Lotus Bound: a Mother's Forbidden Embrace
Copyright© 2026 by BenthicDreamer
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - In the glittering shadows of a powerful man's world, a devoted college swimmer returns home to her single mother to uncover a web of manipulations and forbidden intimacy that threatens to corrupt their unbreakable bond. As desires awaken and boundaries blur, renewal comes at a devastating price. A dark erotic thriller of temptation and surrender.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/ft Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Reluctant Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Incest Mother Daughter DomSub MaleDom Light Bond Group Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism Oral Sex AI Generated
Emily trudged back to the dorm, the sharp scent of chlorine still clinging to her damp blonde hair like an unwelcome perfume. At nineteen, she carried the lean, toned physique of a dedicated swimmer—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, her legs long and muscular from years of kicking through water. Her fair skin was lightly freckled across her nose from occasional sun exposure during outdoor practices, and her green eyes held a focused intensity that often made her seem older than her years. She wore a simple gray hoodie over her swimsuit, the fabric clinging slightly to her still-damp curves, and her sneakers squeaked faintly on the linoleum floor as she moved.
Her muscles ached pleasantly from the morning practice—endless 200s under Coach’s relentless whistle—but the real weight was the scholarship that hung over her like a constant tide. One missed set, one distracted week, and it could all slip away. She shoved open the hallway door, bag thudding against her thigh, and stepped into the common lounge area. The space smelled of burnt toast and fresh coffee, a familiar mix that always signaled the end of a long day for the three roommates.
Jess sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop glowing on her knees. With her dark brunette hair pulled into a messy ponytail and wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, Jess had the look of a perpetual student—slender and bookish, her olive skin glowing under the lamp’s light. She was the one who kept their shared space organized, her fingers always tapping away at assignments or scrolling through social media feeds.
Mia leaned against the counter, still flushed from her own workout at the campus gym. Taller than the others, with an athletic build honed from volleyball, Mia’s short-cropped black hair framed her sharp features and warm brown eyes. Sweat glistened on her caramel skin, and she wore a tank top that revealed the strength in her arms as she munched on a piece of toast, crumbs scattering onto the floor.
“There she is,” Mia said with a grin, her voice carrying that easy confidence that came from being the social glue of the group. “Pool queen returns victorious. You look like you swam the English Channel twice.”
Emily forced a tired smile and let her bag drop with a heavy thunk. “Coach is trying to murder us before midterms. I swear, he’s got it out for the scholarship kids.”
Jess looked up from her screen, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. “You look like death warmed over. Extra sets again? Or did he make you do those butterfly drills you hate?”
“Yeah, extra sets and then some. He’s on a rampage this week,” Emily replied, opening the mini-fridge and grabbing a water bottle. The cold plastic grounded her, a small anchor amid the fatigue.
Mia laughed, her deep chuckle filling the room. “When are you gonna let yourself live a little, Em? A date? A kiss? Anything? You’re always glued to that pool or your books. It’s like you’re allergic to fun—that bio lab guy, Alex, was asking about you yesterday. He’s cute, tall, those dimples. You could at least flirt back.”
Jess scrolled her phone absentmindedly, chiming in without looking up. “Yeah, or you’ll graduate a nun at this rate. Seriously, Em, when’s the last time you even had a drink? You’re like the only person on campus who still says ‘no thanks’ to everything. One beer at a party and you’re out here looking like you’re committing a crime.”
Emily felt the familiar knot tighten in her stomach, but she forced a half-smile and kept her tone light with practiced ease from years of deflecting such conversations, even as she grabbed her water bottle like a shield. “Not everyone needs to get sloppy to have fun. Besides, my scholarship’s the priority. Boys are distractions. I need to focus if I’m going to keep this ride.”
Mia set her toast down and crossed her arms, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Distractions? Girl, you need some. And don’t think we didn’t notice how you perked up when Jess mentioned him. We saw those nipples of yours standing at attention through that thin shirt. Traitorous little things, aren’t they?”
Emily felt her cheeks heat as she glanced down instinctively. Sure enough, her nipples had hardened under the damp fabric of her hoodie, poking insistently against the material. It was one of her body’s most frustrating quirks—those sensitive peaks that betrayed her every flicker of arousal, swelling and stiffening at the slightest provocation, impossible to hide without layers of padding she rarely bothered with in the dorm. They ached now, a mix of embarrassment and unwelcome heat pooling in her core. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to play it off. “Shut up, Mia. It’s just cold from the pool.”
Jess burst out laughing, setting her laptop aside. “Cold? Sure, Em. Or maybe you’re just pent up from all that ‘focus.’ And speaking of focus, you’re always texting your mom like she’s your BFF. What’s up with that? Most people our age are trying to escape their parents, but you two are attached at the hip. Or the phone, I guess.”
Mia nodded enthusiastically, wiping her hands on her shorts. “Seriously! Every time your phone buzzes, it’s Sarah with some update. ‘How was practice?’ ‘Did you eat?’ It’s cute, but come on—let the woman live her own life. Though, from what I’ve seen on her social media, she’s doing just fine without you hovering.”
Emily rolled her eyes, but the teasing hit a soft spot. She and her mom were close—maybe too close, born from years of it being just the two of them against the world. “We’re not that bad. And yeah, Mom’s been posting more lately. Usually in nicer clothes, like she’s got a new wardrobe or something. But a few pics ... I don’t know, they’re a bit more risqué. Low-cut tops, shorter skirts. It’s weird seeing her like that online.”
Jess tilted her phone toward Emily. “Speaking of—saw your mom’s latest post. That necklace is gorgeous. And damn, she’s looking hot in that dress. Who’s she trying to impress?”
Emily leaned over, peering at the screen. Sarah smiled in the photo, her silver chain glinting against her collarbone, the neckline of her blouse dipping just a tad lower than usual, hinting at cleavage. A small knot formed in Emily’s chest. That Harlan guy again—the one Mom’s boss at the firm who’s been “helping” with bills, sending her fancy clothes and who knows what else.
“This Harlan guy. From her work.”
Mia raised an eyebrow, grabbing her own phone to pull up Sarah’s profile. “Who’s Harlan? The mystery man behind all these glow-up posts? She’s been uploading every other day now—outfits that scream ‘date night,’ and yeah, a couple where she’s posing in ways that are ... let’s say, not exactly mom-appropriate. That beach pic last week? Bikini top barely containing things. Your mom’s got game, Em.”
Jess nodded, scrolling further. “Yeah, and that one from yesterday? The skirt’s shorter than anything I’ve seen her wear before. She’s got like three new posts this week alone—Harlan must be hyping her up big time.” The comment twisted the knot in Emily’s chest tighter, giving her one more reason to grill Mom about this guy when she got home.
Emily muttered, “Harlan’s just ... some guy from her work.”
She looked away, unease settling deeper. Her friends meant well, but their teasing stirred up the protective instincts she’d honed over years of watching her mom navigate bad relationships. Sarah’s social media had indeed ramped up—polished selfies in elegant blouses and skirts, but interspersed with shots that showed more skin, more confidence, or perhaps desperation. It made Emily worry; was this Harlan encouraging it? Or was her mom finally coming out of her shell? She’d have to ask her about it later.
Her own phone buzzed, pulling her from the thoughts. It was from her mom: Can’t wait for you to come home this weekend. Harlan suggested dinner Saturday—he wants to meet my star swimmer. Miss you so much.
Emily stared at the words, her thumb hovering over the reply. The weekend suddenly felt like stepping into quicksand, especially with the friends’ words echoing in her mind. She exhaled slowly, typing a quick heart emoji before setting the phone down.
Across town, Sarah sat at her desk, the office hum fading into white noise around her. At thirty-seven, she still turned heads with her blonde hair cascading in soft waves, her blue eyes framed by faint laugh lines that spoke of resilience rather than age. Her figure was curvaceous, softened by motherhood but toned from sporadic yoga sessions—full breasts straining slightly against her blouse, hips that swayed with a natural grace. She adjusted the necklace absently—the silver pendant cool against her skin. Harlan had given it to her three weeks ago, after a late night in his office. She still felt the ghost of his fingers tracing the chain while he praised her. “Good girl,” he’d whispered. Her thighs pressed together at the memory, a familiar warmth building.
His door opened. He stepped out, tall and composed in his tailored suit, dark eyes finding hers immediately. Harlan was in his mid-forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a jawline that exuded authority. “Sarah. Quick chat?”
She stood, smoothing her skirt, her pulse racing. He touched her lower back as she passed—light, proprietary. No one else saw. That was deliberate.
In his office, door closed, he leaned against the desk. “Report was excellent,” he said. “You’re indispensable.” His voice wrapped around her like silk. She blushed, fingers brushing the necklace again. He stepped closer. “It suits you. Shows devotion.” Her breath caught. Five months of this cycle—his commands, his praise, his careful refusal to name it anything more.
She wanted to ask for clarity. Boyfriend? Partner? Anything. But the question died in her throat. Without him, the bills piled faster, the promotion vanished, the loneliness returned. She was thirty-seven, still carrying the scars of being eighteen and pregnant, then abandoned again and again. Harlan saw her. He made her feel wanted. That was enough. It had to be.