Sleeping Mommy 2

As the water washes over him, the son's thoughts are a tumultuous storm of confusion and arousal. He can't help but replay the moment in his mind, the feel of her skin, the taste of her nipple, the sight of her bare breasts in the moonlight. He tries to scrub away the images, but they cling to him like a second skin. His cock, now flaccid and shrunken with the release of his passion, feels like a traitorous appendage. He wonders if he's always felt this way, if the sleeping pills had simply removed the final barrier between his desires and his actions. He's torn between the love and respect he has for his mother and the insatiable hunger that now gnaws at his very soul. He tries to rationalize it, telling himself that she was asleep, that she didn't know, but deep down, he knows he's crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.

The young man's mind is a whirlpool of thoughts as he dresses in his room, his eyes lingering on the door that leads to the living room where his mother still slumbers. Each step away feels like a betrayal, but the siren's call of his bed beckons him, whispering sweet nothings of rest and forgetfulness. Yet, sleep eludes him, his thoughts a tapestry of guilt and longing. He lies on his back, his hand drifting down to stroke his still semi-hard cock, the images of his mother's body playing on an endless loop in his mind's eye. He tries to banish them, to focus on the mundane details of his day, the homework that awaits him, the friends he'll see tomorrow, but they're no match for the vividness of the scene replaying in his head. Her soft moan as he touched her, the way her nipple had hardened under his teeth, the warm weight of her breast in his hand. He bites ...