Like Mother, Like Son
Copyright© 2026 by Deckhard
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A mother and son discover they share the same insatiable appetite. What starts as a shared frustration over failed relationships quickly turns into a taboo exploration of their undeniable chemistry.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fiction Incest Mother Son
“Okay. Okay, I’m done.”
Viggo looked down at where he was sliding in and out of her. He was moving slowly, watching his thick cock disappear and come back out, all wet and shiny. It was kind of hypnotic. He didn’t stop.
“I’m done,” she said again. “Viggo. Stop.”
He slowed down but didn’t pull out. “I’m not done yet.”
“You’ve been going for an hour.” Rebecca pushed herself up on her elbows. Golden hair, nice body. She looked exhausted. “You came four times already. I can’t keep going.”
“Just a little more.”
“A little more? You said that thirty minutes ago.” She scooted back and he slipped out of her. She rolled off the bed and stood up. “I’m serious. I’m done.”
Viggo lay there on his back. His dick was still hard, pointing up at the ceiling like it had somewhere to be. He stared at it. It stared back.
“I thought older women could go longer,” he said.
Rebecca turned around with one eyebrow raised so high it almost left her face. She looked unbearably hot when she was angry. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“I don’t know. I just thought...”
“You thought what? That because I’m older I’m some kind of sex machine? That I can just go and go and go?” She grabbed her panties from the floor. “Get the hell out of here.”
Her big tits bounced as she moved her hands in angry gestures. Her nipples were still raised and knotted, just the way Viggo liked them. Despite everything she was saying, her pussy was dripping wet. Viggo’s dick was so hard it looked ready to take off to space.
“I said get out. Is your cock stealing the bloodstream from your ears?”
Viggo pointed at his dick sheepishly. “But it’s hard for you. You did this.”
“I know. I can’t anymore. Tell it to get hard for someone else.” She sounded mad, but there was a hint of amusement in there too.
“Out of your apartment?”
“Yes. Out.” She pulled on a t-shirt. “There’s no emotional connection anymore. You just want to fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. That’s all it is with you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. When’s the last time we just talked? When’s the last time you held me without trying to put it in?”
Viggo sat up. He felt his erection starting to fade. Finally. “Fine. If that’s how you feel, I’ll go. But you’re gonna regret this. Don’t call me.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
He pulled on his jeans and his shirt and his shoes. He walked to the door. He opened it. He turned back. She was already on her phone.
He left.
In his car, he sat in the parking lot for a minute. Then he hit the steering wheel. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
He started driving. The windows were down. The night air felt good. He was still half hard. He adjusted himself and thought about ice. Snow. Cold showers. Dead puppies. It went down eventually.
The drive home was twenty minutes. He wasn’t supposed to be home tonight. He was supposed to stay at Rebecca’s. But here he was, turning onto his street at 9 PM on a Friday.
He’d only moved back home a couple weeks ago. Finished college, needed a place to stay. With his dad gone, there was plenty of room now. It was weird being back, but it was free rent and Frida didn’t ask questions.
He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. That’s when he heard it.
“Oh yeah. Right there. Harder.”
Viggo blinked. That was his mother’s voice. Coming from the backyard.
He got out of the car quietly. He walked around the side of the house. The gate was open. The pool lights were on. The water was glowing blue.
And there on one of the lounge chairs, his mother was getting fucked.
The guy was blond. Muscular. On top of her, pumping away. He was sweating like he’d run a marathon, his back shiny with it, his ass clenching every time he pushed into her.
Viggo couldn’t see his face clearly, just the profile. The jaw. The nose. The way his damp hair fell across his forehead.
It was like looking in a mirror.
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