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All characters in this story (and every story I will ever write) are over the age of 18.

This is the complete Parent Trap series; involving themes of incest, blackmail, and free use. If it’s too dark for you, then I highly recommend looking into my other works for ‘happier’ endings. I put a lot of work into making many of my other works sweeter, and with more likeable characters – but for anyone looking for the kind of tight, insane, power rush of free use and blackmail... This one’s for you.

Enjoy.

For every possible reason, I shouldn’t have been looking, but... Mom was bending over.

Way, way over.

The way her leggings stretched out over her ass, pulling so tight across her cheeks that they started to go transparent, awakened something deep inside me. It started to hint at the color of her pale skin, stretching so thin that I could see the texture of the weave, the way the threads separated, her creamy skin shining through. And then, underneath all that spandex, it became amazingly obvious.

Mom was wearing the panties I got her.

And that hit me hard.

Now, that's a bit of a weird thing for a mom to do, right? What Mom would wear panties that were given to her by her son? How fucked up would that be? Not just to take them, but to wear them, and to bend way, way over while doing the laundry, right in front of the gift giver.

Now here's the funny part. I might have bought them for my mom, and I might have put them in a nice box and put a little ribbon on it, and I might have strategically placed it on her windowsill where she could have found it before dad would.

But I definitely didn't put my name on it.

All I wrote, in messy cursive, was, "wear these for me today, and whatever you do, don't say anything. Just wear them for tonight."

Almost as if some lover had the gall to gift her new underwear. At her own house, outside her husband's room.

Dastardly, isn't it?

Obviously, some mystery lover hadn't done it. It was me, and in case you're thinking I'm fucking crazy, this is all for a good purpose. The simple fact is that she's been cheating, and the only way I could get any proof that this has been happening, is through this crazy little scheme.

I've had suspicions for a while that my mom's been cheating on dad. You know, ideas. Theories. She's always out late. She's always doing her makeup before going out to 'have fun with the girls', she's always coming back looking a little frazzled. Tired. Sweaty. Maybe even... used. I don't want to get too into how fucking angry I was when I started to piece it together.

Not that I had proof. Not a shred of it. Just a hunch, and the simple fact that mom looked worn out every time she came home, after having disappeared for hours almost every evening. Dad never seemed curious as to what she was doing. She told him off handedly that it was exercise with her friends, but five days a week? Six?

And it's not like I could gather proof. Not while I'm stuck at home.

But with these panties? It finally happened—Mom finally wore them.

Now I had all the proof I needed.

The only thing was, I had no clue how to push forward. It's already extreme enough to go to a Victoria’s Secret, to buy the panties and to try and pretend that the cashier doesn't think you're a total freak. It's another to try and 'gotcha' your mother with said panties. What was I supposed to say? "Hey mom, can you do me a favor and show me the underwear you're wearing? Oh? Are those the panties your lover bought for you? Psyche! I was just posing as your lover, and now that you're caught, it's time to pay the price!"

The price, indeed.

I was honestly too angry to even figure out what angle I wanted out of confronting her. It's not like my dad was even a decent husband. Or that he didn't deserve it. I knew for a fact that he pretended that she didn't exist and that he liked to mess around with the office girls. I already had my own little blackmail agreement worked out with him - more money in my allowance, and a fifth of booze every month.

But now there was mom to deal with. And mom didn't handle the family bank accounts.

Maybe I had to be a little more tactful. A divorce was going to shake up everything at home. Maybe I could ask for more money, I guess, but it's not like mom had a job.

But based on the way her legs were shifting, the way each cheek of her ass kept moving up and down, I started to get an inkling.

A fucking crazy one.

"Honey?" Mom's voice startled me out of my fucked-up scheme. Her voice echoed in the drum of the clothes dryer. "Can you get me a screwdriver? One of your dad's socks got caught up here, and I might need you to help me pry it out."

"Sure," I said as I got up, carefully readjusting my cock so it would stop pressing so obviously through my pants.

"Fuck me, it's one of his expensive ones too," I heard her mutter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her withdrawing from the dryer drum and settle into a kneeling position. She brushed her dark hair behind her shoulders and took a few deep breaths, her face red from the awkward way she was reaching into the dryer. Her chest heaved, the curve of her breasts under her shirt curving upward with a firmness I did not expect.

Especially since she wasn't wearing a bra.

Her nipples poked through, soft to where they didn't make points in the fabric, hard enough to see where her areolas rose on the tips of her tits.

Mom was pretty. "Pretty hot," my friends would say. She was a little curvy, just subtly stocky enough to let you know she was a mother, curvy in a ‘milfy’ sort of way, and her legs looked heavenly inside her leggings, as weird as it is for me to admit to all this. Once, one of my friends took a photo of my mom from behind and posted it in our group chat, pretending it was some random woman he saw at the grocery store. With the trap set, I opened my big fucking mouth and said how hot she was, and how I'd love to bust inside that ass while I had her bent over the apples in the produce section.

As you can imagine, my friends have never let me live it down.

But it did plant a weird seed in my head. If there was another woman out there with a body identical to my mom's, would I have noticed?

Or cared?

My mother's shape, above and below the waist, was undeniably hot. Objectively. No arguing against that.

Maybe, if I were honest with myself, my mother was actually... fuckable.

She was in a beauty pageant in her college sorority. She didn't win, but she kept a photo of herself at that time to remind her that she was beautiful and classy - back then, her face was cutely round, her lips extra plump and soft, her cheekbones like the gentle winding curve of her hips, and her waist to thigh curves were apparent even under the dress she wore for her pageant. Her waist was tight, the way she was turned in the photo emphasized a radical difference in size between her tummy and ass, an almost unreal ratio that caused guests to stare whenever they looked at her photo in the hall.

Sometime after that pageant, she met and married my dad and had me, and while she changed a little as mom's did, her body was still insanely hot. She got a little thicker, just enough to be recognizable as a mother on first glance. But not too much where men didn't stare hungrily at her body. Her face got a little rounder, a little cuter and more innocent, just mature enough to make her look approachable. She was still curvaceous, but now, soft, inviting, looking fertile on a primal level, her ass growing in voluptuousness, the softness of her legs etching into my mind as I watched them folding while she knelt, waiting for me.

I got back and handed her the screwdriver. She gave me a smile, and ducked back into the dryer, her bottom once again jutting out, her ass shifting up and down, side to side, the spandex straining and stretching and showing off the panties that she thought were from somebody else.

I could even see the softness of her pussy from behind. It pressed against the spandex too. The texture and color of the panties there became painfully obvious, forcing my cock into an awkward angle as it stiffened.

In that moment, I didn't blame whoever it was that she was cheating with. Lucky fucker.

How would it feel to be inside her?

Holy fuck, I was crazy.

How would she feel? How would she react to the sensation of cock slipping inside her?

Would her face get red from the exertion? Has she ever fucked in a position that mirrored the way she reached into the dryer?

Fuck me, I was fucking crazy.

This was my mom. What kind of crazy asshole thinks about his mom this way?

Then mom pulled out, fancy sock in hand, and fell back. "Phew," she said, almost laughing. "I thought I was about to get stuck in there. Ha."

I didn't share the laugh. I had already jerked it to enough porn of that kind of scenario, and combined with how hot my mom was, and how I could clearly see the panties I bought her, this was serious.

But at least I had the honesty to admit it to myself: I wanted inside her. My own mom.

No matter how crazy that made me.

The big question was, 'how?'

I was starting to formulate the 'what.' What I wanted. The kind of craziness I could get away with if I played this right.

And the why was obvious. Maybe I was a little more than fucked up for it, but it was already decided: she deserved it, and on top of it, since high school was over, I was undergoing a brutal dry streak.

Maybe sex was too far. Maybe that was just fucked up and crazy on my part. Two wrongs don't make a right—but maybe one and a half wrongs do.

Realistically though, if I were focused on what I could get away with, I could get her to do something else.

Where and when? Tonight. Here. Dad was headed to a fantasy football club meeting, the kind mom rolled her eyes at constantly, which meant that tonight, for three hours, it was just me, her, the panties, and our little cheating secret, provided she was ready to do whatever it took to "keep" it our little secret.

The how slowly developed in my head. Once dad left, he'd be unreachable until he'd come back. Mom might try to leave for a little tryst, but I knew if I was prompt enough that I could head her off and maybe even take the place of whoever it was she was cheating with. If I went for it with some boldness, I could probably stand up to whatever lying she did to cover up the issue and then deliver a little ultimatum.

Then, as fucking crazy as it sounded, I'd lay claim to my mom's mouth. I imagined sticking my cock up against her lips, pushing her mouth open as she stared up at me, powerless in the face of the secret I was about to hold over her.

I could probably get pictures out of it too.

And then a hell of a lot more. Special treatment whenever dad wasn't around. Hand jobs during homework. Good morning blowjobs.

Maybe I could even make mom take off her pants while she worked on the dryer.

It was making me dizzy, the sheer amount of possibility and craziness that was pulsing through my mind... and cock. Even though it was crazy. I was thinking about – actually reasoning out all the ways I could fuck my own mother. The possibilities grew more and more reasonable in my head – the more it started to come together that it was going to happen. All I had to do was stick to the plan, which seemed easy enough. It was foolproof.

...or so I thought.

I watched dad's car leave and then rushed downstairs. Mom was in the kitchen, wiping things up. Her hair was tied in a bun, a hoodie wrapped around her waist, leggings tight around her legs and making their curves painfully obvious. She looked like she was about to go for a run or something, the kind of look that meant all her clothes were tight, and all her curves were deeply emphasized. The shape of her body was almost artful, with thirst inducing roundness.

My mouth started to salivate, and I felt myself shaking as I thought about how I was going to deliver the news that I knew her secret, and how in a few moments, I could demand something from her. I could tell her to kneel. I could tell her to touch me, to stroke me. I even envisioned having her jerk me off until I came on her face.

...or maybe, even something having to do with the panties that she was still wearing. With this kind of leverage, there was nothing I couldn't demand from her.

She could be my plaything.

"Hey," I said, standing as straight as I could at the entrance to the kitchen. My heart pounded a million times a minute.

"Hey hun," mom said, her tone distracted as she scrubbed at a tough spot. "I'm headed out in a few minutes to work out with the girls. There's some food in the fridge, and don't even think about sneaking a beer, I just counted how many there are in the fridge, and-"

"What kind of panties are you wearing?"

Mom suddenly jerked up straight and stared at me. The few seconds of silence after she made eye contact seemed to last forever. "What kind of-" she sputtered, still clutching the cloth. "What?" Her eyes were like saucers, wide in incredulous disbelief.

"You got a pair of panties today, didn't you? As a gift?" I swallowed; my throat was dry. I could barely even contain the mild shake in my voice. "I know you're cheating on dad. Because those weren't from him. They were from me. And because you took them, now I've got confirmation. You're a cheater."

Mom's mouth closed. Her cheeks reddened. The look on her face was one I'd seen only a few times before. The look of somebody caught.

Silence.

We stood and looked at each other for a few minutes. I carefully took a deep breath, and prepared myself to deliver my ultimatum. As my words started to flow, mom's look of nervous shock grew tenser and tenser.

"I've been suspecting for a while, now. And while I've never had proof, the fact that you've taken the panties I put there is clear and obvious evidence. You read the note, didn't you? 'Put these on? Don't say anything?' The fact that you took them and wore them is proof enough. You're a cheater, and if we don't work something out, I'm going to tell dad. And if I tell dad, that's the end of life as you know it. If I don't, then we get to keep going on like it never happened."

Mom narrowed her eyes and nodded. Her fingers curled over the rag.

"So," I continued, trying to keep my breath and voice steady, "if you want me to keep this a secret, then we need to talk business. I know a divorce and the public shame of this would really be too much to deal with, so you don't have a choice. You’re going to have to placate me to keep me quiet."

After a long moment, mom sighed, and carefully gave a single nod at me. She leaned back and against the counter. I watched as the softness of her ass pressed against the edge, and started to imagine how it would feel to bury myself in there.

"So..." mom said, carefully measuring her words, "what is it that you're asking for? Money? Freedom from chores?"

I breathed a sigh of relief that I tried to disguise as a deep breath of seriousness. "No, mom. I think for what you've been doing, the payment needs to fit the crime. I think if you want me to keep quiet..." my hands went to the buttons and zipper of my pants.

Mom's eyes widened, all the way, and her mouth opened in a sharp gasp as I released my cock, and let it stand in front of her, throbbing.

"If you want me to keep quiet, I need you to get on your knees, and use your mouth the way you used it on that guy you're cheating with. Take it or leave it."

Mom was frozen.

She stared at my cock, watched me grip and stroke it. Her mouth was open, I could see the color and texture of her wet tongue. I could see her eyes, unblinking in the shock of looking at her son's shaft. I wondered what was going through her head, whether she could even fathom that she needed to suck off her kid.

She took a step forward, dropping the rag on the counter.

Then another, her breath vibrating with nervousness.

Then, she stopped. The nervousness disappeared, her body language relaxed, and she started to laugh.

"What are you-" I sputtered, trying to understand as mom looked down at my cock and started busting up.

Mom leaned back, wiping a tear from her eye as she laughed even harder, her arms folding around her and pressing her tits together.

"Oh my god, son, no," she said through giggles as my heart sank into my stomach. "You're really... you're really asking for this? You wanted your mom to give you a blowjob? Your mother?"

"What about... I thought..."

"Oh, kid, I thought these panties were from your dad. You and him have the exact same handwriting, especially your cursive. He gives me gifts in dumb ways all the time—last week he gave me flowers after leaving them in his hot car all day. And cheating? I don't have time to cheat! I'm here all day, every day!" She doubled over, her laughter cascading into mild hiccups of mirth and disbelief.

It felt like somebody smashed a bag of rocks into my chest.

I stuttered. "But what about when you leave every night? For hours? And how you come back, you're always looking like you've just... like you've just been..."

"Exercising?" Mom raised an eyebrow at me. "You thought I was cheating because I've been doing hot yoga with my friends five times a week?"

That explained the sweat. The tiredness.

"Prove it," I said, trying to maintain any amount of dignity I still had. Maybe she was lying.

"Alright," mom said, rolling her eyes. "I invited everyone over for a girls night at our house. Tomorrow. So, if you want, you can ask them about my perfect attendance record and see if I've ducked out to meet any tall, dark, handsome strangers." She raised an eyebrow at me. "Put that thing away, kid."

I closed my mouth and zipped up, trying to keep myself steady. My face burned with embarrassment and confusion.

"Those were nice panties, too," mom muttered to herself, now solemn, rubbing the sides of her head. "Now I've got to throw them away, or your father's going to get suspicious for an actual reason. Fuck, kid." She looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. "I thought you'd do something normal as a part of your teen rebellion, like smashing mailboxes, or toilet papering a house. Not try to fuck your mother."

I tried to step out of the kitchen.

"Not so fast," Mom's tone was suddenly icy. "We're talking about this, and we're talking about it now."

She was brief, merciful, and fair. She didn't even yell at me. All she did was explain that I needed to get my act together, and that she wasn't going to tell anyone. "Your father would freak out, and that's not going to be helpful to anyone," she said, groaning, arching herself backwards in exasperation, the peaks of her tits again pressing through her shirt. "Just... don't do it again. Alright? Fuck. I don't even know what to think. We'll talk about this later, young man. You're in huge trouble."

She left for her hot yoga, and came back, looking sweaty, tired, and exactly like she did for the last few days. Dad pulled up in his car around the same time. They walked in together, and mom gave me a glare as she passed me, dad laughing away, oblivious.

But that look gave me a little pause.

It wasn't the look of somebody disappointed. Or offended, even.

It was the look she gave when dad once caught her during a diet attempt. She was restricted to juice or something, but when dad pulled the cookies out of her closet and started going on about only pretending to be committed to something, her eyes grew dark, her look angry, her face pointed in that glare.

That same one.

When dad went off to bed early, mom knocked at my door. "Hey, kid." She entered, looking stern but... hot. She was in her nightie. Just a single piece of silk that wrapped gently around her curves. Just her hair tied back, her face clean and clear, her soft behind resting on my bed as she settled down and stared at me while I tried to close everything on my computer. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking at some porn, you can probably guess the kind, to somehow live the fantasy that I had just failed to get through blackmail. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice.

Mom's face was touched with a mixture of worry and offense. Her hands pushed down on her soft thighs with nervousness. She always got like this when she scolded me, as if it was painful to even correct me. "Look. I'm not... I'm not mad at you," she said, carefully enunciating her words. "But it's obvious you have a problem. Nobody wants to do what you just tried for, hun. Nobody. It's not healthy and it's not good. Alright? Can you admit to me maybe that you have a problem?"

I shrugged. Said something that signaled halfhearted agreement. Then I realized that mom was probably about to have me committed to a mental institution or something. The prospect of engaging with real Freudian doctors in a straitjacket for the rest of my life did not sound appealing.

"Look," I tried to explain to somehow justify myself, "It was just... it was a crazy idea. I'm not trying to... I just... I thought..."

"Well," she interrupted with finality, "I'm not grounding you. But you're going to be more respectful of your mother's privacy from now on. Alright?"

I nodded, and mom got up. As she made her way to the door of my room, I could see the light partially filtering through her nightgown.

And fuck me, I could see it all.

I could see the shape of her legs. Of her soft thighs, the way they gently rubbed together, her wide and luscious hips adorned with roundness. Her bottom shifted with each step. I could see the light barely peeking through a little spot between her legs, a little soft apex above the thigh where just enough space existed, just enough to fit...

The next evening, mom's friend's from hot yoga really did arrive. All of them. A dozen middle aged women, all trying to claw back their prime with exercise and carrot-based diets. I tried spending most of the time in my room but came down for water a couple times, only to find them all circled around in our living room, all dressed as moms do when trying to look hot and young, with tight shirts, yoga pants, lipstick.

And they were drinking.

I didn't mind that at all. Mom's friend's weren't models, but they were women, and they were all trying their best to look good. The fact that they were all dressed in tight dresses, emphasizing their motherly curves, their breasts, and hips gently curving outward, soft in their maturity, shot some fantasies through my head. I wondered just how many of them were close with their husbands... if any of them wanted young cock.

I shook my head and turned to go back upstairs.

Mom’s voice floated upward toward me. Her tone was excited, and I stopped to watch out of curiosity. "Oh, come on!" Mom said, giggling with her friends and somehow balancing her wine glass between her fingers. She was wearing a purple dress, with these subtle ruffles that climbed up the front of her body and hinted, subtly, at her form. She seemed to laugh a lot more than she usually did. Her nails were painted, her makeup done up.

I didn't mean to watch for as long as I did. The goal was just to go up and down the stairs for some water, and that was about it. But I was stopped, distracted by the tittering sound of all the women having fun in the living room.

Women in general are chaotic, and as they get older there's either a dramatic upheaval in their attitudes, or they simmer down. In this case, my mother and all her friends only seemed wilder, their conversations turning to cackles, to more glasses, to stifled giggles as they talked about their husbands or the insanity of the local gossip.

But the craziness is all in the body language too. While mom talked and laughed and sipped, Mrs. Hernandez got closer and closer to her, pressing the side of her leg against her, artfully painted nails stroking along the edge of mom's thigh.

Mrs. Hernandez was a beautiful woman. Cuban, with heavy mascara and eyeshadow, sensuous, dark lips, and a habit of wearing deep, low cut dresses. She was the kind of woman you’d see and immediately notice just how soft and pliable her body was – the kind of body you could grip and fuck with all your strength, and she’d take it, and probably beg you for more. I knew for a fact that she wasn’t interested in her husband, and imagined the kind of desperation she felt between her legs. Her breasts were practically spilling out, barely covered, showing more of her tits than I thought possible. Her nipples were still covered, but I knew it'd only take a single, stretching movement to show me the color of her areolas.

And she was getting closer and closer to my mom each time I passed by. So close that her hand was not just resting on my mom's leg; it was stroking it, holding it, her nails gently sliding up and down her thigh.

And mom seemed more than comfortable with it.

Too comfortable.

On one pass to grab a snack, I went down the stairs, and carefully eyed them from a hidden spot on the stairwell. I noticed Mrs. Hernandez whispering something in her ear. Mom's eyes went wide, and she whispered back, her lips moving along Mrs. Hernandez' neck.

Slowly, they got up, and walked out, even with everyone still talking and without anyone seeming to notice.

Mom opened the laundry room door and went in, Mrs. Hernandez following.

I blinked a few times to make sure I was seeing this right.

And I was. It was all clear.

A mixture of betrayal and excitement swept through me. Mom really was cheating. Not only that, but she was cheating with one of the hotter women in her little exercise group. What better way to cover up a bit of sexual, physical fun than by covering it up with a bit of exercise gear?

They were probably doing something together now.

A new plan formed and immediately I took off, using the back door to exit the house so nobody would notice. From there, I went to one of the side doors that would let me into the garage, and before I knew it, I was facing the door to the laundry room, where I knew mom and Mrs. Hernandez were. I moved up to the door, slowly, and pressed my ear against it.

And I could hear breathing.

Two tones blended. Sighs, urgent moans. The feminine gasp, a rapid inhale. I pushed my ear closer to take in the sound.

My cock was pushing against my pants hard as I listened to the increasing sounds of pleasure coming from inside, as I could hear a gentle, wet, kissing sound. Mom's moaning. Whispers.

Mom's sounds went louder, her moaning turning to a tense groan, her breathing getting faster, tighter.

I had to see.

And what was more, there was no better time to expose her lie than now.

My hand went onto the doorknob, and turned it slowly to avoid any noise alerting them to me. It turned halfway, and Mom's gasping blended with the slick noise of, maybe, was it Mrs. Hernandez licking her out? Was she getting fingered?

The door swung open. It was dim in there, but now my mother's moaning was clear. My heart was racing, slamming against my chest. I could see Mrs. Hernandez on her knees, kneeling, her head forward and in my mother's lap. Mom's legs were spread from where she leaned against the dryer, her thighs spread out so that Mrs. Hernandez with her dark hair, her soft, maroon lips kissing and licking at the spot between my mother's legs.

I felt myself shaking. Watching my mom, the way she shuddered with pleasure, the way she breathed, taking in Mrs. Hernandez's tongue, the extremely hot way her fingers smoothed down her black hair and pushed her face deeper into her... I was vibrating with desire and shock at the idea of watching my own mother experimenting.

I moved closer, careful not to alert them. I had to make it plain as day that I caught them. My phone came out. I turned the camera on and put my hand on the light switch. And then.... I hit record.

And then the lights.

And I saw everything.

Mom's dress was pulled up, revealing the pale softness of her thighs, a soft white pair of panties where the part that covered her pussy was pulled to the side—I could see the little splash of wet pink between her legs as Mrs. Hernandez darted back, her own dress pulled down to reveal her dusky areolas, her nipples, the voluptuousness of her chest and the delicious mocha color of her skin.

Mom froze, gasping, her gaze shooting straight to me while Mrs. Hernandez rapidly stood up, straightening her dress, covering her bare chest with her hands.

"Wow," I said out loud.

Caught red handed.

Mom pulled the edge of her dress down and stood, her face burning with color. "Honey!" Her tone was ratcheted tight. "It's not... we're just... we're not..."

"I knew you were cheating," I said, before turning off the camera.

Their eyes followed my phone as they realized their whole affair was now caught on video.

We all were stock still, looking at each other. It was a standoff.

"Give me that," mom said, her tone desperate and aggressive, holding out a hand and now moving slowly toward me.

"I've got automatic backups on the cloud mom." I said, triumphant. Mom stopped; her hand still extended. "And all it's going to take is a little sharing for dad, Mr. Hernandez, and anyone else I want to include, to be completely aware of what you've been doing." I breathed deep, my tone once again uneven from excitement and nervousness. "So don't test me."

Mrs. Hernandez spoke up, her lined eyes wide with fear and surprise, "she didn't... I was the one who—"

"Imelda," mom spoke up, warning her to be quiet. "Let me handle this. I need," she said, her lips drawing thin and her eyes narrowing, "to discuss this with my son. I'm sure he's not going to share anything," her throat bobbed in a nervous swallow, "as long as we work out a deal, right?"

I gave a nod. She knew what it meant.

And nodded back.

I won.

"Alright." Mom took a deep breath. "Imelda, why don't you go and spend some time with the girls. I'll be out in a while. Just give us some privacy so I can have a... conversation." Her breathing was strained. Her chest seemed to push in and out faster, her realization deepening as to what kind of deal I was going to make with her.

The kind of things her son was about to make her do.

Imelda hurried out, trying to look calm. There was no way she understood what was happening here. Once the door closed behind her, mom went to the door, and with a gentle finger, pressed the lock until it went click. She turned her head, and looked at me, her eyes furious.

"Well. What do you want me to say?" Mom's mouth pressed closed in defiance. "You were right. And now you've got something on me. Just like you've got something on your father, right?"

"Not sure what you're talking about," I said non chalantly.

"Shut up," she hissed. The sound of her friends still chatting, laughing out there continued. "So. You want me to placate you," mom said, her breath dragging. "I can't believe you actually went for it. What do you want? You've got your mother against the wall here."

"You know what I want," I said. I was shaking with the rush – with the newfound power I held over her.

Mom's eyebrows curved downward. She stared at me hatefully as she let my previous demands circle around in her head.

I watched her standing there, her breathing deep, her eyes layered in frustration. I added, so there wasn't any confusion, "I think I want it now. And I want you to do it slowly."

Mom's mouth pushed closed.

"So that you can really, really convince me that I don’t need to talk," I finished.

Maybe it was really, really fucked up of me. Maybe I was going way, way too far. I mean, it was a certainty that what I was doing was so wrong, but hey. Cheaters get what they deserve, right?

I unbuttoned my pants and then stopped before pulling down my zipper. "Maybe you should do it," I offered.

Mom shook her head, her eyes fixated on the button I had just undone.

"If you don't get started soon, I might let my finger slip on my phone," I said. "And I might send out a text that I wouldn't need to. And that'd be a shame," I continued. "...especially if both you and Imelda got a divorce because of it. That really messes with a few things, doesn't it?" I pushed out my hips just a little to emphasize what her next step should be.

I watched mom as she breathed, as she tried to calm herself.

“Come on,” I said.

Mom obeyed.

She stepped just a little closer.

Then she sank to her knees.

Mom looked up at me with disgust. The faint blush of the alcohol and the rush of the impending humiliation forced color all through her cheeks. She was breathing hard, angry, her eyes locked on mine with all the fury she could muster.

And then her hands went up.

Mom’s face was pinched. The internal war of desperation and frustration played out through her eyes. The burning color of her cheeks. The way her hands shook as they touched me.

They pressed on the front of my pants. Her hands smoothed up, her fingers tracing up until they reached my zipper. She pulled back on the flap and pulled the zipper down, the sound cutting through the quiet noise of her friends still laughing outside.

My cock pushed up, out. She didn’t even need to adjust my underwear – my penis slipped free – was standing at attention in front of her face. Her eyes went to it, were wide with surprise, her hands on my waist already shaking from her realization of what she had to do.

Here she was. My mom. My mother. Kneeling in front of me, my cock in her face, the craziness of what I was making her do filling the air with a nervous buzz. We could still hear her friends out there. The sound of another bottle uncorking made my mom flinch – she glanced toward the locked door, and I could see her processing. If she screamed, if she came out about what was happening, then everything would fall apart. If she submitted – if she sucked on her son’s cock, my cock, then things would be... at least, quiet.

She took several deep breaths and looked my way again. Stared upward at my shaft, her eyes dragging up its length, and then to me. And then back down, watching as it twitched. Then back to me.

She could tell, with absolute certainty, that I was getting off on just watching her struggle with what I was forcing her to do. Mom pushed her lips together. Her hands clenched by her thighs. Her soft, plush thighs.

Mom’s mouth opened.

She looked up at me.

Her mouth closed. Then she said, in a dark tone, “once I find a way to...” Then her mouth opened again, and she took me in – slick, hot, and I exploded with a groan as my own mother’s mouth sucked the length of my cock down, her lips wet and slipping over me. Her first movement was slow, and I watched her eyes as she stared up at me, angry, flushed. I felt it already, the pulsing. I hadn’t cum in what felt like days and felt the rush and heat of it already moving upward. Her mouth pushed down, sucked up, the yielding heat of her tongue and mouth sending me into shivers.

I leaned my head back and took in everything that was happening.

Yeah. It was fucked. Yeah. It was crazy, and nobody in the world had or wanted the kind of insane leverage that I had over my own mother, and yeah, the woman who raised me and did my laundry and cooked my meals was now sucking on me, giving me the kind of sensation I demanded, no matter what it was she wanted.

My mom sucked, moved up and down over my cock, the slick noise of her saliva gliding over me.

I could feel it rising further, feel my cock throbbing.

Mom made a noise. A groan. A whine. Not a deep one – a high one. The kind of noise that let me know that she was tasting it – precum, dripping upward and into her mouth, onto her tongue...

She pulled off of me, a thin, silvery line of drool separating as she brought her head back and leaned down, spitting my precum out.

And I didn’t like that. “No,” I warned, “you’re going to take it.” I moved my hands up, and pushed my fingers through her hair. I could feel her resisting, but as she looked into my eyes and saw that I was serious, she opened her mouth, and her eyes flared with rage.

That was a preview of The Parent Trap Complete Bundle. To read the rest purchase the book.

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