The divorced milf teases her son

The Art of Seduction: A Mother’s Gentle Corruption

The evening air was thick with unspoken tension as Reya reclined on the living room sofa, her body draped in a robe so thin it was nearly translucent. The fabric clung to her curves like a second skin, the deep V of the neckline offering just a teasing glimpse of the soft swell of her breasts. She had chosen this outfit carefully—every thread, every fold designed to draw her son’s gaze like a moth to flame.

"F-Fuck... where the heals at!?"

Across the room, Aslan sat stiffly in an armchair, his fingers gripping the controller so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His eyes were fixed on the television screen, but Reya knew better. She had seen the way his gaze flickered toward her when he thought she wasn’t looking, the way his throat bobbed when she stretched just a little too languidly.

"You’ve been quiet tonight, sweetheart," she murmured, letting one leg slide off the couch, the thin robe riding up to expose a sinful length of thigh.

Aslan’s breath hitched. "Just… focused on the game."

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. "Mmm. Is that all?"

She rose from the couch with deliberate grace, letting the robe sway open as she moved toward him. His eyes darted to the exposed skin at her collarbone, then lower, tracing the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric.

"Mom—" His voice was strained.

"Yes, baby?" She stopped just inches from him, close enough that he could smell the vanilla and jasmine of her perfume, close enough that the heat of her body radiated against his skin.

His fingers twitched on the controller. "You’re… distracting me."

"Am I?" She tilted her head, letting her fingers trail along the armrest of his chair. "I didn’t realize you were so easily distracted."

Aslan swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "It’s hard not to be when you’re—" He cut himself off, his cheeks flushing.

"When I’m what?" she pressed, leaning down slightly, letting the neckline of her sheer robe gape just enough to reveal the shadowed valley between her breasts.

His breath came faster now, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. "When you’re dressed like that."

Reya’s smile deepened. "Like what, darling? It’s just a robe."

"You know what you’re doing," he muttered, his voice rough with frustration—and something far more primal.

She let out a soft, musical laugh. "Maybe I do. But do you know what you’re doing?"

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"You’re staring, Aslan." She reached out, her fingertips brushing his jaw, guiding his gaze back up to hers. "And I think… you want to touch me."

His lips parted, but no words came out.

"It’s okay," she whispered, her thumb tracing his lower lip. "You can admit it. I won’t be mad."

A shudder ran through him. "Mom…"

"Tell me," she urged, her voice a velvet command. "Tell me what you want."

His resistance crumbled. "I want to touch you," he breathed, the words spilling out in a rush. "I want to feel you. I—I can’t stop thinking about it."

Reya’s eyes gleamed with triumph. "Good boy."

She took his hand in hers, guiding it slowly, so slowly, toward the loose tie of her robe. His fingers trembled against hers, his pulse racing beneath her touch.

"Go on," she murmured, the sinful mother's breath warm against his ear. "Take what you... need."

With a shaky exhale, Aslan tugged the tie loose, the sheer robe slipping open to reveal the smooth expanse of her stomach, the gentle curve of her hips. His breath caught at the sight of her lace panties—black, sheer, sinful—and the dampness already darkening the fabric.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, his voice reverent.

Reya cupped his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. "Then show me how much you mean that."

His hands slid up her thighs, his touch tentative at first, then bolder as she arched into him. When his fingers finally brushed the soaked lace between her legs, she let out a soft, breathy moan.

"That’s it," she encouraged, her hips rocking against his hand. "Just like that."

Aslan’s control snapped.

He buried his face against her neck, his lips hot and **** as they traced the column of her throat. His fingers hooked into her panties, dragging them down her legs, his touch growing surer with every whimper she couldn’t suppress.

"You’ve been driving me crazy," he growled against her skin, his hands roaming her body with newfound confidence. "Every time you bend over, every time you wear something tight—fuck, Mom, I can’t take it anymore."

Reya’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. "Then don’t."

She guided him to the couch, her volupttuous body arching beneath his as he explored his mother's sinful curves with hungry hands and worshiping lips. Every touch, every kiss was hers to command, and she reveled in the power of it—the way his breath hitched when she rolled her hips, the way his fingers dug into her flesh when she whispered just the right words in his ear.

"You’re mine, aren’t you?" she purred, her nails scraping down his back.

Aslan groaned, his body shuddering above hers. "Yours."

"Say it again."

"I’m yours," he gasped, his hips grinding against her in helpless, frantic need.

Reya smiled, slow and victorious.

Oh yes.

She had him exactly where she wanted him.

The Slow Unraveling

Hours later, as Aslan lay spent and panting beside her, Reya traced idle patterns on his chest, her mind already spinning with plans for their next encounter.

"We should set some rules," she murmured, her voice dripping with false innocence.

Aslan turned his head to look at her, his eyes still glazed with pleasure. "Rules?"

"Mmm." She propped herself up on one elbow, letting the sheet slip just enough to tease. "You can touch me whenever you like… but only if you ask very nicely."

His lips twitched. "And if I don’t?"

Reya leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. "Then I’ll make you beg."

A shiver ran through him.

She kissed his cheek, sweet and chaste, before rising from the bed with deliberate slowness, letting him watch every sway of her hips as she crossed the room.

"Goodnight, Aslan," she called over her shoulder, pausing at the door to glance back at him. "Sweet dreams."

And as she closed the door behind her, she knew—

His dreams would be filled with nothing but her.