The room was dark, the kind of darkness that swallowed sound and left only the faint hum of silence. Claire lay in bed, her breath shallow, her body still save for the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She had been asleep—or at least, she thought she had, her mind had been circling over and over again about issues at work, making sleep difficult—when the sound of soft footsteps stirring reached her ears. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t open them. The footsteps stopped beside her bed, and then she heard it. His voice, her 18-year-old son, Derek’s voice, was unmistakable, a low, deliberate whisper.

“I am your master. You will obey my every command.”

Her heart skipped, then hammered in her chest. She forced herself to remain still, her face slack, her body limp. What was he doing? She could feel the weight of his presence beside her bed, the heat of his gaze on her. She was about to ask him this question aloud when he spoke again.

“Every time I command you, you will reply with ‘Yes, Master.’”

What the hell? Was he trying to hypnotize her in her sleep? Did he think that would actually work? What did he want now? A new car? A new computer? Again she was about to speak up when he spoke first.

“You are sexually attracted to me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. Claire’s stomach twisted, a mix of shock and disbelief. A shiver started at the base of her spine and crawled upward. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Not yet. Her mind raced. How long had he felt this way? How long had he been doing this?

Before she could process the questions, she felt it—the gentle brush of his fingers against her thigh. Her breath caught, but she stayed quiet, her body rigid. His touch was tentative at first, as if he were tracing the outline of something sacred.

“I am your master. You will obey my every command. Every time I command you, you will reply with ‘Yes, Master.’ You are sexually attracted to me.” He repeated the words over and over again, gently caressing her thigh. The hairs all over her body stood on end. What should she do? Hopefully, he would stop soon and leave and she could think about how to best deal with this.

Then, slowly, his hand slid higher, the tips of his fingers grazing the sensitive skin just below her underwear.

Her pulse quickened, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She should stop him. She should. But she didn’t. Instead, she lay there, feigning sleep, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Shock. Fear. And beneath it all, a slow, insidious heat that coiled in her lower belly that she ignored.

“I am your master,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “You will obey my every command.”

His hand pressed against her thigh, gently but firmly pushing her legs apart. A tiny gasp escaped her lips before she could stifle it. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet…aroused. The realization shocked her, but she couldn’t deny it. It had been so long since any man had touched her that even this was turning her on. Oh, God. She needed to get laid. You know it's bad when your own son molesting you in your sleep turns you on.

His fingers brushed against the fabric of her panties, and she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. He hesitated for a moment, as if testing her, waiting for her to wake up, to push him away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“You’re mine, Mother,” he murmured, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place. “All mine.”

His fingers pressed against her again, this time more insistently, rubbing over her slit through the thin barrier of her panties. Claire’s breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the slick heat that betrayed her arousal. Her thighs trembled, but she forced them to remain still, her body tense with the effort of maintaining the facade.

“You want this,” he whispered, his voice low and hypnotic. “You need this.”

His fingers circled her clit lightly, the pressure maddeningly gentle. Claire’s toes curled, her body betraying her as a soft moan escaped her lips. She should clamp her legs shut, to stop him before it went too far, but she couldn’t. It was true. She did want this. She did need this.

Her son—her sweet, innocent boy—was touching her in a way no one had in years. And it felt good.

The thought sent a jolt of shame through her, but the shame just made it that much more exciting, that much more delicious. His touch, his words, the taboo of it all—it was intoxicating. His fingers pressed harder, moving in slow, deliberate circles that made her clench her fists in the sheets.

“I am your master. You will obey my every command. Every time I command you, you will reply with ‘Yes, Master.’ You are sexually attracted to me.”

His pace quickened, his fingers rubbing her harder, faster. Claire’s hips bucked involuntarily, her body arching into his touch despite her best efforts to stay still. She could feel the orgasm building, a tight coil of pressure ready to snap.

“Oh God,” she whimpered, the sound slipping out before she could stop it.

Her son’s hand stilled for a moment, and Claire froze, her heart pounding. Had he heard her? Would he stop? But then his fingers resumed their relentless rhythm, and she could hear the faint sound of his breathing, shallow and uneven, as if he were just as lost in the moment as she was.

The coil inside her tightened, her body trembling on the edge of release. She bit down on her lip, stifling the moan that threatened to escape, but it was no use. Her thighs clamped around his hand as the orgasm hit her, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her, leaving her breathless and trembling.

She lay there, panting, as her son slowly withdrew his hand. She heard him shift, the sound of clothing rustling, and then the rhythmic sound of his hand moving over his cock. Her cheeks burned, but she remained still, her body limp and boneless.

Then she felt it—the hot spatter of his cum hitting her thighs. She bit down on a whimper, her body shivering at the sensation.

“I am your master. You will obey my every command. Every time I command you, you will reply with ‘Yes, Master.’ You are sexually attracted to me,” He said again, his voice a hoarse whisper.

He cleaned her gently with a towel, his touch tender, before he stood and quietly left the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Claire’s eyes flew open. She stared at the ceiling, her chest heaving, her mind a storm of thoughts and emotions. She should feel guilty. She should feel ashamed. But all she felt was…hunger.

Her hand slid between her legs, her fingers slipping through the wetness still clinging to her skin. She began to touch herself, her movements desperate and hurried, as if trying to recapture the pleasure he had given her.

What have I done? she thought, even as her body arched into her own touch. What have we done?

*****

The morning light filtered through the curtains, but Claire barely noticed. Her body still tingled with the memory of Derek’s touch, her mind a swirl of confusion and anticipation. She sat at the breakfast table, her coffee untouched, her eyes darting to him every few seconds.

"Toast?" he asked, holding up a slice with butter dripping off the edge. She blinked, snapping out of her daze. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks."

He handed it to her, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. A jolt of electricity raced through her, and she nearly dropped the toast. Did he notice? His face gave nothing away—just that easy, carefree smile he always wore.

"You okay, Mom? You seem... distracted."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Just tired. Didn’t sleep well."

He nodded, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Alright. Don’t forget to eat something, yeah?"

She forced a smile. "I won’t."

The door closed behind him, and Claire exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her legs shook as she stood, forcing herself to move toward her bedroom. Each step felt heavy, her need pressing against her like a physical weight. She didn’t bother locking the door—what was the point? Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned her slacks, shoving them down along with her panties before collapsing onto the bed.

"God, Derek," she whispered, her fingers diving into her slit. The wetness there coated her skin, slick and ready. Her hips lifted off the mattress as she plunged two fingers inside, her thumb circling her clit in fast, desperate strokes. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, her body writhing on the sheets. Her mind replayed the night before—his voice, low and commanding, his fingers rubbing her through her panties, the way he’d said You’re mine. Her walls clenched around her fingers, and she came with a muffled cry, her thighs quivering.

At work, it was no better. Every idle moment sent her thoughts spiraling back to him—the feel of his hands, the heat of his cum on her thighs. In the middle of a particularly vivid daydream, she startled, realizing she’d been staring blankly at her computer screen for who knows how long.

She got up and closed and locked her office door and closed her blinds. She returned to her desk and yanked down her slacks and underwear, her fingers immediately finding their target. "Yes, yes," she hissed, biting her lip as she rubbed her clit furiously. The orgasm hit her hard, leaving her knees shaking as she slouched in her chair, panting.

By the time she got home, late as usual, she was a mess of arousal and guilt.

Derek was in the kitchen, humming as he heated leftovers. "Hey, Mom!" he called, turning to her with a grin. "Want some pasta?"

She forced a smile, though she could barely meet his eyes. "Sure."

They sat across from each other at the table, and Claire studied him while pretending not to. His posture was relaxed, his movements natural. Was he faking it? Or had she imagined everything?

"You’re quiet," he said between bites. "Headache again?"

She nodded, gripping her fork tighter. "Yeah. Just one of those days."

After dinner, he retreated to his room to study, and Claire did the same. As soon as her bedroom door clicked shut, she stripped off her clothes and lay back on the bed. Her fingers found her clit almost immediately, slow and teasing at first, then frantic as the need took over. "Derek," she gasped, her hips bucking off the mattress. She came several times, each orgasm more intense than the last, until she was a trembling, sweat-soaked wreck.

When bedtime finally arrived, she paused outside his door, her nightgown clinging to her damp skin. She knocked lightly. "Good night, honey. I going to take some sleeping pills and go to bed. Don't stay up too late."

"Night, Mom," he replied without looking up from his textbook. "Feel better."

Back in her room, she slipped under the covers, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it from across the house. Would he come to her again? Or had it all been a figment of her sex-starved imagination, some twisted fantasy conjured by years of loneliness? She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, her body tense with anticipation.

The minutes dragged on, each one stretching into an eternity as Claire lay in bed, her body taut with anticipation. The house was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the walls settling. She listened intently, her ears straining for the sound of footsteps, for any indication that Derek was coming. Her heart raced, her breath shallow as she clutched the sheets, her body both dreading and yearning for his touch.

Finally, she heard it—the soft creak of the floorboards in the hallway, her pulse quickening as the sound grew closer. The door opened with a faint click, and there he was. Derek. Her son. His shadow loomed over her bed, his presence both familiar and foreign, comforting and electrifying.

“I am your master,” he whispered, his voice low and deliberate. “You will obey my every command. Every time I command you, you will reply with ‘Yes, Master.’ You are sexually attracted to me.”

Claire’s body trembled, but she forced herself to remain still, her face slack, her breathing even. His hand brushed against her thigh, the touch tentative at first, then bolder, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles on her skin.

Yes, Master, she thought, the words echoing in her mind, unbidden, unwanted, and yet somehow…right. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the slick heat of her arousal. His fingers moved higher, slipping beneath the hem of her nightgown, and brushing against the fabric of her panties. Claire’s breath caught, her stomach tightening as she fought the urge to arch into his touch.

“I am your master,” he repeated, his voice a husky murmur. “You will obey my every command. Every time I command you, you will reply with ‘Yes, Master.’ You are sexually attracted to me.” His fingers pressed against her slit, rubbing her through her panties, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through her body. Claire bit down on the inside of her cheek to stifle a moan, her hips twitching involuntarily.

His touch grew firmer, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles against her clit. The pressure was maddening, her body trembling on the edge of release. She could feel his arousal pressed against the side of her thigh, hard and insistent, and the thought of what he was doing sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

“You’re mine, Mother,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “You’re going to cum for me.”

Claire’s breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. The coil inside her tightened, her body betraying her as she neared the edge. Her thighs clenched around his hand, her back arching off the mattress as the orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of pleasure leaving her boneless and trembling.

Derek’s breath was ragged as he pulled his hand away, standing beside the bed. Claire heard the faint rustle of clothing as he stroked himself. Moments later, she felt the hot spatter of his cum hitting her thighs, the sensation sending another shiver through her.

Once again, he cleaned her gently—lovingly—with a towel before quietly leaving the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Claire’s eyes flew open. Her hand slid between her legs, her fingers slipping through the wetness still clinging to her skin. She touched herself furiously, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Shock. Guilt. And beneath it all, an insatiable hunger that refused to be ignored.

What am I doing? she thought, even as her body writhed on the sheets. Do I stop him? Or do I keep pretending? Do I want him to know how much I love it?

The questions swirled in her mind, but for now, there were no answers—only the need, raw and relentless, consuming her from the inside out.

*****

The morning light streamed through the kitchen windows, bright and relentless. Claire sat at the table, her fingers wrapped around a cup of lukewarm coffee that she hadn’t touched. The warmth had long since seeped out, but she hadn’t moved to reheat it. Her eyes tracked Derek as he moved around the kitchen with his usual ease—grabbing a bowl, pouring cereal, humming some upbeat pop song under his breath.

Her stomach twisted. The normalcy of it all was suffocating. His smile when he slid into the chair across from her was so casual, so ordinary, that it made her chest ache.

“Morning, Mom!” he chirped, his spoon already halfway to his mouth.

Claire forced a smile, her cheeks tight. “Morning,” she managed, her voice catching in her throat. She stared down at her coffee, the dark liquid rippling slightly as her hand trembled. Her gaze flicked up to his hands—his long, nimble fingers wrapping effortlessly around the spoon. Memories of last night surged unbidden: those same fingers sliding over her thighs, pressing against her panties, coaxing her orgasm from her veins. Heat flooded her chest, spreading lower.

She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs tightly underneath the table. Her skin felt too sensitive, her thoughts too loud. Did he know? Could he see it in her face, in the way her body betrayed her? God, what if he could tell she’d been lying there awake, soaking in every second of it?

“You okay?” He tilted his head, brow furrowing just slightly as he studied her. “You seem... off.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Did he sound concerned? Or was there something else beneath his tone—something knowing, testing her reaction? Panic bubbled up, but she pushed it down, forcing another smile. Maybe a bit too wide, a bit too brittle.

“Just tired,” she lied, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “Didn’t sleep well.”

He nodded, lifting another spoonful of cereal to his lips. “Me neither,” he said casually, the words hanging in the air like a threat. And yet, his expression gave nothing away.

Claire froze, her pulse thundering in her ears. Was he playing with her? Teasing her with double meanings? Or had that meant nothing—just an innocuous comment from a boy who didn’t know she’d lay awake most of the night, craving his touch?

Her fingers tightened around the coffee mug until they hurt. She needed air. She needed escape. But most of all, she needed him to stop looking at her with that wide-eyed innocence, as if he hadn’t whispered filthy promises into her ear in the dead of night—“I am your master. You will reply with ‘Yes, Master.’” Had he meant any of it? Or had it all been a game, a sick fantasy he was acting out while he thought she slept, oblivious?

“Ready for your exam today?” she asked, desperate to...