‘Mum?! Oh my god! What are you doing here?! Get out!’

It took Moira several seconds to fully process the scene laid out in front of her: her sixteen-year-old son’s laptop was on his desk, and a full-screen video of an attractive naked middle-aged blonde woman bouncing on top of a teenage boy was playing. Her son’s headphones were around his neck, so the sounds were barely audible, but still loud enough she could only just hear tinny moans and the distinct slaps of flesh-on-flesh—and lastly, before he’d freaked and moved to cover himself, she’d seen her son’s surprisingly large erect cock in his fist, his hand firmly rubbing up and down, squeezing a small bead of precum out the top...

She shook her head as if to clear it, feeling dazed, stammering. ‘Tim—I’m so sorry, I should’ve waited for you to tell me to come in, I just—your report card—that is—I—’ her sentence fragments trailed off as quickly as they’d started, and she found herself scrambling for the right words. Moira had known this might happen someday, had told her son years ago when he was less awkward that there was nothing wrong about self-love. But accidentally walking in on her son masturbating was not ... what unsettled her the most.

‘Oh my god! Get out!’ Timothy yelled again, now looking totally panicked. Realizing his porn video was still playing (and somewhere she could easily see it) he slammed his laptop shut quickly with the hand that wasn’t shielding his crotch. ‘Mum! Get out!’

Someone had put her in auto-pilot. Automatically, she backed out of the room. As soon as Moira crossed the threshold, her son was slamming the door behind her, and the click of his lock followed. For a moment, all she could do was stare at the fake beige wood of the bedroom door, not truly seeing it.

No, walking in on Timothy was not the worst of her problems. When she had seen him stroking himself, when she had seen his impressive cock and that drop of precum...

It was the immediate surge of arousal that had wetted her pussy, that had made her nipples tighten instantly, that concerned her the most.

She left Tim alone. It seemed the wisest decision for a number of reasons, chiefly being that he was probably incredibly embarrassed right now. Later, she’d try to tell him again that it was all okay, and try and get in something about touching yourself being completely normal and healthy once again. Moira tried not to admit to herself that half the reason she was avoiding her son was that her pussy was still pulsing with greedy want for him. She couldn’t admit to herself that she would eagerly do right now what that woman in the porn video was doing ... with her own son. He would stretch her wide with that big, hard penis if she were to mount him and let his cock slide all the way inside of her.

The reaction she’d had surprised her. Shock, embarrassment—that seemed natural for this situation, despite that there was nothing wrong with what Tim was doing. What was wrong, apparently, was her.

Without consciously deciding it, Moira had shut herself in the master bedroom she shared with her husband, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. Cedric was so absent it almost made some sort of sick sense she was this sexually frustrated—sexually frustrated enough to want to fuck her own son. The last time he’d touched her intimately must’ve been ... nope. She couldn’t even remember for sure. Probably Valentine’s two years ago, but it had been a half-hearted fumble on his part and he’d groaned his release in her ear much too soon for her liking, not even satisfying her once when he used to be determined to make her cum at least once when they had sex.

She put her head in her hands, straight white-blonde hair falling in a cascade to cover her face as she took a deep breath. God, this was fucked up. Tim reminded her of Cedric somewhat, of course—the same strong jawline, carrot-coloured hair, and the way he towered over her at six-foot-four. His mannerisms were nothing like his father’s though, and Moira wondered briefly if it was simply the physical resemblance that had turned her on.

Cedric doesn’t have a cock like that, though, she reminded herself. While her husband’s size had always satisfied her before, gazing at Timothy’s equipment made her shiver from deep inside. He would touch depths no man had inside her, if he were in her, and his girth he got from his father...

Stop it! she chided herself. The image of Timothy’s hand, though, seemed emblazoned in her mind. She couldn’t shut her eyes against it—that made things worse, because then she only saw in more detail the whole scene. Timothy’s jeans puddled around his ankles; his boxer shorts pulled down enough so his balls and cock were free; the soft moan that had just barely escaped his lips as he stroked and his other hand fondled his balls. His cheeks had been flushed with desire.

For only a minute, she let herself entertain a different outcome to that scene. One where he looked up from the laptop screen to see her and she’d already raised the floral skirt she’d worn to the church Guild Meeting, speechless to see his mother letting her modest panties slide down her legs as she took the two steps that separated them to swing one leg over his hips. As Moira stroked her own hand up that marvellous cock and rose up enough to position him between her thighs, she watched her son’s face as her juicy pussy slid down over his cock all the way to the root ... perhaps the first pussy he’d ever stretched would be hers...

Her hand had begun to rub at her crotch, just a little. Yes, as sick as it was, she was shamelessly wet at the images she’d constructed, and her clit was so sensitive. Perhaps she would have continued with the fantasy, as much as the idea both disconcerted and thrilled her, if there hadn’t been a knock on her door.

‘Mum?’ it was Tim, his voice sounding soft and contrite and vaguely mortified. Her hand flying away from her crotch, she sat up, feeling ashamed, and smoothed her skirt back down with a deep, restorative breath.

‘Come in, sweetie,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. Whatever else she was struggling against at the moment, it could wait. Her baby needed her reassurance right now, and that was what a mother was supposed to do ... not what she had just thought about.

The door cracked. It seemed obvious Tim felt shy, and he hesitated before coming in.

‘It’s okay,’ she urged him, patting the blanket beside her, and he slunk into the room without meeting her eyes, gaze trained fixedly on the ground in front of him, before he sat. For a moment they were awkward in silence, and then both mother and son started talking all at once.

‘Mum, I—’

‘Sweetie, I’m so sorry—’

They stopped simultaneously, saying, ‘You go.’ Then the absurdity of the situation made them laugh awkwardly, and that eased the tension just a little bit—just enough that Timothy met her gaze now, turning to look her in the face.

‘You go first, sweetie,’ Moira told him.

He took a deep breath before beginning, and this time the words poured out of his mouth in one long, run-on sentence.

‘I’msorryyouhadtoseethatIshould’vehavelockedthedoorandI’llneverforgettoagain—’

‘Whoa there,’ Moira said. Another smile at Tim helped them both relax a little further, and she rubbed his back soothingly. ‘Slow down, I can hardly tell what you’re saying.’

He nodded, taking a breath.

‘I’m sorry you had to see that,’ he started again, a new blush rising to his pale, freckled cheeks and tinting the tips of his ears. His eyebrows pulled together in worry. ‘I’m sorry I forgot to lock my door. I’ll remember to do that.’ The implications of this last sentence made him cringe and look away from her just briefly.

‘It’s all right,’ Moira told him. ‘This was my fault. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I should have waited for you to reply when I knocked, I just figured if the door was unlocked, that it was ... okay. But it’s still never okay until someone says ‘Come in,’ and that’s on me, hon. And I know I’ve said this before,’ she continued, feeling her own skin heat with flush as she couldn’t help but imagine once again—just for a second—his hand fisted around his cock, ‘but I want you to know, Timmy, that’s there’s nothing wrong with loving yourself, okay? Anyone who tells you it’s wrong is wrong.’

‘I know,’ he said, ‘I was embarrassed that you walked in on me in the middle of ... doing that. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was panicked.’

‘I know. That’s all right, sweetie.’ Moira smoothed his orange hair and planted a kiss on her son’s forehead. It was difficult to ignore the heat and the soft smell of his body when he was only sitting inches away, but now that she was leaning against his side in the brief instant of that one forehead kiss, her body surprised her again with the intensity of the reaction it had—another warm burst of arousal in her stomach, her nipples (which hadn’t truly softened) firmed into hard little peaks again that rubbed tantalizingly against her blouse, and her lips tingled as she touched his forehead, wanting instead to feel his mouth beneath hers. Alarm that he could tell followed instantly, zinging through her, hoping against hope Tim hadn’t noticed anything even though the outline of her nipples could clearly be seen through the satiny fabric.

‘Is there anything else you want to say?’ she asked, clearing her throat as she straightened, trying to stop the new blush that was rising.

‘Are you going to take my computer away?’ he blurted nervously.

The question caught her off-guard, and she reflexively laughed. ‘What, because you were watching porn? No, sweetie, I’m not going to take away your laptop. You’re a teenager, and it’s only natural to have these ... urges. Besides, if I did take it away, you’d find something else to serve the same purpose.’

‘Yeah,’ he agreed, without even a hint of denial in his tone. ‘But I just thought ... because of the caption ... you might... ‘ he floundered, voice trailing off into a croaky whisper and then into nothing. He’d looked away as he’d said this, his face turning into a tomato. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me. I thought you’d be really, really mad,’ he finished finally, still looking at the floor.

This was interesting. At the time, Moira had been so taken aback by the situation that she hadn’t even thought to glance at the title of the video. Should she be concerned?

Hypocrite, a voice in her head whispered.

‘Honey,’ she started carefully, ‘we all have things we want to keep private. Everybody, even me.’ Her mind flitted back to the fantasy of only a few minutes before. ‘And I think that’s okay to have some private things.’

‘Please don’t tell Dad,’ he said, voice getting high and scared—higher than it’d been since his balls dropped. ‘Please, Mum, I don’t think he’d be okay with it like you. I think he’d call me a freak.’

‘Okay,’ she agreed, still not entirely sure what she was agreeing to. ‘Of course I won’t tell your father about any of this.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, looking so relieved he might cry. ‘I’m glad you understand; I’d never want to do it for real, Mum, I promise. Really. Sometimes I just can’t help thinking about it, no matter how hard I try, and it helps to ... you know. But if you don’t want to hug me or anything for a while, or even ever, I totally understand.’

His last sentence froze her. This whole conversation with Tim gave her the impression she’d been missing an important detail he was terribly worried about this whole time.

‘What do you mean, sweetheart?’ Moira frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t I hug you? Just because you masturbate? Almost everybody does, sweetie, it’s nothing to get upset about. I don’t think you’re gross.’

It was his turn to frown. ‘Please don’t make me say it, Mum. I already feel really awkward and ashamed.’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said honestly. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but why would I—’