Manel stood in front of the mirror, her breath shallow, her heart racing. The bathrobe clung loosely to her body, the knot at her waist barely holding it together. She reached up, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the silky fabric. With a slow, deliberate motion, she undid the knot, and the robe slid to the floor, pooling around her feet. The air felt cool against her bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat building inside her.
She stepped closer to the mirror, her eyes scanning her reflection. Forty-nine years old, and still holding it together, she thought, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her hands moved to her breasts, cupping them gently, lifting them as if to test their weight. They were still firm, full—her pride. She gave them a soft squeeze, her nipples hardening under her touch. She turned to the side, her gaze drifting to her bottom. It was round, shapely, the kind of ass that turned heads when she walked into a room. She turned back to face the mirror, her eyes lingering on her curves. Not bad for a woman my age, she thought, a mix of pride and nervousness swirling in her chest.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and bent down to pick up the robe. She slipped it back on, tying the knot tightly this time. Now or never, she told herself, her heartbeat quickening as she approached the bathroom door. She raised her hand, hesitated for a moment, and then knocked gently.
“Babe, are you in?” she called, her voice low, almost a whisper.
The sound of the shower stopped, and a moment later, her son’s voice echoed from inside. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you clearly, Mom. What is it?”
Manel swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Can I come in, honey?” she asked, her voice shaky, barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
“I’m naked, Mom. I’ll be done in a minute,” he replied.
Her breath hitched. This is it. This is the time. Now or never, Manel. Do it. The voice in her head was insistent, almost commanding. She took another deep breath, her fingers wrapping around the doorknob. She turned the lock, the click echoing in the quiet hallway, and pushed the door open.
“Mom, Jesus. What the fuck. Can’t you wait… I’m not… Go out…” Her son’s voice was panicked, his hands instinctively covering his genitals. He was standing there, wet from the shower, his body glistening under the bathroom light.
But Manel didn’t hear him. Her world had narrowed down to him—his body, his presence. Her hands moved to the knot of her robe, and with a quick tug, it fell to the floor. She stepped forward, her naked body exposed, her breathing shallow. Her son was saying something, but the words didn’t register. All she could see was his lips moving, his eyes wide with shock.
She reached him in two quick strides, her finger pressing lightly against his lips, silencing him. Her other hand moved to his, the one covering his cock. She gently pulled his hand away, her fingers brushing against his hardness. “Babe, hush,” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm.
He looked terrified, but she could feel it—the way his body reacted to her touch, the way his cock twitched in her hand. She knew. He wants this too. Her fingers wrapped around him, stroking slowly, feeling him grow harder, longer in her grasp.
“Mh… Mo… mom…” His voice was broken, barely a sound escaping his lips. He couldn’t form a complete sentence, couldn’t comprehend what was happening.
Manel didn’t stop. She knelt on the wet bathroom floor, her eyes locked on his cock as she took him into her mouth. Her lips wrapped around him, her tongue swirling gently at first, tasting him. When the first drop of pre-cum hit her tongue, she moaned softly, the sound vibrating against his flesh. She pushed him deeper, her throat opening to take him in, until she choked, tears welling in her eyes.
She pulled back, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. She leaned down, her mouth exploring his balls, her tongue caressing them as her hand continued to stroke him. With a loud slurp, she took him back into her mouth, savoring the taste of him. She stood up, her body trembling with need, and took his hand, leading him to the bathroom sink.
She leaned against it, spreading her legs, her pussy glistening with desire. She didn’t need foreplay—her body was ready, her pink lips swollen, her clit throbbing with anticipation. She could feel his hesitation, but she reached back, her hand guiding his cock to her entrance. The tip pressed against her, and she let out a soft moan, her body arching towards him.
And then he was inside her, filling her, his hands gripping her hips as he began to move. Each thrust sent a wave of pleasure through her, her moans echoing in the small bathroom. “Mh… Hm… Mm… Ah… Babe…” she whispered, her voice trembling with each movement of his body.
But then, a voice—sharp, angry—cut through the haze of pleasure. “What the fuck are you doing, Manel? That’s your son, you fucking whore!”
Manel froze, her body tensing as she turned to look. There, standing in the doorway, was a woman who looked exactly like her. The woman’s eyes were blazing with fury, her hands clenched into fists. Before Manel could react, the woman strode forward, her hand connecting with Manel’s cheek in a loud, stinging slap.
Manel gasped, her eyes flying open. She was panting, her body drenched in sweat, her heart racing. She looked around, disoriented, and realized she was in her bed, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. It had been a dream. Just a dream.
But her body was still throbbing, her panties soaked with her release. She sat up, her hands trembling as she pressed them to her face. What the hell was that? she thought, her mind reeling. How could I… with my own son?
She shook her head, trying to push the images away, but they lingered, vivid and unrelenting. She got out of bed, stripping off her wet panties and tossing them into the laundry basket. She pulled on a fresh pair, her hands still shaking as she fastened the waistband.
As she stepped out of her room, she was greeted by a loud, cheerful voice. “Happy Birthday, Mom!”
Manel jumped, her hand flying to her chest. “Jesus, honey. You scared the shit out of me,” she said, her voice shaky.
Her son grinned, holding out a big bouquet of flowers. “I’m sorry, mom. I should’ve known better than to jump out like that. Happy 50th, Mom,” he said, his voice softer now, more sincere.
Manel took the flowers, her heart still racing. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Dad told me to give you this,” he said, handing her a small, folded note. “And… Mom, can you go back to bed?”
Manel frowned, confusion knitting her brows. “Why?”
“Please, Mom. Just go back to bed and wait. Trust me.” His eyes were earnest, pleading.
Manel hesitated, but something in his expression made her nod. “Alright,” she said slowly, turning back towards her room.
Manel sat on the edge of her bed, the note from her husband trembling slightly in her hands. She unfolded it carefully, her breath shallow, her heart still racing from the remnants of the dream that clung to her like a second skin. Happy birthday, my love, he’d written. I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you today. Work has me tied up, but I promise to make it up to you as soon as I’m back. Until then, enjoy your day and know that I’m thinking of you. The words were sweet, thoughtful, and yet… Manel felt nothing. No pang of sadness, no twinge of longing. The note slipped from her fingers and fluttered onto the bed as she stared blankly at the wall. Her mind was still tethered to the dream, the heat of it lingering in her veins, the memory of her son’s body pressed against hers, his hands gripping her waist, his—
She shook her head, her fingers digging into the mattress as if to ground herself. Stop. It’s just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. But her body betrayed her, a faint ache settling low in her belly, a pulse of warmth that refused to be ignored. She squeezed her legs together, her breath hitching, and then… there was a knock at the door.
“Mom?” Chamal’s voice was soft, hesitant, and yet it sent a shiver down her spine. “Can I come in?”
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Yes, sweetheart.”
The door creaked open, and there he was, holding a beautifully wrapped box in his hands. He looked nervous, his eyes darting to her face and then away, his grip on the box tightening. “Dad said he couldn’t be here today,” he began, his voice a little shaky. “So… I got you something.”
Manel’s heart skipped a beat. She could see the effort he’d put into the wrapping, the way the ribbon was neatly tied, the corners of the box perfectly creased. He’s so thoughtful, she thought, her chest swelling with something she couldn’t quite name. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his as she took the gift from him. The brief contact sent a jolt through her, and she quickly pulled her hand back, her cheeks flushing.
“Thank you, honey,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t wait. She tore into the wrapping with a kind of eagerness that surprised even her, the paper falling away to reveal a long, dark red dress. Her breath caught in her throat. It was the same dress she’d pointed out to him months ago, when they’d been shopping together. She’d lingered in front of it, her fingers brushing against the silky fabric, her eyes wide with longing. He’d teased her back then, saying she’d look stunning in it, but she’d laughed it off, insisting it was too much. He remembered.
“Oh, Chamal,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “You… you remembered.”
“Of course I did, Mom,” he said softly, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “How could I forget?”
Her heart swelled, and before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His body was warm, solid, familiar, and yet there was something different now, something that made her stomach twist with a mix of guilt and desire. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him, her fingers clutching at the back of his shirt. This is wrong, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, but she ignored it, tightening her hold on him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “Thank you so much.”
He hesitated for a moment, and then his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer. She could feel his heart beating against her, fast and frantic, and it sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t contain. His hands moved tentatively up her back, his fingers brushing against her skin where her robe had slipped open slightly. She shivered, her breath catching, and then… he pulled away.
“You’re welcome, Mom,” he said, his voice strained, his cheeks flushed. He took a step back, his eyes darting to the floor, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “I… I’ll let you get dressed.”
She nodded, her throat tight, her heart pounding in her chest. He turned to leave, and she watched him go, her eyes tracing the lines of his back, the way his shirt clung to his shoulders. The door clicked shut behind him, and she was left alone, the dress still clutched in her hands. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, her body humming with a quiet, undeniable need. She looked down at the dress, the deep red fabric shimmering in the light, and something inside her shifted.
Without thinking, she stood up, letting her robe fall to the floor. She slipped the dress on, the cool fabric sliding over her skin, clinging to her curves in a way that made her breath catch. She turned to the mirror, her eyes widening as she took in her reflection. The dress was perfect, the neckline low enough to show off her cleavage, the hem falling just above her knees. She looked… stunning. She ran her hands down her sides, her fingers trembling, and then… she heard a soft knock at the door.
“Mom?” It was Chamal again, his voice hesitant, almost nervous. “Can I come in? I… I forgot to give you something else.”
Her heart leapt into her throat, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She turned to the door, her hands clutching at the fabric of the dress. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and there he was, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of her. His mouth opened, but no words came out, his throat working as he tried to speak. She stepped closer, her heart pounding, her body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm, and he tensed, his breath hitching.
“Chamal,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I…”
But before she could finish, he stepped closer, his hands reaching for her, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t place. His fingers brushed against her waist, and then he pulled her close, his breath hot against her skin. She gasped, her hands flying to his chest, and then… he kissed her.
Their lips stayed locked, the world outside the room fading into nothing. Chamal’s hands trembled as they slid down her back, gripping the fabric of the dress she had just put on. His breath was shaky, uneven, and hers matched it, their hearts pounding in unison. She could feel his hesitation, his uncertainty, but also something deeper—an ache, a longing that mirrored her own.
“Mom,” he whispered against her lips, his voice barely audible, strained with guilt and something else she couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”
Before he could pull away completely, Manel’s hands shot up, her fingers curling into his shoulders, holding him in place. Her voice was soft, trembling, but there was a firmness to it, a resolve that surprised even her. “Babe, wait. It’s okay. I wanted this too.”
His eyes widened, the shock written all over his face. He searched her eyes, as if looking for some sign that this was a joke, some cruel prank. But all he found was raw, unfiltered desire. “Take me to bed, son,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that sent shivers down his spine. “Give me the best birthday gift ever. Make me your woman.”
Chamal’s breath hitched, his body stiffening for a moment before he gave in. His hands tightened around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space between them. She could feel the heat of his body, the rapid thud of his heart against her chest as he leaned in, capturing her lips once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no guilt—just pure, unbridled passion.
Manel’s hands slid down his arms, her fingers intertwining with his as she guided him toward the bed. The room was bathed in soft light, the air thick with tension and the scent of their combined arousal. Her heart was racing, her mind a whirlwind of emotions, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was him—his touch, his lips, the way his body felt against hers.
They reached the edge of the bed, and Chamal hesitated, his hands resting on her hips as he looked down at her, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and doubt. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Manel nodded, her hands moving to cup his face as she pulled him down for another kiss. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she murmured against his lips. “I need this… I need you.”
Her words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. His hands moved to the hem of her dress, lifting it slowly as his lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She shivered, her hands tangling in his hair as he pushed the dress up and over her head, tossing it aside without a second thought.
The cool air hit her skin, but it did nothing to quell the fire raging inside her. Chamal’s eyes roamed over her body, taking in every curve, every inch of her as if he were memorizing her. His hands followed, tracing the outline of her breasts, her waist, her hips, until she was trembling with need.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as he leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth. Manel gasped, her back arching as pleasure shot through her. His tongue swirled around the hardened peak, teasing and sucking until she was moaning his name, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her.
“Chamal… please…” she begged, her voice weak with desire. He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands moved to the waistband of his pants, quickly undoing the button and zipper before shoving them down, along with his boxers. His hard, throbbing length sprang free, and Manel’s breath caught in her throat as she took him in.
He was larger than she had imagined, perfectly proportioned and already glistening with pre-cum. Her hands reached out, wrapping around him and giving him a slow, tentative stroke. Chamal groaned, his hips bucking into her touch as his hands gripped her thighs, spreading them apart.
“Mom,” he breathed, his voice strained as he positioned himself at her entrance. Manel bit her lip, her body trembling with anticipation as she nodded, giving him the permission he needed. Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he pushed inside her, his eyes never leaving hers.
She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he filled her completely. It had been so long since she had felt this full, this connected…
