My face is still burning hot as I come down the stairs, the scalding shower failing completely to wash away my shame. It's been a little over an hour since Mom jerked me off, and I still feel her hands on me, still taste her tongue in my mouth. The worst part? I can't stop thinking about how good it felt.
I freeze at the bottom of the stairs, my entire body going rigid as I catch sight of her.
Mom stands in the kitchen, adjusting something in her reflection from the microwave door. She's wearing a teal and white wrap dress that hugs every curve like it was painted on her body. A navy blazer with gold buttons adds an air of professionalism that's completely undermined by the plunging neckline of the dress beneath it. Her cleavage is abundant, practically spilling out, framed perfectly by the crisp lapels. Red-framed glasses perch on her nose, giving her a sexy librarian vibe that makes my mouth go dry.
She turns, catching me staring, and does a little twirl. "How do I look?"
My eyeballs are practically out of my head. "Stunning," I blurt out before I can stop myself.
I sigh heavily, realizing I just told her exactly what I actually thought. Fucking great self-control, Gabe.
Her smile shifts, turning from pleased to something wild and hungry. Those blue eyes widen behind her glasses, pupils dilating until they nearly swallow the irises.
"If you say things like that, I'll be forced to reward you," she purrs, approaching me with swaying hips.
My back hits the wall as I try to retreat, but I'm trapped. Mom reaches up, inserting her index fingers at the corners of her mouth, spreading her lips wide in an obscene display.
"How about it, baby?" she asks through her stretched lips. "Do you want to see if you can hit double-digit thrusts fucking Mommy's face before class? I'll swallow it all so there's no mess."
My stomach drops as heat rushes to my face. "Jesus Christ, Mom!" I push past her, desperate to put distance between us.
She laughs, the sound both musical and slightly unhinged, before turning to the counter. She lifts a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, setting it on the table in front of me.
"Breakfast is served," she announces like nothing happened like she didn't just offer to... I can't even finish the thought.
I stare at the perfectly arranged food, my appetite battling with my disgust at her suggestion. The eggs look fluffy, the bacon crisp, she knows exactly how I like everything. It tastes divine.
"Hey, Mom," I say hesitantly, poking at my eggs with my fork, "aren't you worried someone will recognize you from... you know..."
The question hangs in the air between us. Her escort days. The men she's been with. The possibility that someone at the university might have been a client.
"Oh honey," she responds with a dismissive wave, "people will recognize me."
She takes a seat across from me, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness. "But they won't say anything. Men are cowards that way, terrified their dirty little secrets might get exposed." Her smile turns sharp. "Besides, I have enough dirt on half the administration to ensure my position is quite secure."
I nearly choke on my bite of toast. "You're blackmailing the university?"
"Not actively," she says, sipping her coffee delicately. "Let's call it... mutually assured destruction. They know what I know, and I know what they know." She winks at me over the rim of her mug. "It's all very civilized."
I push my eggs around the plate, my appetite fading with each word she speaks. "This is insane. You can't just... what if someone talks anyway?"
"I'm sure some of the students will talk," she says with a shrug, dabbing at her lips with a napkin, "but the dean made it very clear he won't allow any 'false' accusations in his school." Her fingers form air quotes around the word "false," her smile turning predatory.
"Mom, people are gonna figure out my mother's a hooker at this rate."
She sets down her coffee cup with a sharp clink, eyes narrowing behind those red frames. "Oh, are you embarrassed of how your mother fearlessly waded through men to raise you? Of the sacrifices I made to ensure you had everything you needed?"
I feel my face burn with shame. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way," I mumble, staring down at my half-eaten breakfast.
Her expression softens unexpectedly, and she laughs, the sound lighter than before. "Don't worry," she says, reaching across to pat my hand. "I'm using my maiden name to teach. That way, if you want to fuck me on campus, no one will know you're my son."
I jerk my hand away like I've been burned. "That's not… I wouldn't…" I sputter, pushing back from the table so violently my chair nearly topples over. "I have a girlfriend, remember?"
"Ah yes, Sabrina." Mom's lips curl around the name like she's tasting something sour. "The girl you've known for what, three days? How sweet."
I grab my backpack from the floor, slinging it over my shoulder with more force than necessary. "I need to go. I'll be late for class."
Mom's eyes crinkle at the corners, a strange amusement playing across her face. She checks her watch and tilts her head.
"No need to rush, Gabe," she says, laughing at something I clearly don't understand. Her shoulders shake with barely contained mirth.
"What's so funny?" I ask, my hand still gripping the strap of my backpack like it's a lifeline.
She presses her lips together, trying and failing to suppress another laugh. "How about we carpool?" she suggests, her eyes gleaming behind those red frames. "I'm heading to campus anyway."
My stomach drops. Being trapped in a car with her is the last thing I need right now. "I have to work after school," I say quickly, relieved to have a legitimate excuse.
She nods, accepting my answer with suspicious ease. "I'll see you soon, then."
"I'll see you tonight," I respond, already backing toward the door.
Her smile widens until it's almost predatory, those perfect white teeth gleaming. The sight follows me as I walk out, shutting the door firmly behind me.
The cool morning air hits my face as I escape the house, bringing momentary relief. But even as I drive to campus, Mom's words echo in my head. Her suggestion about carpooling strikes me as odd now that I think about it. Something's not right, but I can't put my finger on what.
I park in the crowded student lot and make my way across campus, trying to shake off the lingering unease. The English building looms ahead, its brick facade catching the morning sunlight. As I approach the entrance, a familiar figure comes into view.
Sabrina's standing by the doors, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She's wearing a black sweater that's at least two sizes too big for her small frame, the sleeves rolled up multiple times to free her hands. Her dark skin glows in the sunlight, and she's done something different with her hair, tiny clips holding back sections in a way that frames her face perfectly.
When she spots me, her entire body seems to light up. The genuine joy in her expression makes something warm unfurl in my chest, pushing away the darkness of my morning.
"Hey," I call out, closing the distance between us.
"Hey yourself," she replies, her voice slightly higher than usual. She does an awkward little half-wave that makes me smile despite everything.
"You look gorgeous," I say, the words tumbling out before I can overthink them.
Her eyes widen, and she immediately drops her gaze to the ground. A deep flush spreads across her cheeks as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Nice shoelaces," she mumbles, pointing at my feet.
I glance down at my completely ordinary white laces and can't help but laugh. "Thanks," I say, nudging her shoulder gently with mine. "I picked them out special for today."
She looks up at me through her lashes, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Shut up," she says, but there's no heat in it.
We stand there for a moment, just grinning at each other like idiots, and I realize that the knot of anxiety that's been sitting in my chest since I woke up has loosened. Something about Sabrina's awkwardness makes my own social anxiety seem manageable in comparison. Her chaotic energy somehow grounds me, like watching someone else be a mess makes it okay for me to be imperfect, too.
"Ready to go in?" I ask, nodding toward the doors.
"Yeah, let's go." Sabrina nods, adjusting her oversized sweater. "I'm kind of excited about the new professor. Heard she's replacing old Daniels."
We walk into the building together, her shoulder occasionally brushing against mine. The contact sends little sparks through my body, a welcome distraction from the chaos at home.
"I wonder what she'll be like," I say as we navigate the crowded hallway.
We enter the classroom, finding two seats next to each other in the middle row. The familiar smell of old books and chalk dust fills my nostrils as I settle in, pulling out my notebook and a pen. Students filter in around us, the usual pre-class chatter filling the room.
Sabrina leans close, her breath warm against my ear. "By the way, I made you something." She rummages through her backpack and pulls out a small paper crane, meticulously folded from notebook paper. "It's dumb, but... I thought you might like it."
I take the tiny origami creation, turning it over in my palm. "Thanks," I say, genuinely touched by the simple gesture. "I love it."
The classroom door swings open, and my heart stops.
Mom walks in, the teal dress hugging her curves as she moves with practiced grace to the front of the room. The leather messenger bag in her hand looks expensive, professional. She places it carefully on the desk, the soft thud echoing in the suddenly quiet room.
"Fuck," I whisper, sinking lower in my seat.
I don't know how I didn't see this coming in hindsight. The new job, the carpooling suggestion, her amused expression this morning, it all makes terrible sense now.
Her eyes scan the classroom, landing on me with laser precision. A wide smile spreads across her face, triumphant and possessive, but she doesn't acknowledge me directly. Instead, she turns to address the whole class, adjusting those red-framed glasses with one manicured finger.
"Good morning, everyone. I am Professor Sterling, and I'll be teaching Creative Writing 101 for the remainder of the semester."
Her voice carries through the room, commanding and confident. Several male students sit up straighter, their attention clearly captured by her beauty.
Beside me, Sabrina leans close again. "Wow," she whispers, "she's gorgeous. Like, intimidatingly gorgeous."
I feel the blood drain from my face as Mom begins outlining her teaching philosophy, each word punctuated by graceful hand gestures that draw attention to her long, elegant fingers, the same fingers that were wrapped around my cock this morning.
"For our first exercise together," Mom announces, "we'll be exploring the theme of forbidden desires."