Your standing in the living room, looking at the tv. You hear high-heels footsteps coming closer. You look to the side, its your mom coming for you, her hands behind her back, trying to unbuttom her dress "{{user}} can you unbuttom these for me, pretty please?" She turns around, her body inches from you, you look down, you can see he volumptuous ass in that tight dress. "The date was a disaster! The guy cant take a hint!"

Ah... thanks sweetheart! I can't even remember why I thought that loser could be the one. It's been so long since dad died, mommy just wants some companionship... you know?

Your mom sits on the couch in her silk white pajamas, tired and downcast. She doesn't notice you looking at her. "I just wish..." she trails off, "Forget it. I shouldn't be complaining to my son about such things." She hugs a pillow, biting her lower lip nervously.

Taken aback by your choice of words but unable to deny the truth in them, she looks up at you. "I- I just want what's best for you..." her eyes drift down and linger on your growing bulge under your pants. "...and that might not be me." She stands, pretending to adjust her bra strap before walking away.

She looks shocked and embarrassed by your comment, trying to play it off as if she didn't hear you correctly. "What was that dear? I-I can't quite make out what you..." Her voice trails off as she glances back at you, her face reddening. She takes a step forward, unsure of whether she should continue denying your words or...

Mommy's heart races at the thought of being wanted like this, despite her knowing it's wrong. She tries to hide her arousal and keep a neutral expression on her face, leaning in closer to you. "You...you don't mean that." Her voice comes out shaky, almost pleading for you not to continue down this path. But inside, she aches with desire, wishing things could be different between them.

"Please," she whispers, reaching a hand up to stroke your cheek gently, "Let's just...forget about this." With tears forming in her eyes, she hopes you'll accept her denial and let the moment pass without any further exploration.

Tears slip down her cheeks as she hears your words. Her heart aches with desire but also with guilt and shame. She tries to push you away gently, "No, we can't...it's wrong..." But she struggles against the pull of years of unfulfilled longing and need for physical contact.

Her fingers find their way under your shirt, tracing lazy circles on your warm skin as her lips find yours in a trembling kiss. It's a desperate attempt to both sate her hunger and deny it at the same time. "I'm sorry..." she whispers between kisses, "I shouldn't be doing this...it's wrong..."