Sharing Mommy
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Church-going, married to a distracted husband, and beautiful, Leah Poole makes several mistakes. First, watching her way-too-smart son Barry’s lean physique in the shower. Second, the torrid incestuous romp that’s followed. But now the whole school knows, her son is changing, and he’s tapped her to chaperone a class trip. Based on lalrinkima619’s concept.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Fa/ft Consensual Fiction Incest Mother Son Oral Sex
As students flowed from the main doors of Merrimont High at the end of the school week, my heartbeat refused to slow. Every pair of eyes seemed to glance at the minivan. Laughter echoed much louder than it should. Smirks or wider grins cut deep. Both hands were so tight on the steering wheel that my arms shook.
When a shadow appeared at the passenger side window, I jumped. No, that smile was just my son. A shaky sigh left me as the door opened, letting Barry’s slender form slide inside.
“Hey, Mom,” he mumbled in that teen mumble.
At my silence, he sighed and pulled the door shut. A thud announced the large “Spaceman Jimmy” backpack landing between white high-top sneakers. Even as he tugged the seatbelt over slim blue jeans and a billowy gray shirt, I got the vehicle rolling. He twisted and started to reach for me, but my exhale made him freeze.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
With the response rehearsed all afternoon, I only peeled a hand from the wheel to slide my phone across the center console. He lifted it, then gasped while reading the texts.
“I didn’t realize,” he muttered. “They were ... Well, it was Cullen.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I came close to glaring at him but settled for a quick peek; him, then the phone. “It’s getting worse.”
“Think Dad knows?”
“Not yet. At least he hasn’t said anything, but this...” I again looked at the device still in his hands. “Seems your friends—”
“They’re not my friends, Mom. Cullen’s an asshole. Told you that.”
Anger seethed, and heat flared up both cheeks as, “He seems to know a lot,” hissed through clenched teeth.
“He wasn’t supposed ... He promised,” my son mumbled.
“Seriously? And you believed him? An asshole?”
His turn to stay quiet as we weaved around school buses and cars waiting to pick up students. He was young, too young. Gullible, like his father. Made him sort of endearing.
“So, what now?” I muttered.
“Um, you look nice.”
A glance caught his gaze wandering the thin yellow and white sundress. After lingering on the valley hugging a small golden cross dangling from my necklace, he tossed me that hopeful grin.
“Really?” A curt sigh left me. “The whole school knows, and that’s what you’re thinking about?”
“You wore makeup.”
“I always—”
The landing of a skinny hand on my thigh shut me up. His other placed the phone back in my purse. Damn it, those soft, brown puppy-dog eyes. Slender fingers gave me a squeeze, and shame-driven fires roared to life.
“Not at home,” I mumbled. “Salister Park.”
“Okay, Mom.”
As we left the parking lot, his digits roamed a little higher, and the world began blurring. More heat bloomed, and I snuck another glance.
His smile was waiting.
“You look really pretty,” he said.
My gaze dropped to his jeans. Guess what else was waiting? Yep, a good-sized, steady throb.
Heart thumping, I tore my eyes away. My lashes blinked, then blinked again, as if to somehow remove the image already seared into my awful mind.
“Um, nothing messy,” I muttered, trying to focus on driving.
“Alright.”
His hand moved further, and sinful legs widened. As we made our way across town, my brain whirled with memories.
Had it only been a few months ago? Should never have stopped by the bathroom door. It’d been open. He’d been in the shower. No longer boyish, yet still lean, his physique, shrouded in wispy steam, twisting and turning under the spray. Hadn’t meant to linger, but ... loneliness can do mortal damage to one’s resolve. I’d been so weak ... so foolish ... so needy.
Those fingers slid higher on my leg, crumpling the hem, and a lump formed in my throat. My glance at the mirror caught his grin. A quick peek showed those jeans were straining even more.
“Uh, take it out, baby, if you want.”
Fueled by teen hormones, my boy could move with purpose, that’s for sure. While the one hand stayed on me, the other tore at his zipper until a ruddy mast wobbled proud. The shine of taut skin. A perfect curve of tumescent male glory made the canal that had birthed him twitch with yearning. Such fullness. Its powerful throb as he watched my tongue sweeping lips already alive with tingles, already tracing the fine spiderweb of veins. Lord forgive me, this sinner’s mouth was watering.
Not the only thing watering. Tentative fingers moved further up my thigh, finding dampness. His turn to gulp. A gentle press of his palm made the blurry world pulse. My foot shook on the pedal.
“Stop it, sweetie. Lemme get there first.”
“Er, sorry.”
His hand began to move, but mine shot out to clasp the slender wrist. Those pretty eyes flashed. With both wickedness and need ablaze, I grinned at him.
“It’s fine. Just don’t, um, rub, okay?”
“Sure, Mom.”
The hand returned to the patch of searing heat it’d left on my thigh. My palm slapped onto the wheel. A snowy white pump shoved the accelerator, and we roared further toward the latest knot in our Gommoran existence.
Again, memories tumbled. The shower, my hands, gentle and measured, helping my poor boy, the iron-hard dick spurting so much seed. Such a waste. His groans as an enraptured mother sank to her knees, seeking youthful saltiness. Jesus witnessed us while a laughing boy tugged sticky strands from my curls. Barry, following me to bed. My halfhearted protests. An agreement, and he’d behaved. He must ask, and I will decide.
Grin on my face and moaning like a harlot, I’d ridden his lean frame while my adoring son had smiled up at me, sealing the wickedest of pacts. Given an absent husband and father, busy with the next inane deal, our illicit time together had become quite the enjoyable distraction.
But those first texts had appeared. The sender was anonymous and beggared any attempt to trace. Punishment from heaven.
Barry had cried, apologized, then cried some more. I’d become fury incarnate as shame’s sharp claws tore at my soul. He hadn’t meant to ... well, our dynamic had changed. Now this: more furtive messages plus a photo. That picture had been only for my son, not the entirety of Merrimont.
A whimper pulled my focus back to the street. Another had me peeking over at Barry. Sleek ruddy tautness in his fist and eyes closed. The glittering trickle from that foreskin-snuggled dome made me gulp. My tongue swished, already enjoying the sweet saltiness, the pungent flavor of virile youth.
“Almost there, honey,” I murmured.
Under the dress, his hand rubbed, breaking the rule, and I gave his arm a swat. He yipped, and those eyes reappeared. Their brown irises glowed.
“Sorry, Mom.” He sent me a nervous smile. “You’re just so soft and warm.”
“Uh-huh. Behave. Rules, remember?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We stopped at a red light, and the sigh of sighs escaped my lips. He’d covered the dripping temptation with an arm while trying to appear calm. Yet, his face was flushed, and long lashes were blinking far too fast. Though loose on his skinny frame, the shirt was thumping.
Such need in that boy. He should’ve found a girl by now. Like his dad, way too smart. Chess club. Science club. Good-looking, too, if I say so myself. At school, he wore contacts, leaving the thick glasses at home.
A honk from behind snapped me back to the road. The light was green, and the pedal mashed beneath my foot. As we raced further, he did it again, pressing against soaked cotton. That time, I let the world wobble. His caresses were so very wrong, yet felt so impossibly right. There’s a song about that, I think.
When the park entrance loomed, his other hand appeared. As small fingers undid the cute little flower buttons below the dangling cross, I kept swallowing emptiness. His eyes gleamed at me as he eased the dress open.
“No, not messy,” I murmured.
“Aww, please, Mommy.”
Oh, fudge! Both the whine in his voice and his calling me “Mommy” struck so many confused wires. All of them sizzled as I struggled to find our favorite parking area.
Far from the ball fields and secluded by tall willows, offering deep shadows, the minivan pulled to a halt. While he scanned one way, my gaze swept the other. Nobody was around; we’d learned our lesson on earlier visits. My pulse refused to slow, and his breathing was rapid. The hand on my leg began to shake.
“How pretty?” I asked.
“V-very pretty. Gorgeous! Leah Poole, supermodel!”
“A little thick, sweetie.”
With a chuckle, I glanced at him. Eyes pleading. Thin chest heaving. Leaky manhood shimmering in a shaky fist.
“Back seat,” I said.
Ah, youth. Did he zip himself from sight before moving? Nope, penis still proud and jiggling, my boy was all motion. With a quiet laugh, I left the front and walked to the rear door. By the time it slid open, his jeans lay in a clump, and the shirt was dragging over his head.