I hit record on my phone and set it on the nightstand, the red light blinking like a warning I ignored every single time. Moms bedroom door was already cracked open, the way it had been for weeks now. She was waiting, just like always, sitting on the edge of her bed in that thin silk robe that barely covered the tops of her thighs.
Close the door behind you, she said, her voice low and already husky. I did, then walked over and knelt between her legs the way she liked. My hands slid up her smooth calves, pushing the robe higher until I could see the dark triangle of hair between her thighs. She wasnt wearing anything underneath.
Tell them what youre doing, she whispered, nodding at the phone. That was the game. We recorded these for ourselves, but the thrill came from pretending other people were listening.
Im spreading your legs, I said into the quiet room, my voice rough. Your pussys already wet. I can see it glistening. My fingers traced her outer lips, parting them slowly so the mic would catch every slick sound. Mom let out a soft moan and leaned back on her elbows, robe falling open completely. Her tits were full and heavy, nipples tight. I leaned in and licked a slow stripe up her slit, tasting her salt and heat.
Fuck, baby, she breathed. Tell them how I taste.
She tastes like shes been thinking about this all day, I said louder, for the recording. Sweet and ready. Im sucking on her clit now, and shes pushing her hips against my mouth. Moms fingers threaded through my hair, holding me there while I worked two fingers inside her. She was tight and hot, clenching around me with every pull of my lips.
We didnt rush.
That was the point of the audio. We let the sounds build: the wet slide of my tongue, her breathy gasps, the creak of the bed when she finally pulled me up and shoved my sweats down. My cock sprang free, already leaking. She wrapped her hand around it and stroked once, twice, smearing the precum down the shaft.
Tell them how hard you are for your mother, she ordered, voice shaking.
Im so fucking hard it hurts, I growled into the mic. Shes stroking me right now, and Im about to push inside her. She wants it recorded. Wants everyone to hear how wet she gets when her son fucks her.
Mom lay back and spread wider. I climbed over her, lining up and sinking in with one long thrust. We both groaned at the same time, the sound raw and perfect for the recording. I started moving, deep and steady, the headboard tapping the wall in rhythm. Every thrust made her tits bounce and pulled another filthy noise from her throat.
Harder, she panted. Make it loud for them. So I did, slamming into her until the slap of skin on skin filled the room. She reached down and rubbed her clit in fast circles, getting louder with every stroke. Thats it, baby. Fill me up. Come inside your mom while they listen.
I lasted longer than I thought I would, but when she started clenching and crying out, I lost it. I buried myself deep and came hard, pulse after pulse, the wet sounds of it mixing with her moans. We stayed locked together, breathing heavy, letting the phone catch every aftershock and soft whimper.
Later, after I stopped the recording, she pulled me down beside her and kissed my forehead. Well listen to it tomorrow night, she murmured. Together.
I nodded, already hard again at the thought. The audio files were stacking up in a hidden folder, each one dirtier than the last. And every time we made a new one, it felt less like pretending and more like the only thing that made sense.
