I had always been a good mother, but over the years, something changed. I found myself developing an unhealthy obsession with my son, now a strapping 24-year-old man. His presence alone was enough to make my heart race and my panties damp. I started noticing things about him that I shouldn’t have, like the growing bulge in his jeans or the way his muscles flexed when he moved. My nights were filled with wet dreams, vivid and explicit, always starring him.
At 5’3″ with DD boobs and a big ass, I wasn’t what you’d call a sex symbol, but I decided to change that. I started buying sexier things, thongs that barely covered my ass, and tight tops that accentuated my curves. I wanted to tease him, to see if he noticed. And he did. The hugs grew longer, the touches more intimate. I could feel the tension building between us, and it was exhilarating.
One day, while cleaning the bathroom, I spotted his underwear in the laundry pile. It was damp, wet even, and I couldn’t resist the urge to sniff it. The smell was unmistakable, his cum. I pulled the fabric apart, revealing a sticky, white stain. My son, who had showered just 5 minutes earlier, had come in his underwear. It was a full load, and the thought of it made my mouth water.
I took his underwear and brought it to my room, locking the door behind me. I spread the fabric out on my bed, tracing the stain with my fingers. I could almost taste him, and the urge was too strong to resist. I lifted the fabric to my nose, inhaling deeply, savoring the musky scent. Then, slowly, I ran my tongue along the stain, tasting him. Salty and warm, it was the most intimate thing I had ever done, and I knew I was just getting started.
