I discovered the taboo games my stepson develops, and not only did I discover them, but I played them all, from start to finish, and I got all the endings.
That day I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was happy because I suspected that the money my boy was bringing home was from selling drugs, and fortunately that wasn't the case. My boy took advantage of the fact that he was already of legal age to earn money legally by developing erotic video games for adults, which seemed relatively normal to me. But when I realized that the games had strong sexual content between stepmother and stepson, I must admit that it scared me. It made my heart race and caused me a lot of anxiety.
What was going through my boy's mind? Does he really think like that? What will he think of me? Terrified and uneasy, I decided to play his games thoroughly, and it didn't take long for them to show brutal sex. Guys fucking their moms in the ass, filling them with cum, where in some strange and twisted way love predominated, but even so, there was a high degree of morally questionable behavior. Despite that, it had a strange way of heating up the situation, as if they were propitious dreams where a boy ended up fucking his own mom in all cases with different shades of love, which made me feel strangely aroused, not because of the incest, of course, but because of the scenes, dialogues, and narratives. Little by little, I lost myself in the plot, in the decisions I had to make to advance the story, and I didn't realize that I was no longer just playing my boy's games, but that with my other hand I had started to touch my crotch.
No one else was home, I knew no one was watching me, and to be honest, it's something I often do anywhere in my house. I've always had a very active sex life, and over time, my husband has lost some of his energy, so to keep myself relaxed, I usually masturbate daily at home during the day when no one else is around. That's why it didn't seem strange to me to be touching myself while playing the video games my boy had developed, because it's almost like watching porn, and there's nothing wrong with that. I used to watch porn, read erotic novels, or sometimes just use my imagination to give myself a delicious orgasm, but now I was experiencing new sensations.
Incest between stepmother and stepson seemed so tender and strangely exciting that, in a matter of moments, with three of my fingers inside my pussy, I came sitting on my own boy's desk chair, where he sat every day developing video games about boys who fucked their own mommys. And to be honest, I let my imagination run wild until huge spasms invaded me in an intense orgasm, and a somewhat strange feeling of guilt for what I had done in my own boy's room. I immediately felt paranoid imagining the eyes with which my boy was surely looking at me, and doubting how well I knew him. I gathered my courage and continued playing for the rest of the day until I finished all his games, but not before ending up in another fantastic orgasm for the second time, thanks to those strange feelings that those games provoked in me and my desire to let off steam so I could get on with my normal life despite everything I had discovered that afternoon.
In the evening, everyone arrived as usual, and I found it difficult to look my boy in the face. He acted completely normal, and I don't know if he noticed my distance because I tried to hide it very well, because I didn't really know what was wrong with me. I only knew that I felt ashamed, I felt dirty for having masturbated all afternoon in his room, I felt paranoid because I didn't know how well I knew my boy, and I still felt excited, so I encouraged my husband to go to bed early to do things that happy married couples do, but as usual, when we went to bed, he pushed me aside, saying how tired he was, and fell asleep immediately, while I was still eager to feel my husband filling me with love... Well, after he was asleep, I went to our bathroom to masturbate while taking a hot bath, unable to get what I had discovered out of my head, wishing I had a cock inside me and cumming. As soon as my boy's tender cock crossed my mind. I squeezed my breast hard while the frantic massage my fingers were giving my clitoris slowly calmed down as my sanity returned.
And after I had relaxed my great sexual tension, I couldn't help but cry. I didn't know what was wrong with me, I couldn't control what I was feeling, I felt like a bad mom, a degenerate, a dirty woman, I felt like the worst person in the world, and I also felt alone. My husband was asleep, he wasn't very concerned about me, and I had no one else to turn to for comfort but myself. With no desire to resolve anything, I went back to bed to try to continue living the happy life I had been living, knowing that it was all in my head, that no one knew what was going through my mind, and that if I didn't let it affect me, there would be nothing to fear. And that's how I fell asleep.
The next day with my boy, everything was unsettling. I couldn't relax. I was suspicious of him, and he seemed to notice. I couldn't help it. I felt uncomfortable wearing clothes as loose as I always did, and I admit that I covered myself up more than usual. My boy was no longer someone I trusted, not after what I had seen. He was developing those games, and I couldn't think of anything else. I thought it was my fault for being so shameless, and that must have awakened something animalistic in my boy that led him to these incestuous fantasies. In reality, I felt terrible, but I still loved him. He's my baby, and the internal conflict I was experiencing was overwhelming me. So, to avoid showing how I felt, I devoted myself to doing the housework while my husband was at work and my boy was at home that day.
I wanted everything to go normally, but when I was gathering the clothes for the laundry, I noticed that my black lace panties were missing, the sexy ones that my husband likes so much and that I wear from time to time to seduce him. It doesn't always work very well, but every now and then I kept trying. And it was nowhere to be found. I was sure I had left it on the bathroom counter, but it wasn't there or anywhere else. I didn't want to believe it. It must have been like his widow game. My boy had taken my thong to masturbate with, smell it, lick it, and maybe even cum on it, which made me burst into tears. I couldn't tolerate the emotion I felt. How could I not have noticed? How long had my boy been doing this? That was wrong. Fantasizing in your head is one thing, it doesn't affect anyone, but my own boy taking my underwear, his own mommy's thong!
And taking it to masturbate with is frankly too much. I had to do something, I had to stop him and not let this escalate any further, so I calmed my crying with a glass of water and decided to confront him. I already knew how. I was very embarrassed, but it was the right thing to do. It was the only way to have a reason to bring up the subject. So, without warning, I went to my boy's room with a domineering attitude and took him out of his room with the excuse that his bedroom was disgustingly dirty and I was going to clean it. With a little luck, I would find my thong there, which would give me the opportunity to talk to my boy about it and offer him the help he needed to forget those incestuous thoughts he had in his head and focus on a healthier sexuality.
With a clearer head, I started to thoroughly clean my boy's bedroom, although to be honest, a part of me, a part hidden deep inside me, wanted to find my black thong among his things. It turned me on to think of finding it, perhaps covered in semen, in my own boy's bedroom, maybe with semen still warm... Those words were voices spinning around in my head, but I tried to ignore them.
I didn't find anything. I looked everywhere, left everything very clean, and found nothing. I pretended not to notice and continued cleaning the house, and after a while I found my thong among my things in my bedroom. I immediately remembered when I had left it there, which made me feel very guilty and terribly wrong. I immediately doubted my boy. I thought he was the protagonist of one of his games and that he used my underwear to masturbate, and I couldn't have been more wrong. It made me feel terrible, my eyes filled with tears for distrusting my own boy like that, but this time I controlled myself. I am the housewife, this is my kingdom, and I must take control. I can't cry over these things, and if there's something I have to do, I do it, and I shouldn't feel guilty for trying to be a good mom... I was thinking about that when my boy approached me from a distance, seeing that I wasn't my usual self, which made him worry, so he came to find me to see if I was okay.
When I looked into his eyes, I could see my boy again. Even though he was already grown up, I could still see my baby in him. I told him I was fine and to give me a hug. I needed to feel that we still loved each other as mom and son, and that my tears were nothing more than a misunderstanding, because what matters is that we love each other. Although he didn't understand much, I gave him a big hug that helped calm me down. At that moment, I realized that it wasn't like that for my boy, because it wasn't very common for us to hug each other like that, and my hug was so effusive and tight that I later realized that I was pressing my breasts hard against my baby boy's chest, who wasn't so little anymore. My boy was already quite big. I could feel him firm and athletic, at 18 years old. and although he seemed a little uncomfortable with the hug, I didn't care anymore. In fact, I thought I had given the matter too much thought and that if I had something to talk to my boy about, I should do it now. So, stepping away from him, I told him I needed to talk to him and, showing the most discreet calm in the world, I told him that I knew about his games and that I had played them all.
My boy turned white, but before he could get any more scared, I told him that I still respected him, that I understood that what he was doing was fiction and that reassured me. It also reassured me that he wasn't a drug dealer or gay with a degenerate sugar daddy who gave him money for sex. I told him those were my biggest fears, and he laughed when I said that, which also relaxed the atmosphere, which was still a bit tense.
He didn't talk much, which I found reasonable. The subject was actually delicate, so I had to show maturity and approach the subject delicately so as not to traumatize my baby. Then he hurried up and asked me, "Did you like what you played?" I was so nervous that I couldn't help but laugh a little, and I told him he was talented, but that it all seemed a bit fake, as if he sometimes made things up too much or didn't give enough detail. I asked him if he based it on his own experiences, which he denied embarrassedly, letting me know that he was still a virgin. Surprised, I asked him why, didn't he have any female friends his age? He immediately replied that they didn't like them, neither young girls nor flat-chested girls, neither him nor his fans. They liked mature, empowered women, and unfortunately, he hadn't had the opportunity to meet a woman like that yet.
I clearly understood why. He still looked very young, and a mature woman would surely find him too small or still see him as a child. He told me that this had complicated things for him, that he had had to rely on what he developed and saw on the internet, but that it was all basically fiction. That made me feel tender and calm. I was already thinking that my boy was a degenerate, and now I see that he's just a shy boy, and of course he has a sexuality that's normal for his age, which makes me happy, and I couldn't hide my smile even though he was telling me about his inexperience with a certain sadness and embarrassment.
So, out of the love I have for him, I decided to help him, and I told him so, but first I made it clear that incest is wrong, so I would think of someone else, another person, to help us. My boy was happy and thanked me very much for not scolding him and for supporting him, but when I realized that I might have gone too far and that perhaps it would have been better to ignore the subject, I felt that I had already gone too far and couldn't let my boy down, so I started thinking about how to get out of this situation. I thought about a prostitute, but I was afraid to take someone like that to my baby boy. I told him that he could catch a disease from a woman like that. It disgusted me to send my little boy to those filthy women, or rather, since my baby is young, a virgin, and submissive, a witch of a whore might fall in love with him and suck his blood like a leech and end up killing him. He couldn't just have any help, it had to be someone trustworthy, responsible, and with good intentions. In the end, I would be putting my boy in their hands, and although perhaps his father should have done this, in these modern times I understood that it was up to me to do it, and as a mature woman, I am willing to help my boy's sexual development in the best way possible.
I called my younger sister, who is a little younger than me and looks a lot like me: blonde, very voluptuous, with large breasts and wide hips, which was more or less how my boy described the characters in his games, so I thought she could help me. But when I started to explain the matter, I was embarrassed to talk to her about incest. I told her everything: the erotic visual novels, the mature female protagonists, the sex scenes, and everything, but nothing about incest, because at that moment I assumed it wasn't that important. She responded with a resounding no, telling me that it was my responsibility to educate my baby boy about sex, and that I shouldn't be ashamed, that I was the person who loved him most and that I would know how to educate my boy. She started lecturing me, and I saw her point, well, some of it. He's my boy, I shouldn't leave this matter in someone else's hands. I could help him in an educational way. Besides, it's the human body; we shouldn't be ashamed of it. And of course, my sister was very good at talking to people and convincing them, so after talking to her for a while, I felt really motivated to take on the task myself and teach my boy. The reason was very noble: it would help his human development and the development of his video games, perhaps as an inspiring muse. That made me feel beautiful, even more so with all the compliments my sister had given me. She knew how to lift my spirits, so after talking to her and feeling clearer, I decided to talk to my baby boy to help him with his issue.
I waited for the right moment when we were alone and went to my boy to talk about the issue we had pending. He looked excited, his eyes wide as he listened attentively to what I was saying. I told him about the conversation I had had with my sister, and I also told him that I hadn't been able to tell my sister about the incest, but that we could ignore that issue and focus on what we could actually do. Jokingly, I told him that I would be the Rose from Titanic, so he could discover what a woman is with me, always in a respectful tone, without forgetting that I am his mommy and that this is something educational... But as I explained the matter to him, my body felt strangely excited. I think I also blushed because my temperature rose and I felt hot, which led me to take off the vest I was wearing, leaving me in a strappy top with a generous neckline.
I could tell that my boy, without thinking, dragged his gaze from my eyes to my breasts, this time without fear, his cheeks flushed and his breathing obviously agitated, which made me feel attractive, so I said, "Go get something to draw..." But he replied that he didn't draw, that he made characters on the computer, but that his games weren't just about the appearance of a beautiful MILF, that there was more to it than that. Not wanting to seem ignorant, I told him that of course, that I was joking, that I knew what he did and that I should see everything related to it, etc. My boy asked me if he could take pictures of me, but I refused categorically. I didn't want any evidence that could compromise us, and I also asked for absolute discretion and that we keep this as the biggest secret we could have between mom and son, something sacred, and that we not tell anyone in the world, to which he agreed without hesitation.
To be continued...
I was super nervous and excited--I didn't really know what we were about to do, but it was obviously something intimate, something sexual between a mother and her little boy. I remembered that day I jerked off in his room while playing his games, and now, being alone with my little one, that same weird itch came creeping back. The kind that makes me wanna touch myself, and without even doing anything, I could already feel myself getting a little wet. But I tried not to think about that. I was already in too deep, and I didn't wanna get distracted. All that mattered now was giving it my all to help my boy in whatever way I could.
He brought a notebook to take notes and set it aside. I, unsure what to do, decided to give him free rein--let him express himself, always under my watch. If I felt uncomfortable or thought things were getting out of line, I'd say so immediately and put a stop to it. But secretly? I was so curious about his initiative. It turned me on. I wanted to see what he'd do, how he'd use me to learn about sex and make his games feel more realistic. Though if I'm being honest... I didn't really know if 'teaching him' was what I wanted, or if it was just an excuse. An excuse to be with the little man of the house... my baby.
I felt guilty for judging him, for telling him I could teach him and help him with this... because I'm his mom. I'm not some girl who should be in this situation with him. I'm supposed to be the mature one here, the one who sets boundaries--but I can't even control myself. And now here's my boy, standing in front of me, blushing like a tomato, ready to do God-knows-what to the woman who raised him. Things no son should ever do to his mother.
I was deep in my internal conflict, about to back out and tell my boy we should stop right there--when he beat me to it. With a focused expression, he raised his hand and pressed his index finger against my lips. At first I thought he just wanted to silence me, to stop my hesitation. But he left his finger there, resting on my lips... not just to hush me, but because he wanted to touch me. To touch my lips--his mother's lips. It felt so innocent, and I loved the tenderness of his touch.
Honestly, I'd assumed the first thing my boy would want was for me to show him my tits, like in one of his games. The thought terrified and excited me at the same time. Obviously I wouldn't give him my ass after showing my breasts-- I'm not crazy enough to let my little boy subject me to dirty anal sex. If it came to that, I was determined to stop him... though I wasn't entirely sure when. But instead of going for my tits, he went straight for my lips. And yeah, it made me proud--I even found it kinda romantic.
The first impression shattered the moment my little boy said, "Mommy, open your mouth." Without waiting, he slid his finger inside as I obeyed on reflex--no thought, just instant regret for what we were doing. But we'd only just begun, and I couldn't shut down my boy's first move. It'd make him nervous, kill his confidence--and if we'd already gone this far, I wasn't about to wreck it all over hesitation. No. I needed to be patient... let this play out.
My mind drifted back to his games, and I caught myself thinking, Well... at least he's not asking for a golden shower... and that made me feel a happy and calm. There was something so innocent about the way he did it that my heart softened again--even as his finger kept moving inside my mouth, exploring, playing with my tongue, sliding from one side to the other before tracing the wet walls of my cheeks. He'd almost pull out, then push back in, over and over, his finger fucking my mouth with a rhythm that started clumsy... until it wasn't.
When my little boy started mimicking fucking my mouth with his finger, it startled me all over again. What he was doing to me--God--it stirred up so many mixed feelings. One second, I'd look at him with overwhelming tenderness, and the next, he'd seem almost... depraved. But he was my little one. Before all these games, I'd only ever seen him with pure, boundless love--and I knew that was real. It had always been real, since he was a baby.
Now, though? Now, with his fingers sliding in and out of my mouth like some crude imitation of a blowjob, I was equal parts flustered and... into it. I'd already surrendered to his game, and part of me even felt proud that I could still be useful to him. Even if it meant drooling like crazy, spit dripping down my chin, obscene wet noises filling the room every time his fingers pushed deep.
I'll admit I let myself go--like when you're getting a massage and just zone out. In the end, that's all this was: a weird little massage, nothing more. And just as I started normalizing it, convincing myself This isn't so bad, my boy pinched my tongue between his thumb and index finger, pulling it out of my mouth. Strings of my saliva dripped onto his hand. Then, the little devil didn't even warn me--he leaned in, stuck out his tongue, and in one slow swipe licked the entire length of mine, stealing my spit into his mouth. A thick, shiny thread clung between our tongues when he finally pulled away.
I felt violated, used, and scared. Without thinking, I shoved him aside and pulled away, telling him that was enough. 'But Mom--' He tried to say something, but I cut him off. 'Enough for today. I'm behind on chores, and you have homework.' My clever little boy, always one step ahead, claimed he'd already finished everything. As I hurried out of the room, I lied--'I need to prep the house for your dad'--and left him there alone.
My mind was a warzone after everything we'd done. I tried to bury it under the most aggressive cleaning spree I'd ever had.
That night, I played my part perfectly when my husband got home. He was distracted by some juicy workplace gossip, which conveniently stole the spotlight. But even though I avoided looking at my boy, shame prickled under my skin--nervous, restless. Still, my husband demanded so much attention that ignoring my little boy that evening was easy.
I couldn't stop thinking about my little boy - about his sexually-charged games, how I'd tried to help him, and how everything went so wrong. I thought showing him a breast would be enough, but he didn't even glance at my chest - and I'd put on such a pretty bra too. But what he actually did... it threw me completely off balance. It made me feel... ugh... It was disgusting...
He is and always will be my baby boy, and I love him, but the atmosphere between us had changed. When the new week began and we were alone in the house again, I could no longer avoid his glances or our conversations. That's how, during breakfast with his head bowed and avoiding eye contact, he apologized - saying he never meant to make me feel bad and that he deeply regretted everything. His voice was nervous and slightly broken, which made me feel awful. My heart shattered seeing how I'd pushed him away and treated him like some random person.
I told him he hadn't done anything that terrible--it wasn't right, though. He should've asked me first so I could guide him and explain what was appropriate. I also said no woman wants her first intimate experience to be. He needed to learn empathy and emotional intelligence.
But halfway through my lecture, I noticed his obvious innocent as he watched me with this anguished expression. Pausing, I asked if he understood and agreed with what I was saying. He said he saw my point, and then shared his perspective with me.
Here's the thing - when I told him I'd help him, I was basically thinking out loud. My mind went to a prostitute first, which I immediately dismissed, and kept brainstorming the best possible plan while my boy listened intently to every word. So I left to consult my sister about the idea, but he thought I was actually looking for alternatives to the prostitute I'd mentioned (and warned him against for safety reasons). And then I came back to play the role myself - his own mother, the woman who raised him, standing there shamelessly offering to teach her son about sex. Which, understandably, confused the hell out of him.
He told me he couldn't understand why his own mother would want to replace a prostitute's job, but he didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so he downplayed it and played along. That afternoon together, he deliberately avoided focusing on my ample breasts because he didn't want me to think he was acting like in his games where boys obsess over anal sex with their mothers. The poor kid was terrified I'd think badly of him - the idea of asking his mother to undress for him horrified him. So he focused on something 'healthier' that genuinely intrigued him: the texture of a mature woman's skin, specifically her lips... and tongue... And the lick had been nothing more than an impulse that my little one was very sorry for.
It was obvious my sweet baby had never kissed before. With all the freedom and trust I'd given him, he went straight to exploring the texture of my lips--touching them tentatively before confessing it made him dizzy, his heart racing. Then, with no malice but burning curiosity, he went further: slipping fingers into my mouth to play with my tongue.
He admitted he'd gotten hard without meaning to--said he'd never felt anything like it, how much he loved my warmth, my softness, the intimacy of my wetness... until suddenly he remembered our talk about whores. He'd read online that whores don't kiss on the mouth (God knows where he got that), and in his own twisted little way, he wanted to prove I wasn't some cheap replacement. So he licked my tongue, blurring the lines between whore and client, even mother and son, leaving us exactly where I'd said we'd be: something educational.
I was stunned by how deeply he'd thought it through. All my doubts melted away--my little one was my angel again, my baby. We hugged it out, promising better communication from now on. When he asked if we'd have another 'study session,' I said yes without thinking, not wanting to ruin the fragile peace we'd found... though I made him wait till tomorrow.
And just like that, my own words locked me into more of these experiences with my little boy--ones that left me feeling cherished, desired, respected... and completely unsettled.
To be continued...