What do you want to do next?” I asked.
She looked at me with that same mischievous glint, the one that had started it all. “Anything,” she said, and meant it.
I smiled, already plotting out the next story in my head, knowing we would write it together, knowing it would all be true.
To be continued
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