“You did not,” Phoibe says through laughter,

“I swear on my life,” I assure, “Quick jab to the nose right in front of his kid. Made him look like his nose was in dire need of a tampon.”

Phoibe laughs even harder both from her joke and just thinking about the scenario.

“You are hardcore,” she says through her laughing fit,

“Don’t slap my ass without my written consent,” I joke, “Seems like a pretty fair exchange if you ask me.”

“Language,” mom says, walking past us and placing down two plates of her famous custard cream pie,

“Sorry,” I reply, slightly embarrassed. How was I to know she was there?!

She brings a hand to my chin, giving it a few scratches before walking off.

“Enjoy, girls,” she says, walking off.

I pick up my fork, ready to dig into the deliciousness before me. But I immediately notice Phoibe. Her demeanor has completely changed. She’s not laughing anymore. She looks fixated on something. I turn to see what suddenly caught her attention, catching mom bending over to unload the dishwasher. I turn back to Phoibe, chuckling before snapping at her, grabbing her attention.

“Hey,” I say, “My eyes are over here.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she retorts before turning her attention back to my mother, “And my eyes are over here admiring something a lot more interesting.”

“Wow, love just radiates from you, huh?”

“Yes it does. Especially for those that are deserving of it.”

“Come on, Phoibe, that’s my mom.”

“And that’s a pie, that’s an apple, and that’s a jar of cherries. Call them whatever you want. I still wanna taste how sweet they are.”

Wow. We share a chuckle at her statement before I say,

“You’re so bad.”

“Yeah, I’m such a bad girl,” Phoibe cosigns, “Looks like mommy needs to teach me a lesson.”

“Phoibe.”

“What, you’re gonna lie to me and say that you don’t think the same thing?”

“What? Phoibe, how could I possibly look at my own mother like that?”

“Easy, like this.”

She turns my head to look at my mother moving all over the kitchen. Everything she does just accentuates her body. When she reaches up to put up the cutlery, her shirt slightly rides up her torso, creating a brief midriff to show off her toned stomach. When she heads back to the dishwasher, her ass looks more firm and plump. When she leans over the counter to try and remember what she needs to do next, her bust is noticeably prominent.

Oh my. Phoibe is actually right. My mother’s a stunning woman. I mean, I’ve always known this, but she’s shown me how to appreciate it more than I have been. She interrupts my revelation with a noticeable snicker. I turn to her, saying,

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says in a taunting tone before pointing at my crotch, “I just didn’t know your little friend would enjoy the view that much.”

I look down, discovering my erection protruding through my sweats. I immediately try to hide it, pressing it against my thigh. Phoibe chuckles before saying,

“That’s quite a way to appreciate your mommy. You think if you show it to her, she’ll kiss it and make it better?”

“Shut up,” I reply, rolling my eyes with a smirk, “This is your fault, you know.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. You want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“Only if you’ll finally let me finish on your face this time.”

We share another laugh before eating our pie. Soon afterwards, it gets time for her to go back home, so we say our goodbyes before she heads out. I walk back in the kitchen to clean the dishes we used, spotting mom wiping down the counters.

“You know, that little friend of yours is really something,” she says,

“You have no idea,” I reply, turning on the water,

“I’d charge her rent for coming over so much if she weren’t so darn cute.”

We share a laugh as I scrub my plate. Mom then maneuvers over to the counter in front of me, wiping it down. As she does, I can’t help but notice her perfect plump ass again. I then notice her pants slightly riding down her waist, giving me the slightest view of her bare ass. Fuck.

“I’m just glad you’ve got someone to talk to,” she continues, snapping me out of my impure thoughts, “It’s always nice. Especially in your case.”

“Oh, really?” I ask, switching to the next plate, “Why do you say that?”

“Well, with you being friendless for a while, it tells quite a story.”

“I don’t see you with any friends.”

“Honey, take a moment to consider that you exist.”

“ ... I don’t want to.”

“Exactly. Conversations like these are never fun with your mommy, are they?”

I don’t answer, giving her the impression that she’s right. But for some reason, she isn’t. Damn you, Phoibe.

“Exactly,” she says matter of factly before folding her rag and placing it on the edge of the sink, “Mommy for the win.”

She walks past me, kissing my cheek before leaving the kitchen. Fuck you, Phoibe. I finish washing the rest of the dishes before heading up to my room. After shutting my door, I head over to my bed, collapsing onto it before grabbing my phone from the charger to find something to get my mind occupied on something else.

But that proves to be too much to ask for. I accidentally open an app, not even paying attention to what it is, and all I see is an ad for Mother’s Day. It’s not even the right season for this ad. Why’s it showing up now? I scroll away from the ad and I’m introduced to a step-mom meme. I don’t even read it. I just want it out of my sight. I scroll again, seeing a post about Oedipus. Post after post, scroll after scroll, all I see is mother themed content.

Ok, fuck this app. I close the cursed app, opening my music app to at the very least, clear my mind. After the app loads, I connect my headphones and hit shuffle, just letting the tranquil playlist carry me to my happy place.

This is so nice. Just me, myself, and I. No thinking. No perversion. No intrusive thoughts. Just being carried through the sound of light drums, pianos, and “Hey, Listen!”. Music truly is the greatest.

Now, that doesn’t mean my mind is absolutely clear. Especially when I’m this enthralled with a song. My mind gradually starts wandering, recalling recent events. The guy slapping my ass pops up, the lady I had that really intricate conversation with makes its appearance, traffic then makes its presence known, and finally the conversation I had with Phoibe.

I realize my mistake of allowing that last thought to pass soon after having it, but it’s too late. Mom appears in my mind soon after the thought occurs. Her perfect curves, her tight clothes, her sexy face, her luscious lips, I can’t get her out of my head.

My mind then goes into wondering more intricate things about mom. How soft would she feel against me? How far would she be able to take me in her throat? How tight would she be? How would she look with my cum coating her face? Would she swallow it? How would she look with my cum leaking out of her pussy?

Vulgar thought after vulgar thought. And I can’t stop it. No matter how hard I try to think of something else and no matter how long I wait for the thoughts to pass, it just relents. They’re even getting worse. Her image in my head of all the scenarios I’m putting her in are getting more and more vivid. It’s like she’s right here in front of me in the flesh.

But that’s not all. With these worsening thoughts traversing through my brain, I’m getting more and more turned on with each thought that passes. And the music isn’t exactly helping my case. It’s just making the scenarios in my thoughts more sensual. But I can’t stop it.

I shouldn’t be having these vulgar thoughts or these perverted feelings. That’s my mom. My creator. What’s wrong with me? This isn’t right. But why can’t I stop it? And why is it making me feel even better knowing that I shouldn’t be having these thoughts or these feelings?

With every moment that passes, I feel my member testing the limits of my pants. The discomfort of my flesh pushing against my clothing is just too much. I need to take care of it. I sigh, giving in to my intrusive desires and sliding my pants down my legs, freeing my erect aching shaft. I bring a hand to it, lightly stroking it as the subtle music plays through my headphones. I keep my eyes shut, just letting my mind run as I jerk myself.

As expected, mom appears in my mind, smirking at me as she watches me rub my cock. As she does, the pleasure grows. Just the thought of her watching me sends jolts of pleasure throughout my body. It’s so wrong, but it’s so good.

I then imagine her reaching her hand out and taking over, guiding her hand up and down the length of my member. It’s even slightly starting to feel like her hand replaced mine. I let out a soft gasp as I savor mom’s touch on my dick, slightly speeding up her strokes. She locks eye contact with me as she continues her actions, inching her mouth closer and close to the tip of my cock.

With every advancement she makes, the more my cares for how wrong this is starts slipping. This is only just a thought, after all. Everyone has these kinds of thoughts, right? It’s perfectly fine as long as they remain that way. I’d never act upon this. Not in a million years. I’d never strip naked in front of my mother. That’d just be awkward. I’d also never have her stroke my cock like this. No one in their right mind would ever want that to be a possibility of happening. And I’d definitely never allow her mouth anywhere near it. I don’t even think I’d enjoy the sight of that very much.

But right as I have that thought, mom giggles before opening her mouth and wrapping her lips around the head of my shaft, giving it a small suck as she continues her strokes. Fuck, that was kinda- ... no. No. That was just a figment of my imagination. My uncontrollable imagination, might I add. It’s not real. This isn’t real. This isn’t hot. This isn’t sexy by any means.

She then leans down again, this time taking more of me in her mouth, lightly and slowly bobbing her head up and down my length. As she worships my cock, she looks up at me, giving me a coy grin. I moan slightly louder as she takes me into her mouth. Shit, that feels so good.

Ok, ok, whatever. It’s just my thoughts. If my mind wants to find this sexy, then there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not real. It’s just my hand. Nothing about this is too weird.

She then manages to slide all the way down to the base of my shaft, slightly speeding up her bobbing. I moan even more as she swallows my cock. It feels so fucking good. She looks so damn sexy. That’s it. Take it. Take your daughter’s cock deep in your fucking throat.

Wait. What am I thinking? That’s not what I meant. No. That’s just more intrusive thoughts. They weren’t my words. I didn’t say that. That was just the deepest recesses of my mind. So with that being said, if it were just so happen to be said again, I can rest assured that I’m not at fault for it being said, right?

She sucks harder, speeding up her pace even faster, earning louder moans from me as I arch my back. Yes. Yes. Suck on it, mommy. Fuck, it feels so good. I love it so much. Please, don’t stop.

Minutes pass of me savoring the feeling of mom’s throat on my cock. It couldn’t possibly get any better than this. No one compares to her. Leave it to a mom to have the best sex with you. It’s what they do.

I eventually feel myself reaching my limit closer and closer with each descent, moaning louder and louder. I don’t even care if I’m being too loud. It feels to good. Mommy’s making me feel so good. What kind of daughter would I be if I didn’t let her know how good she’s making me feel?

After a few more moments of her sucking me, I let out one last moan before shooting my cum deep inside of her throat, moaning as rope after rope of my essence pours down her throat. She unsurprisingly swallows all of it with no problems, sucking the last drops of my milk before popping me out of her mouth and giving my cock a kiss. She giggles before blowing me a kiss, winking at me, and fading out of existence, presenting me with my cum coated hand and a small pool of my cum on my sheets.

I lay back on my bed, groaning at myself as I see the mess I’ve made. How could I be that careless? Nevermind that, how could I be that gross? I just envisioned my mom sucking me off. And I liked it. What’s wrong with me? You know what? Nothing. Nothing at all is wrong with me. It’s all just intrusive thinking. Just secluded thoughts that stay within your mindset and no one else’s. No one gets hurt and you never have to worry about acting upon it because it’s too outlandish to do so. So I’m perfectly fine. It’s perfectly natural.

And speaking of acting upon something, I should probably take these sheets to the washer. It’s probably not good to leave it here with jizz on it. So I put on my pants and get out of bed before taking my sheets off the bed and heading over to the laundry room. Seeing that the washer’s already running, I place my sheets in the basket and turn to head back out.

“Excuse me,” I hear, feeling mom squeeze in the room behind me, “Just need to put this here. There we go.”

I step out of the room to give her more space, turning to look at her. But once I do, I’m instantly turned on again. Probably more than I was a few minutes ago. Because before me is my mother bending over to push her clothes in the basket in her overshirt. Just her overshirt.

“You spill something on your sheets already?” she asks, “I thought you just cleaned them yesterday.”

“U-uh- ... y-yeah,” I utter out, not able to turn away from the view, “You know me. Just a cluts sometimes.”

“Eh, it’s not your fault. You get it from mommy, after all. You just can’t help it, can you.”

She pulls my blanket out of the basket, curiously looking at it, unknowingly sendin my heart to my stomach by doing so. Why is she looking at it? What if she asks me why it’s so cum-stained? How am I supposed to explain that? Oh, God.

“So what exactly was this?” she asks, obsercing the fluid, “Did you spill a drink or something?”

“U-uhh ... yes? Yes,” I reply, “Yes, it was just a drink that I got. A weird smoothie. I wouldn’t reccommend it. It was really bad. Just ... ugh.”

“Hmm. You don’t say.”

She then completely takes me off guard by taking my blanket and dragging her tongue across it, licking up my fluids. This sends an unfamiliar feeling coursing through my veins. She didn’t just do that. I could not have seen that right. Wait, is she ... smiling?

“Mmm,” she says in delight, “How could you not like this? It’s amazing.”

She gives it another lick, proving my earlier thoughts incorrect.

“You need to tell me where you got that smoothie. It’s remarkable.”

She scoops up a bit more with her finger before tossing my blanket back in the basket, sticking her finger in her mouth as she walks back to her room. I’m completely floored by what just happened. Did she- ... Did she just lick up my cum from the blanket? ... Did she like it? ... Did I ... enjoy watching her do it? I hastily go back to my room, reflecting on what just happened.

The next day approaches and the thought is still as fresh in my mind as if I’m still in the moment. My mother just ate my cum and liked it. Hell, she looked like she loved it. I don’t know how to feel about that. That’s my mom, after all. And that actually happened. That wasn’t just an internal thought. It was real. It happened right in front of me. Why did I even let it happen? I had full ability to stop her. But I didn’t do anything. I just stood there and watched. What kind of daughter am I?