Anxiety tastes like copper pennies in my mouth as I stand outside our front door at 12:22 AM, my QuickMart name tag still pinned to my shirt. The weight of what I'm about to do makes my hand tremble as I fit the key into the lock.
I'd rehearsed this conversation a dozen times on the way home. But now that I'm here, all my carefully prepared words feel like sand slipping through my fingers.
"Fuck it," I mutter, pushing the door open with more force than necessary.
The familiar glow of our living room TV casts Mom in silhouette on the couch. She's wearing another silk night gown, her white hair loose around her shoulders, looking so normal it makes my chest ache. For a split second, I can almost pretend we're just a regular mother and son, that the past week has been some fever dream.
"How was work, honey?" she asks, her smile warm and genuine as she mutes the TV. There's no predatory gleam in her eyes tonight, no suggestive undertone to her words. Just Mom, asking about my day like she's done a thousand times before.
Something inside me cracks at the normalcy of it.
"Mom, look..." I begin, my voice rougher than I intended. I drop my backpack by the door and step into the living room, keeping the coffee table between us like a shield. "I'm exhausted by our new... relationship. Can we please just go back to how things were?"
Her smile freezes, then slowly fades. She blinks rapidly, those blue eyes I've known my entire life suddenly unreadable. The silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled too tight.
"No," she says finally, the single syllable falling like a stone. "I'm not going to stop flirting with you, Gabriel."
My heart sinks, but before I can respond, she continues, her voice softening slightly.
"But I'm willing to tone it down for now."
I drop onto the armchair across from her, running my hands through my hair. "Mom, up until this week, you were basically my only friend. My best friend. And I'm terrified I'm going to lose that."
Mom's expression softens, something vulnerable flickering across her face. "You won't lose me, Gabriel. Not ever." She rises from the couch in one fluid motion and crosses to the kitchen counter, where a bottle of tequila sits.
"Would you like to have a drink with your mother?" she asks, lifting the unopened bottle with a gentle smile. "We can just talk."
I stare at the bottle, exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. "Mom, I'm only eighteen."
"You've had a hell of a week, though," she says, her voice gentle as she sets the bottle down and leans against the counter. "And honestly, sweetheart, you look like you could use something to help you relax."
"I can't," I protest, shoving my hands in my pockets. "You'll just... take advantage of me again."
Mom's fingers still on the bottle cap, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected sincerity. "I promise I won't take advantage of you, Gabriel. Have I ever broken a promise to you in the past?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. I swallow hard, she's one to always keep to her word when she makes promises.
"No, but..." I trail off, unable to articulate the chaos of emotions swirling inside me.
Something wild flashes in Mom's eyes, a manic joy that makes my stomach drop. "Are you worried about becoming a beast yourself?" she asks, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. "That you won't be able to control yourself around me?"
"Of course not," I snap, heat rushing to my face.
Mom takes a deep breath, visibly composing herself. The predatory gleam recedes, replaced by something more measured, more maternal.
"Gabriel, I'm not forcing you," she says softly. "It's okay to say no. But I think you could really use a drink... and I would love to enjoy one with my best friend."
Her words strike a chord deep within me. Despite everything, I miss her, the real her, the mom who was my rock through every awkward phase and teenage crisis. Before all this... complication.
"Okay," I concede. "But we just talk. Like normal people."
Three glasses of tequila later, I'm sprawled on the couch beside Mom, the room pleasantly spinning around me. My leg keeps drifting against hers like it has a mind of its own, each brush of contact sending electricity through my veins. The bottle sits half-empty on the coffee table, a silent witness to my rapid descent into drunkenness.
"My goodness, Gabriel," Mom laughs, her eyes twinkling in the soft lamplight. "You're absolutely plastered after just three drinks. What a lightweight."
I slump further into the cushions, my head lolling back. "Cut me some slack," I mumble, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. "I'm only eighteen, remember?"
She arches one perfect eyebrow. "Oh? But weren't you drunk at that party? The one where..." she trails off meaningfully, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
Heat rushes to my face as memories from when I came in her during a gangbang come flooding back.
"That was actually my first time drinking," I admit, unable to meet her eyes. "First time for... everything that night."
Mom's expression softens. She reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with gentle fingers. "Well, don't worry about a thing," she murmurs. "Mommy will always keep you safe if you want to drink around her."
Something about the tenderness in her voice makes my chest ache. I find myself leaning into her touch, craving the comfort only she can provide. Before I can think better of it, my hand covers hers where it rests on the couch between us.
"Would it be okay if we had one more?" I ask, my fingers intertwining with hers.
Her eyes widen slightly, genuine surprise flickering across her face before something darker, hungrier takes its place. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip as she studies me with predatory intensity.
"I would love that," she purrs, squeezing my hand before reaching for the bottle.
The tequila burns less, going down this time. Mom watches me over the rim of her own, those blue eyes never leaving my face.
The room twists and breathes around me, the liquor making everything soft at the edges. Mom's face glows in the dim light. Something swells in my chest, a feeling so overwhelming it threatens to choke me.
"I love you so much, Mom," I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them.
She blinks, a delicate flush spreading across her cheeks. The tequila has finally started to affect her, but there's something else in her expression, too, a hunger that makes my pulse quicken.
"I love you too, Gabriel," she whispers, her voice husky. "More than you could possibly understand."
The tequila emboldens me, loosening my tongue and my inhibitions. "About this morning..." I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "When you offered to... um..."
Mom leans forward, her nightgown slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes darken with unmistakable desire as she places her glass on the coffee table with deliberate slowness.
"When I offered to let you fuck my face?" she finishes, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. "Is that what you're trying to say, baby?"
The room sways slightly as I reach for the bottle, pouring us each another generous helping. I down mine in one burning gulp.
"Someone's thirsty," Mom chuckles, watching me with amusement dancing in her eyes.
"So what's it going to be?" Mom asks with a teasing lilt, her fingers playing with the rim of her glass. "You've been staring at my mouth all night, Gabriel."
She lets out a soft laugh that sends shivers down my spine. Then she hooks her fingers into the corners of her mouth and pulls them apart, revealing the glistening pink interior. I can see all the way to her throat, wet and waiting.
"Do you want to use Mommy's mouth, baby?" she purrs through her stretched lips, her voice muffled but unmistakable.
My body responds before my mind can catch up. I'm harder than I've ever been in my life, the alcohol dissolving every rational thought. The room dances around me, but Mom stays in perfect focus, like she's the only solid thing in a world gone liquid.
I lunge forward without thinking, capturing her lips with mine. This is primal, a dam breaking after years of pressure. My hands fumble with my belt, tearing at my pants like they're burning my skin.
"Please," I gasp against her mouth, the word torn from somewhere deep inside me. "Please let me fuck your mouth, Mom. Please."
I feel her freeze for just a heartbeat, genuine surprise flickering across her face. Then she's kissing me back with equal passion, her tongue sliding against mine as her hands help me wrestle my pants down my legs.
Mom slides from the couch to the floor in one fluid motion, positioning herself between my legs. Her blue eyes gaze up at me with an almost reverent expression as she takes in the sight of my erection standing at attention. She inhales deeply, her eyelids fluttering closed for a moment.
"God, Gabriel," she whispers, her breath hot against my sensitive skin. "You smell incredible, baby. Like everything I've ever wanted."
My heart hammers against my ribs as she parts her lips, that perfect mouth opening wide. Her tongue extends, making the lightest contact with the underside of my cock. The wet heat of it sends electricity shooting up my spine, but then she stops, leaving me trembling on the edge of something monumental.
Instead of continuing, she reaches for my hands, guiding them to either side of her head. Her fingers wrap around my wrists, positioning my palms against her silky white hair.
"Fuck my face, Gabriel," she commands, her voice husky with need. "Don't hold back. I want you to use my mouth as hard as you can."
I hesitate for only a second before instinct takes over. Gripping her hair, I thrust forward, watching in fascination as her lips stretch around me. The power of her mouth is overwhelming. I pull back and slam forward again, a groan tearing from my throat.
Her eyes never leave mine as I establish a rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last. She takes me effortlessly, her throat relaxing to accommodate me perfectly. Tears form at the corners of her eyes, but her expression remains one of absolute ecstasy.
By the fifth thrust, I feel the pressure building at the base of my spine, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to crash over me. By the seventh, my legs are trembling, my grip on her hair tightening as I fight to maintain control.
On the ninth thrust, I lose the battle. My vision whites out as I explode, my entire body convulsing with the force of my orgasm. Surges of pleasure sweep through me as I empty myself down her throat, my hips jerking uncontrollably.
"FUCK!" I cry out, my voice barely recognizable even to my own ears. The intensity is almost painful like my soul is being ripped from my body through my cock.
Mom doesn't pull away, swallowing everything I give her with enthusiastic gulps. Her throat works rhythmically around me, prolonging my pleasure until I'm shaking and oversensitive.
When she finally releases me with a wet pop, her lips are swollen and glistening. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, looking immensely pleased with herself.
"Nine thrusts," she says, her voice slightly hoarse. "That's a new record for you, isn't it, baby? You're improving."
I collapse back onto the couch, chest heaving like I've run a marathon.
Every nerve ending in my body feels like it's been dipped in lightning.
"Holy shit," I slur, unable to form more complex thoughts. My limbs feel impossibly heavy, sinking into the cushions like they've become part of the furniture.
Mom rises from her knees with feline grace, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. There's something triumphant in her expression, a primitive satisfaction that makes my heart stutter. Her hair is mussed where I gripped it, white strands framing her face like a halo.
"You're so beautiful," I mumble, the filter between my brain and mouth completely dissolved by alcohol and post-orgasmic bliss.
She smiles down at me, those blue eyes soft with something that looks almost like tenderness. "So are you, my sweet boy."
The euphoria rushing through my veins feels almost dangerous in its intensity. I've never felt this good before, this complete. Some distant part of my brain knows I should be horrified by what just happened, but I can't summon even a flicker of shame. Not now, not with her looking at me like I'm everything she's ever wanted.
"C'mere," I manage to say, patting the couch beside me with clumsy fingers.
Mom slides onto the cushion, her body fitting perfectly against mine as she curls into my side. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare thigh, my pants still bunched around my ankles. I should fix that, I think distantly, but moving seems impossible right now.
"I can't believe how good you taste," she whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to my neck.
Her lips find my softening cock again, placing delicate kisses along its length. I should be oversensitive, should be pushing her away, but instead, I find myself sighing with contentment, my fingers tangling in her silky hair.
"Shh, baby, it's okay," she whispers against my skin, her breath warm and comforting. "Just rest now. Mommy's got you."
My eyelids grow impossibly heavy as she continues her gentle ministrations. The last thing I register before darkness claims me is the feeling of her lips, soft and loving against my most vulnerable part, and the strange certainty that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.