The oppressive London lockdown felt like an eternity, weeks blending into a never-ending haze of pent-up frustration. As a bloke hitting 18, my balls ached for release, the pandemic’s celibacy suffocating my youthful libido. Living under my mum’s roof, saving up for our own place, I found myself ensnared in an incestuous web of forbidden thoughts.
Mum’s body, once a familiar comfort, now ignited a desperate hunger within me. Those short dresses and tight jeans she favored hugged her curves seductively, while low-cut tops framed her ample cleavage, her tits a tantalizing presence that I couldn’t ignore. The yoga pants she wore during lockdown sessions left little to the imagination, the outline of her pussy a constant torment as she bent and twisted in front of me.
I tried to dismiss the urges, to remind myself of the taboo nature of my desires. Yet, as day turned to night and the weeks dragged on, I found myself helplessly drawn to her. The creaky bed, the muffled moans, the way she seemed to crave Mike’s touch – it all fueled my own dark fantasies.
One morning, as I sat at the kitchen table, Mum walked in wearing a silky nightie and a robe that was gaping open. My gaze was immediately drawn to her cleavage, the plump mounds of flesh seeming to beckon me closer. The slight jiggle as she moved was almost hypnotic.
She caught me staring, a knowing glint in her eye. It was a look that begged to be acknowledged, a silent invitation to indulge the forbiddenlust that simmered between us. My cock stirred to life, straining against my jeans as I fought the urge to reach out and touch her.
“Morning, Jay love,” she said, pouring the kettle as she let out a sigh heavy with her own frustrations.
The kettle’s whistle seemed to pierce the thick tension in the room, a sound as shrill as my own racing thoughts. Mum turned her back to me to make the tea, and the silky fabric of her nightie pulled taut across her backside, outlining her shape with a cruel perfection.
“Morning,” I managed to croak out, my voice embarrassingly rough. I shifted in my chair, trying to discreetly adjust myself, painfully aware of the tightness in my jeans.
She brought two mugs over to the table, setting one in front of me before taking the seat opposite. The robe fell open further as she sat, and I could see the dark shadow of her nipple through the thin, slippery material of her nightie. My mouth went dry.
We sat in a silence that was anything but comfortable. It was charged, heavy with things unsaid. She blew on her tea, her eyes not leaving mine. That knowing glint was still there, mingled with something else—a deep, weary loneliness that the lockdown had carved into everyone.
“Another day in paradise, eh?” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious.
“Something like that,” I muttered, staring into my mug as if the tea leaves could spell out an answer to the madness in my head.
“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. The way she studied me made my pulse quicken. “Everything all right?”
No, I wanted to say. Nothing is all right. I can’t stop thinking about you. About what it would feel like to touch you.
Instead, I shrugged. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Mm.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, the neckline of her nightie dipping dangerously low. “You know you can talk to me, Jay. About anything.”
I took a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the warm mug. The steam curled up between us like the tension in the air, thick and impossible to ignore. She knows, I thought wildly. Or maybe she feels it too.
Her eyes—green like mine but softer, wiser—held me captive. The way her lips parted slightly, the faintest hint of pink tongue wetting them as she waited for my response. It was too much.
“Actually, Mum…” My voice was barely above a whisper. “There is something.”
She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. But her pupils dilated just a fraction, her chest rising with a slow, deliberate breath. “Go on,” she urged gently.
The words burned my throat. “I’ve been… feeling things. Things I shouldn’t. Since not seeing Jenny for this long and not you know, I am a little if not frustrated a lot.”
Mum didn’t react right away. Her fingers curled gently around her mug, her gaze steady on mine. The silence stretched between us, thick and expectant, but she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted slightly, breath shallow—like she was waiting for me to say the unspeakable out loud.
I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. “It’s just… this lockdown. Being stuck inside. Not seeing Jenny. And you’re…” My voice cracked. “You’re…”
Her chest rose with a slow inhale. “I’m what, Jay?” The question was soft, dangerously inviting.
Fuck it. The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “You’re driving me crazy.”
Her lips twitched—not in shock, not in anger, but something far more unsettling: amusement. She knew. She knew, and she’d been waiting for this.
A slow sip of her tea, eyes locked on mine over the rim. “Is that so?”
Heat flooded my face, my cock throbbing against my jeans. I should have backed down, made a joke, pretended this was just some stupid confession. But the way she licked her lips—lazy, deliberate—turned my shame into something far darker.
She leaned forward again, elbows on the table, the neckline of her nightie slipping lower. The swell of her cleavage was a blatant provocation now. “You think I haven’t noticed?” she murmured. “The way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention?”
Jesus Christ. My hands clenched under the table. “Mum—”
“It’s all right, love,” she said, voice hushed, like this was some secret just for us. “I’ve felt it too. This bloody lockdown… it does things to people.” A slow, knowing smile. “Desperate things. Drink your tea, love.”
Later that night, I came down in only my boxers from my room, mum had the lamp on and was watching tv. She had a full bottle of JD as she was pouring herself a glass.
“Oh, Jay, get yourself a glass and have a drink with your old mum,” she said as she took a long sip. She was in a different nightie now, with an even lower neckline and shorter, to the top of her thighs. Oh, and no rope.
“Yeah, alright,” I muttered, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. The ice clinked as I poured, the amber liquid swirling under the dim light. I sat beside her on the sofa, but not too close—though the space between us felt charged, like the air before a storm.
She glanced at me over the rim of her glass, a lazy smirk playing on her lips. “You’ve been quiet all evening.”
I took a swig, the whiskey burning down my throat. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous pastime,” she teased, shifting slightly. The movement made the fabric of her nightie tighten across her chest, the deep neckline offering an almost cruel view of her cleavage.
I forced my gaze back to the TV, but the show was just background noise. All I could focus on was the heat of her beside me, the faint scent of her perfume mixed with something darker, muskier.
She sighed, stretching her legs out. The hem of her nightie rode up, revealing a sliver of toned thigh. “God, I miss being touched,” she murmured, almost to herself.
My grip tightened on my glass. Fuck. Was she baiting me now? Or was this just the alcohol loosening her tongue?
When I didn’t respond, she turned her head, her eyes half-lidded. “You ever think about it, Jay? Just… how easy it would be to slip up?”
The words hung between us, thick and dangerous. My pulse roared in my ears. “Yeah,” I admitted hoarsely. “All the bloody time.”
She didn’t flinch. Instead, she let out a slow breath, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Me too.”
The admission—soft, sinful—sent my heart into overdrive. I turned to face her, the air between us crackling. “Mum…”
Her hand found my knee, a featherlight touch that burned through me. “We’re both adults,” she whispered. “And no one has to know. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, you’re my son.”
“No, no, it’s ok. Just look at my boxers, haha, I am hard as fuck.” My hand went on her thigh and went to the top, which made her nightie go up. Omg, she had no knickers on. Her pussy, freshly shaved. I rubbed it. “Wow, your pussy feels good. Lie down if you want me to fuck it.”
Then, without a word, she lay down on the sofa, her nightie riding up to her waist. I could see the entirety of her shaved pussy, inviting and exposed. My heart racing, I positioned myself between her legs, my boxers still on but my erection straining against the fabric. I pulled them down and rubbed my cock head up and down the slit of her snatch.
As I continued to rub my cock head up and down the slit of her snatch, Mum let out a low, husky moan. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, and her chest rose with each ragged breath. I could feel her heat, her wetness, and it drove me wild. I couldn’t wait any longer and sank it deep inside her pussy. As she pulled her nightie up and off? Her tits spilt out free.
“Nice tits, Mum,” I moaned as my cock slid slowly in and out of her cunt.
The sofa creaked under the weight of our entwined bodies, the air thick with the musk of whiskey, sweat, and the primal stench of our shared desperation. My cock pulsed inside her, a piston of need driven by the lockdown’s suffocating grip, by months of stifled hormones and taboo fantasies now spilling into the dim glow of the living room lamp. Mum’s tits bobbed with each thrust, the pale skin of her breasts slick with the sheen of our exertion, her nipples hard little nubs that brushed against my chest with every movement.
“Faster,” she panted, her voice a ragged whisper, her fingers digging into my ass. “Oh God, Jay, don’t hold back.”
I obeyed, my rhythm turning raw and jagged, hips slapping against her thighs as I lost myself in the heat of her. The scent of her shampoo—vanilla and something muskier, something purely her—clove my senses, and I groaned, my free hand palming one of her tits, squeezing until she gasped. She arched off the sofa, her nightie bunched around her waist, her shaved pussy glistening with my pre-cum and her juices, the slick sound of slapping flesh mixing with the low groans we couldn’t suppress.
“You’re such dirty women, aren’t you?” I hissed, my voice low and rough, half-shame, half-ecstasy. “Letting her son fuck her like this.”
Her laugh was a choked, breathless thing. “Don’t you dare stop now, you little fucker. I’ve wanted this since the first time I caught you eye-fucking me at the… ahhh breakfast table.” Her legs locked around my waist, pulling me deeper, her heels digging into my calves. “God, you’re huge… ohhh—”
“Eye fucking you huh? ” I leaned down and took one of her breasts in my mouth as I started to pound her minge harder. My balls slapping against her ass as I harpooned her hungry cunt. “Ahhh fuck, I can’t believe my cocks inside you. I have been eye fucking you for weeks.”
As I continued to devour her breast, my tongue swirling around the hard nipple, Mum’s moans grew louder, her body arching off the sofa like a cat in heat. The sound of my balls slapping against her ass filled the room, a primal cadence that seemed to match the pounding of my heart. I could feel her cunt clenching around me, the muscles rippling like a living thing as I drove into her with abandon.
“Faster, Jay, faster,” she panted, her voice a husky whisper that sent shivers down my spine. Her legs locked around my waist, pulling me deeper, her heels digging into my calves like talons. I could feel her nails scratching against my skin, a thrill of pain that only added to the ecstasy. “Ahhh my fanny… ahhh.”
My mouth moved to her other breast, suckling the nipple as I hilted myself inside her. Mum’s back arched, her hips bucking into mine as she met every thrust with increasing urgency. The sofa creaked and groaned, threatened to collapse under the force of our coupling. Her pussy was a velvet vise, clenching and rippling around my shaft, milking it for all it was worth.
“I’m so close, Jay,” she gasped, her hands scrabbling at my back. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!”
I couldn’t have even if I wanted to. Her body was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming for release. I pulled back until just the tip of my cock remained inside her, then slammed forward again, burying myself to the hilt. The force of the impact sent her nightie flying, leaving her bare from the waist up.
“Fuck, Mum,” I groaned, my breath hot against her breast. “Your tits… they’re perfect. I’ve fantasised about them for so long.”
She laughed, a breathless, delirious sound. “Well, they’re all yours now, pet. Take what you want.”
And I did. I drove into her with wild abandon, my hips slapping against her thighs, my balls swinging in pendulum motion. The room was a haze of sweat and sex, the air thick with our arousal. I could taste the salt of her skin, feel the heat of her body searing mine.
Suddenly, she stiffened beneath me, her cunt clamping down like a vice. “Jay! Oh God, I’m coming!”
I felt the vibrations of her orgasm through every nerve in my body, her pussy pulsing around my cock like a fist. It was the sweetest sensation, the ultimate trigger for my own release.
With a roar of triumph, I buried myself to the hilt and came hard, my orgasm ripping through me like a freight train. I felt my seed spilling into her, coating the walls of her cunt in heat, marking her as mine.
We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, my chest heaving against her sticky skin, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my back. The only sound was the drip of condensation from the kettle in the kitchen, the faint hum of the television murmuring some forgotten news broadcast about curfews and empty streets.
“That was…” I started, my voice hoarse.
“Bloody brilliant,” she finished for me, her smile lazy and drowsy as she tugged my face down for a kiss. Our tongues dueled, wet and sloppy, the taste of whiskey and each other’s sweat coating my mouth. Her fingers found my hair, tugging gently as she deepened the kiss, her tits squishing against my face.
I pulled back, my forehead resting against hers, my dick still semi-hard inside her. “But Mum… what if someone hears? Or—”
“Jay,” she cut me off, her thumb brushing my lip. “No one’s coming. Not during this bloody apocalypse. We’re alone. And don’t you dare let guilt ruin this for us.” Her green eyes glinted in the lamplight, sharp and feral. “We’re adults. We know what we’re doing. And if anyone asks… We’ll say it was the whiskey.”
I chuckled weakly, though the guilt was already gnawing at me, bitter as the drink in the kitchen. But then she shifted, grinding her hips against mine, and the guilt dissolved into something darker, something urgent. Her lips found my neck, her teeth grazing my pulse point as she whispered, “Again. Now.”
I didn’t argue. Carefully, I pulled out my cock, slick with our combined cum, and flipped her over so she was on all fours. She let out a little whine at the loss of contact, her ass cheeks wobbling in the dim light. I gripped her hips, guiding myself back inside her in one swift, aching thrust. She moaned, long and low, and I leaned into her, my hands splayed on her stomach, her back, her tits—everything, all at once.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I growled.
“Oh, you little—” She laughed breathlessly, then gasped as I hit something inside her that made her knees buckle. “I’m yours, Jay. Always have been.”
The lie tasted sweet as sin, and I buried my face in her hair, my thrusts turning frantic, uncaring. The sofa creaked louder now, our movements no longer subtle, the desperation of the lockdown and the taboo of it all fueling every slam of my hips. Her ass clenched around me, her moans growing louder, more desperate, until she was shrieking my name as she came again, her pussy convulsing like a vice.
I followed her over the edge, my cum shooting deep inside her, my forehead pressing into her spine as I bit down to muffle my own roar.
We stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the soft whimpers of her coming down from the high. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet, almost reverent. “Lockdown’s not forever, love.”
I didn’t answer. Because part of me knew that this—whatever this was—wasn’t forever. But in that moment, with her still pulsing around me, her skin still slick with sweat and our sins, I didn’t care about forever.
The lockdown would end. But for now, there were only the two of us, tangled in scandal and whiskey and the aching, desperate hunger that only the end of the world could create.