The house was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge when I slipped the powder into her wine. She never noticed. Mom always drank the same cheap red after dinner, and tonight I made sure the dose was just right. She was already tipsy from the first glass, laughing too loud at some dumb show on TV. By the time she finished the second, her words were slurring and her eyelids were heavy.
I helped her to the couch like the good son. “You okay, Mom?” I asked, voice steady even though my cock was already throbbing in my jeans. She mumbled something about being tired and let me ease her down. Her robe slipped open a little, showing the soft swell of her tits. I stared. She didn’t notice.
Ten minutes later she was out. Breathing slow and deep, head lolled to the side. I stood over her, heart pounding. This was the line I’d been thinking about for months. I reached down and pulled the robe all the way open. No bra. Her nipples were dark and soft. I cupped one tit, squeezed. Warm and heavy in my hand. She didn’t move.
I tugged her panties down her thick thighs. Her pussy was shaved smooth, lips already a little parted. I ran two fingers along her slit and found her wet. Not from anything I’d done yet—just how she always got after wine. I pushed one finger inside. Tight, hot, and she stayed limp. Perfect.
I stripped fast, cock springing free, already leaking. I climbed onto the couch between her legs and rubbed the head of my dick up and down her pussy. She was slick enough. I pushed in slow, watching her face. Nothing. Just that steady breathing. Inch by inch I sank into my own mother’s cunt. When I bottomed out I groaned loud. She was so fucking tight.
I started fucking her. Hard. The couch creaked under us. Her tits bounced with every thrust. I grabbed them, pinched her nipples, used her body like it was mine to take. Because tonight it was. I leaned down and sucked one nipple into my mouth, biting just enough to leave a mark she’d wonder about tomorrow. She stayed unconscious, mouth slack, drool at the corner of her lips.
I flipped her over. Her ass was round and soft. I spread her cheeks and spit on her asshole, then lined up and shoved back into her pussy from behind. Deeper this way. I pounded her, skin slapping skin, the wet sound of her cunt filling the room. Every thrust made her body jerk forward. I reached under and rubbed her clit hard, feeling her get wetter even though she wasn’t awake to feel it.
“Fuck, Mom,” I grunted. “Your pussy feels so good.” I slapped her ass, left a red handprint. She didn’t wake. I kept going until my balls tightened. I pulled out at the last second and stroked once, twice, then shot thick ropes across her ass and lower back. Some landed on her robe. I smeared it in with my cock, marking her.
She stirred a little when I was done. I froze. But she just mumbled and went still again. I cleaned her up roughly with a towel, pulled her panties back on, closed the robe. By morning she’d think she’d just had too much to drink.
The next night I did it again. Same dose. Same wine. This time I got her on her knees on the floor before she passed out completely. I fucked her mouth while she was still half-aware, sliding my cock between her lips. She made a weak sound but didn’t fight. I held her head and used her throat until I came down it. She swallowed on reflex.
After that it became our secret routine. She never said anything, but sometimes I’d catch her looking at me different. Like she knew something had changed but couldn’t place it. I kept dosing her. Kept taking what I wanted. Her pussy, her mouth, even her ass one night when I worked two fingers in first and then pushed my cock into that tight hole while she lay limp on her stomach. She took it all without a sound.
Every time I finished inside her or on her I felt that same dark rush. She was mine when she was like that. No arguments, no guilt, just raw need and the wet sound of her body being used. I’d clean her up, tuck her in, and wait for the next night.
By the end of the month she was drinking the wine without asking what was in it. She’d smile at me across the table, a little hazy already, and I’d smile back. We both knew what was coming. I’d wait until she was gone, then I’d take her again—hard, deep, and exactly how I liked it. No words needed. Just the drug, the dark, and my cock buried in the one place it never should have gone.
