Of course you do.

You just can't help yourself. Not after all that's happened the past few days. You just want to see her. She's the most beautiful, perfect woman on the planet as far as you're concerned. Your heart beats in your ears like a drum and your hands shake with adrenaline as you approach the door. You concentrate on keeping your breathing quiet and pray nothing creaks as you step lightly on the carpet leading up to her bedroom. The small crack only gives you a view of the side of her bookshelf, to the right of the entrance, but you can hear her moving about the room. You place a palm on the door, pressing ever so slightly to widen your view into your mother's bedroom.

You see her running shoes first, kicked off near the end of the bed. Looking up the bed, widening the gap a little as you go, you see her tights crumpled on the floor, along with her top. Then you finally see her, facing away from the door admiring herself it seems in front of her large vanity mirror which thankfully is not angled in such a way she can see the doorway in it. She's wearing a simple and sporty black thong and nothing else. Her skin is nicely tanned without a hint of any tan lines. She has her weight on her right, jutting her wide hips in the same direction in a provocative stance. You stop pressing the door which has remained mercifully quiet up until now.

Her hands move to remove the thong just as you catch sight of her, her ass sticks out as she bends slightly to remove it from her legs and drops it absentmindedly behind her. She begins to caress her curves, continuing to admire her own body in the mirror. Her right hand cups her breast while her left moves down between her shapely thighs.

Holy shit is she touching herself? You think, a hand moving to your now positively engorged erection. What set her off I wonder? Oh my God please tell me it wasn't Chris. Your mind races with disturbing thoughts as you watch her tilt her head back and give a contented sigh, right hand still cupping and caressing her own breasts while her left moves in a circular motion just out of sight. Suddenly she stops and pulls the pencil from her usual bun, letting her raven hair fall to its full, gorgeous length halfway down her back. She shakes her head to untangle it and it flows around her neck and shoulders. Luckily, you have the presence of mind to step back out of sight as her waist turns toward the bathroom door, her face and gaze likely to follow. You hear more movement in the room you think is the sound of your mother gathering her soiled clothes to put in the laundry basket. When you hear her shower turn on you peak your head back through the door and the now clean floor confirms your suspicions.

Your lust guides you forward into the room, the bathroom door is left open so you stay close to the wall and approach it from the side. You hear the shower door close as your mother prepares to clean herself. You peek tentatively around the corner, through the doorway. Across the tiled floor you see your mother's shower, already beginning to fog up with steam. Her naked form appears distorted through the glass. Then you hear it. A loud, unmistakable moan.

She's still masturbating! You realize trying to gulp down your excitement. Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! You can't take it anymore. Your hands fly to your crotch and begin frantically undoing your belt. You fish out your cock and start tugging fast. You can still hear your mom moaning as she inserts two fingers into herself.

"Mmmm fuck me." You hear her say, over the shower and the wet clapping sound of her explorations lost in some unknown fantasy. "Fuck me, right there!" Her voice tightens a little as she hits a particularly sensitive spot. Your hand is a blur in front of your crotch at this point. You feel your own arousal growing to climax. Right as you approach the edge you hear her moan again. "Mmmmm yes, oh fuck me. Fuck my slutty cunt Chris!" You cum. Shame and ecstasy wash over you in equal measure as your seed dribbles into your hand. Soon after, still reeling, you hear your mother cum as well as she continues to moan his awful name a little louder. Her ass and back flatten against the glass as she leans against it, unable to support her full weight on shakey, post-orgasm legs. Feelings of **** jealousy and betrayal shatter your own post-orgasm afterglow and tears begin to flow freely down your cheeks.

You slump to the ground next to the door. Your thoughts turn dark. Why is this happening? You ask yourself over and over while sobbing quietly. How could she do this to you? She knows what it was like with Chris. She knows how much pain and anguish he caused you every single day, how you dreaded waking up, how you came home covered in bruises crying tears of shame and humiliation. She drove you to therapy for years after Chris was gone before you finally started to open up again. Now she's cumming to the thought of getting fucked by him? You've loved her your entire life and lusted after her since before you understood what that meant. You know she couldn't possibly feel the same way, that it's wrong and disgusting to feel this way, but not him, anyone else but him. You finally exit the spiral of despair, shame, and spoilt pleasure as you hear the water being shut off. You quickly readjust your clothes, smearing remnants of your cum all over yourself as you run quietly to the door and flee the room for your own. You throw yourself on the bed and sob loudly now into the pillow.

"What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck?!" you scream, muffling yourself with the pillow. You lay like that for a long time, quaking and sobbing. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, your mother knocks on your door.

"Honey? I've got dinner almost ready."

"I'm not hungry, I'm just gonna go to bed." You reply, hoping you kept the sound of tears from your voice.

"You sure baby? Is everything alright?"

"Yes mom. I'm fine." You lie through your teeth and the door. "I'm just having a rough couple days, I want to be alone."

"Aww sweetie" she says in a tone meant to be caring but can only sound like vicious mockery to you in this moment. "Let me know if you want to talk more. I'll leave a plate in the fridge for you." As you hear her footsteps disappear down the corridor toward the kitchen, you return to your despair. You put on the tv to cover any sounds that may give away how upset you are, and cry yourself to sleep.