3

"You shouldn't have tied my hands," Mum tells me. Her mound is set with liquid now. "I could have touched you too."

"You've touched me plenty. It's my turn."

"Mm. Well… God."

She gasps as I slide my fingers up the path of her labia to the flesh around her clitoris. Then, as I forge a circular motion over this most sensitive area, she closes her thighs tight around my hand with a carrying moan. Her legs cross where she stands.

"Open your legs,' I say. Her upturned face is an inch from mine.

Mum smiles and shakes her head.

"Open them for me."

She blows me a kiss. Legs closed. A breath of wind on my mouth.

One hand still trapped up against her vulva, I reach up and unhook the gleaming showerhead from its perch above us. A clink of metal. I hold the hose by my waist, dial up the heat, and turn on the pressure. Hot water sprays down on our feet and ankles, fogging up the small shower interior.

"Open them," I tell her.

"Make me."

My whole body is hot from the shower steam. Her face is flushed. Her lips, slightly apart as she stares at me, are damp with precipitation. I am sick with arousal. The situation has presented itself to me as though from some dark, surreal dream. I can only process things in fragments.

"Fine," I say.

I rotate the showerhead in my grasp, aiming the beam of hot water onto her shins. Mum tightens even more around my hand. Her sex dribbles out onto my wrist. I keep my eyes on her face, guiding the stream of water steadily up her legs—over her knees, and higher still. Climbing the cliff of her body.

But when the water reaches her locked thighs, she gasps.

I pause. "Too hot?"

"Just a little."

"Sorry."

"Shh." Mum kisses me. "Don't apologise. Just keep going, honey."

I turn the temperature down. She murmurs her approval into my mouth.

And as I aim the beam of water at her pelvis, showering her trimmed pubic hair and latte skin, she loosens the grip of her thighs at last.

I withdraw my hand from my mound, brushing her sensitive lips a final time with my fingertips. She gently widens her stance on the floor, feet apart, so that her thighs expose her pussy to the warm bathroom air. I kiss her. Our tongues collide. I retrace the now-familiar shape of her lips with my own, letting her stew where she stands with her hands behind her back, letting the anticipation for our sinful act build.

"You're a tease," Mum says to me. She leans her head back against the tiled wall. "This isn't the time for a grand pause."

"No? Count me in."

Her breaths are shallow. She smiles. "And a one, two, three…"

I steer the water down from her pelvis with a gentle turn of my wrist. Mum inhales out as the stream glances off her sex—then, as I lower my hand and make the angle more direct, she lets all the air out with a loud moan.

"Fuck. Baby—"

I smother her mouth with my own. The showerhead is a foot from her vulva. It sprays her pussy in full, encompassing the flowing form of her labia right up to the cleft where her clitoris sits. Hot water runs down her thighs and legs to the shower floor. Mum works up a chorus of moans, writhing against the wall as her sex is stimulated to an unyielding tempo.

Her sounds are penetrative in the small space. I take them to my mind like shots of alcohol, buzzing to my fingertips. My cock stays hard as the metal in my hand, though I never even touch it. It is enough to hear my mother's pleasure in the steam. Her face is split by contorted cries. When I bring the showerhead closer to her pinkening pussy, those moans grow louder.

I pass my free hand over her breasts and perked areolas, up to her neck. My fingers curl around her throat, touched by the vibrations of her vocal chords. Mum doesn't protest, but leans her head back on the wall and stares at me. Panting. Reddening in the heat of the shower. Sweat runs down from the line of her hair onto her brow.

"Tell me to stop if it's too much," I say.

She shakes her head.

My heart runs in circles. There is a fresh dirtiness to our behaviour tonight. Every time I had seen and felt her flesh before now, we had been tender with one another. Now I am holding her against the wall with a hand at her throat.

"You look beautiful," I tell her. Her body glistens. "Really fucking beautiful."

Mum pokes out her tongue.

I play with the shower temperature, testing patterns of hot and cold against her sensitive sex. It is a joy to watch the ways in which she reacts: squirms, moans and exclamations, and little whispers of affirmation and to remind me that she isn't hurting badly. Sometimes I give her pussy a break and lower my head to nibble her neck and breasts; and other times I hold the showerhead so close to the spot between her thighs that she cries out at full volume.

After a time, her whole body seems to tauten. Her gasps rise, quicken, and heighten in pitch. Then she raises herself onto her tiptoes. "God… I'm close, honey."

"Keep at it?"

"Uh-huh." Mum buckles against the wall. "I'm—fuck."

I keep the shower stream trained on her clitoris, entranced. Her body gives another spasm where she stands, stomach contracting as she breathes more jaggedly than ever. Then her head buckles against the wall, her throat moving in my grip as she cries out once, twice, a third time. Her moans are so loud they must be audible from outside the hotel room.

"Fuck. Honey. Fuck!"

Mum rides her orgasm out where she stands. Her pussy is at such an angle that I cannot see its contractions, but her whole body twitches time and time again, as though something is running up and down its length in cycles. It takes a full minute for her breathing to return to a sensible state, by which time I have directed the water away from her pussy.

"Ow. Oh." Mum closes her eyes. Her face looks exhausted. "God, baby. You didn't…"

She laughs. It's a slightly hysterical sound.

I let go of her throat, turn the water off, and put the showerhead back on its hook. We embrace there in the sudden quiet, our lips meeting with their usual gentleness. Mum's hands are still tied behind her back. She kisses me slow, till much of the shower steam has dissipated.

"Do you want to go lie down?" I whisper to her. I peck the tip of her nose. "We could watch a movie or something before bed."

"Not yet."

"No?"

Mum shakes her head. "We have something else to deal with."

And she raises a knee to prod my hardened cock where I stand. I let out a slow, long breath of air. There is a thick anticipation in my thighs.

"Should I take off your cuffs, then?" I say.

Mum smiles. "No. We needn't bother."

"No?"

"No."

She reaches forward to kiss me a final time, then she lets herself down into a kneeling position on the shower floor. I stare. Mum's face is upturned in line with my standing cock. It's all I can do to hold her gaze. The rest of my body is dead weight.

"No hands," she says. She blows a draft of air towards my quivering member. "That's okay."

"Yeah?"

She nods. Her eyes lock onto mine, maintaining a fierce contact as she leans in towards me. I tighten where I stand as Mum plants a kiss on the warm flesh of the tip of my cock, so soft that I wouldn't even know she was there if I had closed my eyes. As it is, she looks incredible: bent down, hands bound behind her back, face turned up to me where a mother's face should never be.

"I'm sorry for making you wait." Mum pecks my tip again with her mouth. "Mm. Ready?"

It's all I can do to nod down at her.

She leans in and runs her tongue up the length of my shaft, from its base right to its purple head. A line of saliva on my flesh. I back up against the damp shower wall. Mum maintains eye contact as she licks back down to my testicles, my erect shaft knocking against her nose and face. She nibbles the flesh around my crotch. Her hair brushes my legs.

Just as I am beginning to steady my breathing, she raises her head and envelops the tip of my cock with her wet lips. The sensation is astonishing. I feel her tongue swirling around my glans as she pushes her mouth slowly down my shaft, centimetres at a time. Her breaths come through her nose. I thought I had known softness when I put my hand on her sex and my mouth against hers, but that had been nothing compared to the softness of her around my cock.

I bump my head back against the tiled wall. Mum savours my shaft on her tongue as she bobs her lips up and down my length. After several minutes in which I am hardly conscious of my thoughts, she lowers her lips right to my pubic hair. There is a sudden resistance as my tip pokes the back of her throat, then she gags and I feel a fresh wave of saliva spurt over my flesh.

Mum gasps and lets me out of her mouth. "What's the time?" she asks me.

"The time?" I breathe. I press my shoulder blades against the wall. "How can you be asking for the time now?"

"Well, what is it?"

"It was almost eleven when I got in."

"Okay. Eleven…"

Mum's voice trails away. As if to compensate for her silence, she slides her lips overtop of my cock once again and takes me into the back of her mouth. I gasp. She bobs her head up and down my length with wet, squelching sounds. Her forehead keeps bumping against my belly as she works herself right down to the base of my member. The soft, enveloping flesh of her mouth is almost too much to handle.

She slides her lips off of me again and gasps for air. A moment later, she goes on, "In twelve hours time, at eleven. We're doing it this time. No interruptions."

I meet her eye. My body prickles.

"Yes. If you go off with Shibuya on Friday, it has to be tomorrow."

"You mean…" I wipe damp hair from my eyes. "Sex?"

Mum smiles. She takes me into her throat next.

"If my mouth is this soft," she whispers, "can you imagine what it feels like inside me?"

I do imagine it. I imagine it right there as she sucks me off: the thought of entering her, of pumping myself into her waiting sex. Her words find me like honey. They run thick into my ears and touch my mind, intoxicating, unfathomable. I draw up a mental image of her with her labia spread to accommodate my cock.

"Fuck," I whisper. "Fuck…"

She runs her tongue around my cock. "I can imagine it. It's making me wet just imagining it."

"Mm. Mum." I tense up against the bathroom wall. "I'm close now."

"Don't wait," she says. She pauses to take my shaft into her mouth for a moment, then goes on. "The sooner the better. I want you rested for tomorrow."

"Uh-huh?"

"Yeah." I see her hesitate. Her eyes are very large. "The more cum you have for me, the better." Another pause. "The better it'll feel inside me."

This final sentence pushes me over the line. I gasp and close my eyes, my every muscle tensing up as I hit my climax. Mum kneels taller, in front of my sights, as goosebumps spread up my body from my crotch. I spray her with cum: her glowing face, her breasts and neck, her damp hair. Each spurt draws a moan from my lips, one after the other. Mum doesn't break eye contact once. She waits until I have covered her with every string of sperm I possess, then she lets out a long, slow breath.

"If you have that much, honey, I'll be overflowing."

I cannot speak. The sight of her kneeling there beneath me is enough to keep me hard, though I am sensitive. She puts her mouth around me cock one last time, sucking deep to draw out the dregs of my orgasm, then she stands up before me. My semen runs down her body in streaks.

"Was that okay?" she whispers. We kiss.

"Yes," I say back. I take her in my arms and turn on the shower. "That was very okay…"

"That's good."

I take her in my arms and pull her tight against me, my hands on her back, kissing her as if it was the last time I would ever be allowed to do so. Her tongue finds mine. Our noses touch. I turn on the shower and kiss her while the hot water washes us free of our dirtiness. Her breasts against me. I hold her.

How I hold her.

———

We sleep in on Thursday morning. When I wake, we are on the couch together, and though I have no memory of how we got there, I find an empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table in front of us. A gentle headache presses in on my temples. I slither out from beneath our blanket and find myself still stark naked. The morning chill gives me goosebumps

Mum is naked too. Her bare chest is poking out from the duvet as she lies there. The curves of her breasts hold my gaze for a few moments, then I reach forward and adjust the blanket overtop of her so that it covers her body. She stirs. Her hair is a little frizzy. I drop to my knees and start tidying up a number of chocolate discarded chocolate wrappers from the floor. I suppose we ate them while we drank…

It is then that I spot the condom.

"Oh," I say. Out loud. "Oh."

There is a used condom on the floor among the wrappers.

My headache gives way to such a powerful feeling of shock that for a second I am dizzy. My lips are dry. On the couch, Mum stirs again. Isn't she beautiful?

———

Mum and I walk down to a local cafe for a late breakfast. She has a potato salad, and I have a plate of spicy buffalo wings, but we both end up picking at the plates as if they were to share. We each have a fresh berry smoothie on the side, with a pot of English breakfast tea. There is a strange air about us as we eat and talk. When I catch her eye, I smile. Like clockwork every time.

After breakfast we take a walk through the city streets, back to the park where we drank our soju and fed the ducks all those nights ago. Today the ducks are swimming in circles on the surface of the pond, trilling and eyeing us with shrewd looks. Maybe they hope that we have another loaf of bread to feed them. The sun glimmers on the water's surface.

We watch the ducks for twenty full minutes in silence.

Then Mum says, "Do you… remember any of it?"

I know without asking what she is referring to.

"No," I say. I rub a knuckle into my eye. "I don't remember anything."

"I do."

I look at her. She is wearing her ushanka hat again today. Her eyes glint. They are like small riverbed stones, round and textured. As we look at one another, the sun moves behind a cloud. There is a police siren blaring somewhere far away.

"What do you remember?" I ask.

"We were watching a movie. Something silly. Taking shots. We kissed. We talked. And then I rode you till you came. You ate me out till I finished too."

I exhale slowly.

Mum smiles—almost. "Like a gentleman…"

"I don't remember anything," I say again. My voice breaks. "I wish I did…"

We leave the park and find somewhere that serves strong coffees. The barista talks to us as though we are just another mother and son. Everyone does. All these Londoners. They have no way of knowing the sins we've indulged. No way of knowing the lengths to which we went last night.

"Did we make a mistake?" Mum asks. She sips her coffee and watches me.

"I don't know."

"Will we do it again, before you go to Nishiwaga?"

"We don't even know if Shibuya will want me yet. Not till tomorrow."

Mum takes my hand in hers. We walk back towards the hotel. "Oh, please," she says. "He'll want you. I'm sure of that now."

"How are you sure?"

"I just am. If you do perform to him tomorrow, you'll do it perfectly. I'm sure of it."

I look her up and down. Her body is concealed by clothes, but if I close my eyes, I can picture her naked form with ease. Every ridge. Every crevasse. I know the taste of her lips. I know the taste of her sex, though I do not remember it. I wonder how long I lasted inside her before I came. It cannot have been that long, considering the effect she always has on me.

"We will do it again," I tell her. I squeeze her fingers. "We'll do it now. As soon as we get back to the hotel."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Mum puts an arm around my middle as we walk.

"We'll do it every day till I leave for Nishiwaga, if I ever go. Every day."

On our way back to the hotel, we come to a street piano outside a record shop. There are a number of people milling around the upright in a ring, listening to each local's performance with focussed expressions. Sometimes one or two leave the group to go about their day, but they are always replaced in time. The piano rings with a dozen songs. A dozen genres.

When there is a gap in performances, I sit down at the piano. Mum watches. I perform Shibuya's sonata to the Londoners, all three movements from start to end. As I do, the throng around the street piano becomes larger and larger. People stop to listen to me play. When I reach the third movement, I play it syncopated. Then I switch halfway through to playing it unsyncopated. Back and forth, between the two.

Back and forth and back again. Is this what catharsis feels like?

———

She showers when we get back to the hotel. So do I, but neither of us put on any clothes once we are clean. Nor do we find another condom to use. Instead, we cuddle naked on the couch. Unhindered by clothes or plastic sheaths. We kiss. I take her in my arms and hold her so tight she almost bursts. Our tongues wind around one another as if they are lovers themselves.

Mum clambers overtop of me on the couch. She guides the tip of my hard cock to her sex, poises herself there for a moment, then slides down on my shaft. I lean my head back and gasp. The warmth. The softness. It is incredible. Her flesh envelops my member. Goosebumps flood my body.

"I love you," she whispers to me.

And I say it back. And I say it again.

She rides me to my orgasm once again, as she had the previous night. This time, when I cum, there is no condom to break the progress of my semen. I shoot my load into the hot depths of her body, one spurt at a time. She gasps in my ear and continues sliding her pussy up and down my length, spreading my semen around the folds of her sex as though that's where it belongs.

"Fill me up," Mum says. She moans, over and over. "Fuck, honey… make me yours."

I wonder if people in the hotel corridor can hear us. As she continues to ride me, sticky white tracks of my cum ooze out of her and drip down to the base of my cock. The sight of it keeps me hard, even though I am sensitive.

"I love you," I tell her, another time.

I am deep in her fertile flesh.

———

The End.