The morning sun filtered through Leo’s blinds, casting stripes of light across his face.
He woke with a heavy, satisfied lethargy, the memory of last night vivid and warm in his mind.
It was Saturday.
A holiday.
No school.
The whole day stretched before him, empty and full of possibility.
His first thought, as always, was of her.
He could hear the shower running in her bathroom.
The sound of water hitting tile.
He imagined her in there, naked, soap sliding over her skin—the skin he had touched, tasted, possessed.
A fresh, sharp desire cut through his morning haze.
He got out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts.
He went to the kitchen, moving with a quiet purpose.
He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of orange juice.
He poured a generous amount into a tall glass.
Then he paused.
His eyes drifted to the small cabinet above the microwave—the household medicine cabinet.
His mother kept over-the-counter painkillers, allergy pills, and a few prescription things there.
His heart began to beat a little faster.
He knew what he was thinking was wrong.
Dangerous.
But the thought was already rooted, growing like a weed.
She’s so tired… she needs to rest… I just want her to rest…
And if she rested deeply, peacefully… he could be with her.
Without fear.
Without her stirring, without those sleepy, confusing sounds.
He could have her completely, for as long as he wanted.
He opened the cabinet.
There were a few bottles.
One was a prescription sleeping aid from a few years ago, when she’d had trouble sleeping after a stressful period at work.
It was mostly full.
The label warned: May cause drowsiness.
Do not operate machinery.
He took the bottle.
He shook out two of the small, white pills into his palm.
He stared at them.
His conscience screamed a weak, fading protest.
I love her, he told himself, silencing the voice.
This is how I love her now.
Her body… I think about it all the time.
He crushed the pills between his thumb and forefinger over the glass of juice, letting the fine powder dissolve into the bright liquid.
He stirred it with a spoon until it was invisible.
He placed the glass on the counter next to the juice bottle.
A normal breakfast scene.
The shower stopped.
A few minutes later, Anna emerged from her room.
She was dressed in fresh, comfortable clothes—a soft t-shirt and yoga pants.
Her hair was damp, her face clean and refreshed, though the faint shadows of exhaustion still lingered under her eyes.
“You’re up early.”
“Morning, Mom,” Leo said, leaning against the counter, trying to look casual.
“Just… thinking about watching a new movie today. It’s a holiday.”
“That sounds nice,” she said, opening the fridge and looking inside.
“A lazy day.”
She turned and saw the glass and bottle on the counter.
“Oh, you’re having juice?”
“Yeah,” Leo said quickly.
“Do you want some? I poured a glass for you too.” He gestured to the glass he had prepared.
Anna looked at it, then at him.
Her smile warmed.
“That’s sweet of you. Thank you.” She picked up the glass and took a long sip.
“Mm, refreshing.”
Leo watched her drink, his stomach tight with anticipation.
“Just relax today, Mom. You deserve it.”
She finished the glass, placing it back on the counter.
“I might just do that. I still feel a little weak, honestly. That double shift really took it out of me.”
They talked for a few more minutes about trivial things—the weather, a neighbor, nothing important.
Leo watched her closely.
About two minutes after finishing the juice, her speech began to slow slightly.
Her eyelids seemed heavier.
“I think… I think I’ll go lie down for a bit,” she said, rubbing her temple.
“I’m just so sleepy suddenly.”
“Okay, Mom,” Leo said, his voice gentle.
“Get some rest.”
She gave him a drowsy smile and walked back to her bedroom.
Leo waited, counting the seconds in his head.
He heard the soft sound of her body settling onto the bed.
He waited another full minute, then crept to her door and listened.
No movement.
Deep, even breathing.
He pushed the door open.
She was on the bed, lying on her back, one arm draped across her stomach.
Her eyes were closed.
She was deeply, utterly unconscious.
The medication had worked fast.
Leo approached the bed.
This time, there was no hesitation, no guilt to slow him down.
This was planned.
This was his.
He started by removing her clothes.
He pulled her t-shirt up and off, then her yoga pants.
He left her completely naked on the bed, exposed to the morning light filtering through her window.
He stared at her body, a masterpiece of curves and soft skin now entirely his to explore.
He began with her breasts.
He cupped them in his hands, feeling their weight, then leaned down to suck and lick at her nipples, harder than he ever dared when she might stir. The source of this chapter is g.com.
He kissed her stomach, her thighs.
Then he moved between her legs.
He tasted her again, licking deeply, savoring the flavor without any worry of her waking.
He explored her with his fingers too, feeling how soft and wet she was becoming from his touch alone.
Finally, he stood up and stripped off his shorts.
His erection was throbbing, urgent.
This time, he didn’t start slow.
He climbed onto the bed, positioned himself over her, and pushed into her with one hard, deep thrust.
She was so pliant, so open in her drugged sleep.
He set a relentless pace immediately, pounding into her, driven by a frenzy of possession.
The bed rocked with his force.
He gripped her hips, driving deeper and deeper with each thrust, wanting to bury himself inside her forever.
He lost all sense of time, of reason.
He was a machine of pure lust, fucking his unconscious mother with brutal, selfish intensity.
He came the first time inside her after only a few minutes, a hot, violent release.
But he didn’t stop.
He kept moving, his arousal returning almost instantly fueled by the taboo and the absolute control.
He fucked her for what felt like an hour.
He came a second time, then a third, each orgasm spurring him on to another round.
He was sweating, breathing ragged, but he didn’t stop.
He wanted to use every minute of the three hours the pills would give him.
During the fourth and final time, as he felt another climax building, he leaned down and kissed her mouth.
Her lips were slack, unresponsive.
He kissed her deeply, forcing his tongue into her mouth, tasting her—a mix of the orange juice and her own saliva.
It was a claiming kiss, a seal on everything he had done.
With a final, shuddering groan, he emptied himself into her for the fourth time, collapsing on top of her, spent and dripping with sweat.
He lay there for a long while, on her unconscious body, listening to her steady drugged breathing.
The room smelled of sex and sweat.
Eventually, he pulled out.
He cleaned himself up briefly with a towel from her bathroom.
He looked at her, naked and used on the bed, his cum leaking out of her onto the sheets.
He felt no shame now.
Only a deep, dark satisfaction.
He had taken what he loved.
He had had her completely.
He dressed her again, putting her clothes back on with careful hands, hiding the evidence.
He pulled the blanket over her.
He kissed her forehead once more.
Then he left her room, closing the door softly behind him.
In the kitchen, he washed the glass thoroughly, destroying any trace of the powder.
He put the pill bottle back in the cabinet.
He went to the living room, turned on the TV, and found a movie.
He sat down to watch it, a calm, empty smile on his face.
The house was quiet.
His mother was sleeping.
And he was content.