Like Mother, Like Son
Copyright© 2026 by Deckhard
Chapter 3
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 3 - 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
Viggo lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He’d been like this for an hour. Maybe two. His dick was still hard. It had never really gone down. Not fully.
He thought about ice. Snow. Cold showers. Politics.
None of it worked.
He thought about Rebecca. That didn’t help. He thought about Sam’s sweaty back. That really didn’t help. He thought about Frida’s breasts falling out of the towel. That made it worse.
“Stop,” he said to his dick.
It did not stop.
He heard footsteps in the hallway. Light ones. Bare feet.
He turned toward the door.
Frida stood there. Naked. Completely naked. Her messy bun was messier now. Her big breasts were right there. Her nipples were hard. The little blonde triangle above her pussy was visible in the dim light from the hallway.
Viggo reached over and turned on the lamp on his nightstand.
They stared at each other.
“Are you working on that thing?” she asked, nodding toward the tent under his sheet.
“I was about to.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. It felt like a waste.”
“A waste?”
“I just ... I wanted to take longer. Make it count or something.”
Frida leaned against the doorframe. She didn’t cover herself. She didn’t try.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
Viggo looked at her body. Then at the wall. Then at her body again.
“I don’t want to say.”
“Come to my room and tell me there.”
He sat up. The sheet fell to his waist. His erection was obvious under it. He looked around for his boxers.
“Don’t bother with that,” she said. “Just come.”
She turned and walked away down the hallway. Her ass was tight and round and tan. She didn’t look back.
Viggo sat there for a second. His heart was pounding.
He got out of bed. Naked. Hard. And followed her.
Frida’s room was dimly lit. Just the lamp on the nightstand. The bed was big. King size. It had been her and her husband’s bed. Now it was just hers.
She walked over and lay down. Propped herself up with some pillows against the headboard. Her naked body looked golden in the warm light. Her breasts settled naturally, full and heavy. Her legs were slightly apart.
She beckoned him with her fingers. Then patted the mattress beside her.
“Come lie down. Let’s have some fun.”
Viggo stood in the doorway. His erection was still very much there. “Mom, I don’t know if...”
“Don’t be a pervert. I’m not talking about fucking. Come over here.”
He walked over and lay down beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight. Their shoulders were almost touching. His cock pressed against the sheet but he tried to ignore it.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked.
“Tell me what you were thinking about.”
“I was thinking about Rebecca.”
Frida laughed. “You’re lying.”
He smiled. “Okay. I was thinking about you.”
“Elaborate.”
“The moment I close my eyes, I see Sam. The way he was pounding you. He looked like he was giving it to you.”
Frida made a face. “I wish he was. He wasn’t doing it that hard. I wanted him to go harder.”
“Poor man. He was going hard enough.”
“Not for me. Not nearly.”
Viggo laughed. “I wish Rebecca was that way. She always says go softer. Slower. Not so much.”
“Yes,” Frida breathed. “Talk to me.”
Her hand started moving. Down her stomach. Over her hip. Between her thighs. Her fingers found their way to her pussy and she started touching herself. Slowly. Gently.
“Tell me,” she said. “Tell me what you saw.”
Viggo watched her hand move between her legs. His mouth went dry.
“His back,” he said. “The way it was shining with sweat. Every time he pushed into you, his muscles would flex. And then the moment he moved away...”
“What about it?”
“How beautiful you looked. You were lying there with your legs open. Your skin was wet. Your nipples were hard. Your pussy was...” He stopped.
“Go on.”
“Gaping. You looked like you needed more.”
Frida’s fingers moved faster. Her breath was getting heavier. She looked over at his cock, so thick and hard.
“You can stroke your cock,” she said.
“I’d rather watch you for now.”
She smiled. “Ooh. You’re a considerate lover.”
“Lover?”
“You know what I mean.” She turned her head toward him. Her lips were close to his ear. “Tell me softly. What did you see? How did you want to see it?”
Viggo leaned in. His lips almost touched her ear.
“I wanted to see Sam take you harder,” he whispered. “I wanted to sit right there beside you and watch him fuck you. Really fuck you. The way you needed it.”
Frida’s breath hitched. “Yes.”
“I wanted to see him grab your hips and pull you into him. I wanted to see your tits bouncing every time he slammed into you. I wanted to hear you screaming for more.”
“More,” she whispered.
“I wanted to watch you cum. I wanted to see your face when you finally got enough.”
Frida was breathing hard now. Her fingers were wet. Her hips were moving in small circles.
Viggo’s hand moved on its own. He reached over and touched her breast. Cupped it gently. Felt the weight of it in his palm.
Frida looked at his hand. He froze, then pulled it away.
“No,” she said. “No, no. Put it back.”
He put it back.
“Pinch my nipple.”
He found her nipple with his fingers. Hard and pink and swollen. He pinched it gently.
“Harder.”
He pinched harder. Then he rolled it between his fingers. Softly. Slowly. Feeling it tighten under his touch.
Frida let out a long breath. Her eyes were closed. Her fingers were still moving between her legs. Her nipple was between his fingers.
“Like that,” she whispered. “Just like that.”
Viggo leaned down. His face was close to her breast. He could feel the heat coming off her skin. He could smell her lust.
He didn’t go straight for the nipple. He kissed around it first. Soft little kisses on the curve of her breast. On the swell underneath. On the skin right next to the areola but not quite touching it.
Frida’s breath slowed. Her fingers kept moving between her legs.
He let his nose brush against her nipple. Just barely. He breathed on it. Warm air. Then cool air. She shivered.
“Viggo.”
He touched it with the very tip of his tongue. A tiny flick. Barely there. Then another one. Light as a feather.
“Oh god.” Her voice was already changing. Getting lower.
He kissed the nipple. Ghost kisses. Lips barely pressing against it. Then he opened his mouth and took it in. Just the nipple. Just the very tip. He held it between his lips and sucked gently.
“Your mouth feels so good on my nipple,” she breathed.
He swirled his tongue around it. Slow circles. Clockwise. Then counterclockwise. He could feel it hardening even more in his mouth. Like a little pebble. He pressed it flat with his tongue and then let it spring back up.
“Yes. Like that.”
He pulled back and blew on it. The wetness from his mouth made it cold. Her nipple tightened until it was almost painful looking.
Then he took it between his teeth. Gently. Just holding it. Not biting. Just trapping it. And he flicked it with his tongue. Fast little flicks right on the tip.
“Oh god. Oh god.” Her hips were moving more now. Her fingers were making wet sounds between her legs. “This is heavenly. So good. You’re so good at this.”
He kept going. Flicking. Holding. Then he let go and took the whole nipple into his mouth again. Sucking harder this time. Pulling it deep. Her breast compressed against his face. Soft and warm and heavy.
“Harder,” she whispered. Her voice was raspier now. Lower. Like it was coming from somewhere deeper in her chest.
He sucked harder. His cheeks hollowed. He could feel her heartbeat against his lips.
Frida’s hand came up from between her legs. Her fingers were glistening. Wet with her own juice. She brought them to his face.
Viggo stopped. He looked at her fingers. He could smell her. Musky. Sweet. Intoxicating.
He leaned in and breathed deep. The scent filled his nose. His cock twitched under the sheet.
He stuck out his tongue and licked her fingers. One long slow lick from the base to the tip. The taste hit him. Salty. Sweet. Warm. His mother’s taste.
“Oh honey,” Frida whispered. “Suck on them. Then spit on them.”
He took her fingers into his mouth. Both of them. He sucked them clean. Swirled his tongue between them. Tasted every bit of her.
Then he pulled back. Gathered saliva in his mouth. And spat on her fingers. A thick glob of spit that made them shine.
Frida watched him. Her eyes were dark. Her lips were parted.
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