I never thought my life would turn into some twisted family secret, but here I am, Matthew, thirty years old, still living at home like a proper loser, ginger hair thinning on top more every day, and yeah, still a virgin with a dick that's barely average—more like underwhelming, really. Hardly fills my hand when I wank off alone in my room.
My dad, Alan, is the spitting image in worse form: fifty-six, five-foot-nine like me, chubby, balding redhead, total pushover who lets everyone walk all over him. We both do, truth be told, but I'm arguably softer, more pathetic. No girlfriend, no confidence, just this nagging sense that I'll never measure up to a real man.
But Tracy, my mum? She's different.
At fifty-three, she's this petite five-foot-four firecracker with medium-length brown hair that she always tucks behind her ears when she’s excited or nervous. She's my confidante, the one person I can talk to about anything without feeling like a complete idiot. Our relationship's always been close, non-sexual, just real—me spilling my guts about failed job interviews or that time I got ghosted online, her listening with those kind hazel eyes, offering tea and sympathy.
Wayne, my mother’s younger brother and only sibling of hers, showed up out of nowhere about a year ago.
I barely remembered him—the last time Mum saw him was when they were teenagers, separated by some nasty family drama. But Wayne? He had this natural charisma that drew women in like moths to a flame. He’d never been married or had kids, and I could see why. I always figured he had it easy, dating and flirting, never having to deal with the complexities of family life. It never crossed my mind that one of those women might end up being his own sister.
At forty-seven, Wayne is six years younger than my mother. He towers at six-foot-two, very short brown hair with a slight stubble on his jaw, built like a brick shithouse, muscles rippling under his skin from years of manual labor and gym work. Dominant, intimidating as hell, always wearing this short single-chain necklace that dangles on his slightly hairy chest. The kind of bloke who commands a room without saying a word, making you feel small just by standing there.
Mum lit up when he came back into her life. They reconnected online first—Facebook messages turning into calls—then in person at a café in town. I noticed the spark right away, the way her cheeks flushed when she talked about him, how she'd linger on her phone smiling at texts. No attraction back in the day, she said later, but after all those years apart, something ignited.
-
The buildup was slow, torturous for me.
I'd catch them stealing moments—a quick hug that lasted too long when he visited, her laughter echoing from the garden where they'd chat for hours. Dad noticed nothing, buried in his newspaper or the telly, oblivious as ever. But I saw it all, and it stirred something in me—an undercurrent of arousal mixed with deep inadequacy. Why him? Why not Dad? And worse, why couldn't I be like Wayne—strong, virile, the sort of man who could satisfy a woman like Mum?
My mind wandered to dark places during quiet afternoons, imagining them alone. Her hand slipping into his jeans, stroking his cock while he growled in her ear. I felt that burning jealousy and twisted excitement at the thought of her with him.
Of course, this was all just a fantasy. That sort of thing only happens in pornos. They’re brother and sister who just want to make up for lost time, that’s all. At most they might’ve had fleeting “If you weren’t my sibling” kind of thoughts that they immediately push to the back of their mind. I’m pretty sure everyone on Earth has had intrusive thoughts about family members whether they want to admit it or not.
-
One evening, about a month ago, the tension finally broke. Dad had gone to bed early, snoring away after complaining about his missing Rolex watch—the one Mum had bought him years ago as a matching set, hers still on her wrist—nowhere to be found. He'd been moaning about it for a week, but no one knew where it had gone.
Mum usually gave the whole “You must’ve put it down somewhere” argument and changed the subject.
She sat me down in the kitchen, her hands fidgeting with her coffee mug, brown hair falling over her eyes. She looked vulnerable, excited, scared all at once.
'Matthew, love, I need to tell you something important.'
Her voice was soft but urgent, laced with a tremor that suggested her anxiety. I could see her searching for the right words, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she glanced at me, then away again. I felt my heart race at her tone—the way it wavered made me uneasy.
What could be so significant that she struggled to say it?
I braced myself, a knot forming in my stomach. Was it something about me? Something that could change everything? The weight of her words loomed over us, and a silent tension filled the space between us as I tried to prepare for whatever life-changing news was about to unfold.
Mum took a deep breath, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, and I realized she was just as afraid of my reaction as I was of her confession.
She took another deep breath, and confessed everything: she and Wayne had fallen in love.
Deep, passionate, can't-fight-it love. But she still cared for Dad—didn't want to hurt him yet, not until she sorted her head. They'd only gone as far as kissing in his work truck after dark, “and other things,” Mum said (I imagined her giving him hand-jobs in stolen moments—his thick cock throbbing in her grip as they kissed like randy teenagers).
But she wanted more. Full-on sex, bodies joined, no holding back. She told me that her two close friends at work, Donna and Shefali knew, and they had been very supportive of her choice.
And now all she needed was my blessing because she trusted me, her son, to understand without judgment.
I sat there, stunned, mug halfway to my lips. My stomach twisted—not just from the taboo of it all, Mum with her own brother, but from this forbidden heat pooling in my groin.
Incest.
The word echoed in my skull, dirty and thrilling. I’d seen enough porn to know the term, but I never expected it to be my own mother. But seeing her in this new light, so different from the strict, disciplined woman I knew, only heightened my arousal. I couldn't deny her.
'If it makes you happy, Mum,' I mumbled, voice barely above a whisper, my face hot. 'Go for it.'
She hugged me tight, tears pricking her eyes, her Rolex pressing cool against my arm.
'Thank you, my sweet boy. You're a good lad.'
As she pulled away, I couldn't help but wonder: would Wayne's cock dwarf mine? Would she compare us in her mind, pitying my dad and me?
-
That weekend came fast, the anticipation gnawing at me like a bad tooth.
Mum and Wayne planned a getaway to a secluded bed and breakfast in the countryside, some quaint spot an hour away where hopefully no one would recognise them or ask questions.
'To fully explore our love,' she told me with a wink while packing her bag Friday night, slipping in lacy knickers I pretended not to notice.
Before heading out with Wayne, she turned to me with a playful smile.
‘Would you like Wayne to wear a condom? For when me and him, you know?’ she whispered, trying to be sincere, but her eyes glinting with mischief.
I felt a heat rise in my cheeks but shrugged, trying to sound casual. ‘It’s up to you, you don’t have to I guess,’ I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dad had no clue; he was told by Mum she’d be visiting Donna and Shefali for a girls' night, and Wayne’s driving her there. He bought it hook, line, and sinker, shuffling off to his armchair with a grunt. But as Saturday dawned, my nerves frayed.
That evening, Mum came down in a simple black sleeveless top and jeans, brown hair loose, her Rolex glinting on her wrist. A silver Volkswagen Passat arrived. Here he was, the man that was about to disrupt the family forever.
Uncle Wayne, all muscle and confidence, sat with his arm resting on the open window wearing sunglasses even though it was overcast. I saw a metal watch on his wrist, but at the time thought nothing of it.
I waved from the driveway, heart pounding like a drum as I watched the car pull away, Mum in the passenger seat, giggling, her hand already resting high on his thigh, inches from his bulge.
The house felt empty without her energy, just me and Dad rattling around. He puttered in the garage, tinkering with his old tools, muttering about the weather. I kept him occupied—suggested we grab dinner at the local pub to fill the evening. Anything to distract him from asking questions.
But my mind? It was miles away, racing with images I shouldn't have, each one chipping at my fragile ego.
-
It was getting dark. What were my mum and uncle doing right now?
Driving with her hand slipping under his waistband again, stroking his cock while he gripped the wheel, veins bulging on his forearms? Or already checked in at the B&B, at the reception pretending not to be siblings? Dropping their luggage in the room and getting right to business? Wayne pinning her against the door, his muscular frame dwarfing her petite body as he kissed her neck, hands roaming her curves?
I shook it off during lunch, forcing down my food while Dad droned on about football, but the thoughts lingered like a bad smell.
Inadequacy gnawed at me deeper than ever. Here I was, a balding virgin with a pathetic little penis—barely five inches hard, ginger hairs sparse around it—while Uncle Wayne, a real man with a huge dick I could only imagine, claimed my mother. Claimed my dad’s wife. Claimed his own sister.
Jealousy? Yeah, a burning knot in my chest. But mostly this aching arousal that made my shorts tight, my small cock stirring traitorously. Why couldn't I be him? Strong, hung, making a woman scream? Instead, I'd probably fumble any chance, leaving her disappointed.
-
It was ten-p.m. Dad crashed early in his recliner, snoring away.
I retreated to my room trying to scroll Netflix to drown out the fantasies. But they wouldn't stop. What if they were fucking at this very moment? Mum on her back, legs spread, Wayne's massive cock splitting her open while she moaned his name. And worse—my twisted brain added humiliation.
Imagining them laughing about Dad and me mid-thrust, Wayne grunting, 'Your wimp husband's got nothing on this, sis,'
And Mum giggling, 'Poor Alan, with his tiny ginger prick—never mind, fuck me harder, brother.'
And the same scenario but with me being laughed at.
The thoughts made me flush red, a mix of shame and stiffening arousal. Another humiliating thought crossed my mind. I was pretty confident that Mum couldn’t have any more kids (without problems at least), yet I imagined them making a child together.
‘Lemme give you the child you’ve always deserved, Trace,’ Wayne growled.
Mum moaned in response, ‘Do it, Let’s start over! Give me a beautiful brown-haired boy like his father!’
I hated how it turned me on, picturing them mocking my inadequacy, my virginity, while their bodies slapped together in ecstasy.
Sinking onto my bed, I buried my face in my hands, the tears I had been holding back finally spilling over. I couldn't help but picture them in their stolen moments, the way Mum’s face lit up with that new happiness.
It twisted my heart, the realisation that she found joy in someone else, someone who wasn’t my dad.
Someone blood related to her.
-
Around two-a.m., my phone buzzed.
A WhatsApp from Mum: “Would you like to see what we got up to? x“
My heart slammed against my ribs. Her desire to share such an intimate experience with me felt both shocking and strangely affirming, as if she wanted me to be part of this new chapter in her life, even though it was a chapter I could never truly understand.
My fantasy was about to become a reality. I took a breath and typed back, “Yes please”.
I locked the door, dimmed the lights, and opened the attached files on the WhatsApp desktop app on my laptop, headphones on and breath catching.
First image: I felt embarrassed to look, but the thrill overpowered me.
It was a selfie taken by Wayne.
Mum, on her knees in a dimly lit rustic room, wooden beams overhead, her brown hair tousled. She was still dressed in her jeans and sleeveless top, but the top had been lifted, revealing her breasts.
Wayne stood before her, topless, showing his firm eight-pack body. It was a borderline bodybuilder physique. He had his jeans around his ankles, his massive cock—thick, veined, easily nine inches—jutting out from a nest of dark, bristly pubes. His necklace gleamed on his hairy chest, muscles flexed, and there—on his wrist just before the selfie photo cuts off—was Dad's missing Rolex, the exact match to Mum's. Mum must've given it to him, wearing it like a trophy.
Mum's small hand wrapped around the base, her own Rolex catching the light as she gripped him with her left hand. The same hand her wedding ring was on.
Video next.
The video started with Wayne reaching over Mum to reposition her phone on a bedside table to capture every intimate moment as they unfolded.
Low music pulsed softly in the background. I could feel my heart race—not just from the intimate scene unfolding before me, but because I recognised the song. “About You Now” by the Sugababes. It was one that evoked warm memories when Mum played it in the car, singing it as she drove. But now, hearing it play while she’s involved in such a forbidden act twisted something deep within me. The familiar notes felt like a mockery, amplifying my confusion, arousal, and shame, as the seductive rhythm underscored the reality of the incestuous moment.
It started with them on the bed, Mum already naked, her fifty-three-year-old body soft and curvy, medium tits sagging just right, brown bush trimmed but full and inviting. Wayne hovered over her, dominant, his short hair damp with sweat, Dad's Rolex on his wrist.
He leaned in and kissed her hard, tongue invading her mouth while his hand cupped her pussy, fingers sliding through her wet folds, parting her labia. She moaned into the kiss, legs spreading wide, her Rolex clasp brushing his shoulder.
Wayne then got onto his back, erection full.
Mum climbed over him and wiped her hair out of her face, flicking it back with a slight jilt of her head. That small movement of her head alone made my heart skip a beat. Seeing her in this light was both exhilarating and confusing. I had always seen her as my strict mother, yet here she was, fully aware of her allure, embodying a side of herself I had never dared to imagine.
Then, she gave him a blowjob. She paused for a moment halfway down his shaft, and a smile spread across her face as she took in the size of his penis, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She breathed a sultry ‘ah-hmm,’ sound, a sound that shimmered with satisfaction.
Rubbing her hands up and down his chest, she leaned closer, savoring the moment. Wayne's hand ran through her hair, the other gently playing with her boob, creating a rhythm of intimacy between them that felt electric.
As I watched, I couldn't help but remember how she had always said she found arrogant, muscular men to be unattractive, that she preferred "nerdy" types. Yet here she was, completely transformed, embracing this new side of herself with a man who represented everything she once claimed to dislike. It twisted something in my gut to see her so liberated, so different from the mother I had always known. So much for her telling me that women like ‘personality’ over appearance.
Mum slowly moved up to Wayne, brushing by his penis and placing her hands on his strong shoulders, slowly caressing and admiring them.
Wayne leaned back slightly, his breath heavy, before reaching to turn the phone off.
The last thing I saw was Mum’s wedding ring placed on the shredded bicep of her brother.
I shakily opened the next video.
It was Mum and Wayne lying together on the bed, their bodies close but not yet joined. Their eyes locked, a spark of mischief and desire crackling in the air between them.
Another dull thump in my chest, hearing “Fight For This Love” by Cheryl. Another of Mum’s favourite songs. The title was ironically fitting for the situation. “Fighting” for this morally wrong (and frankly illegal) love.
Wayne leaned in first, capturing her lips with his, each kiss deepening as they explored one another. Their tongues danced together, wrestling playfully, tasting and teasing as if savoring the moment.
Mum's hands roamed over Wayne’s muscular chest, fingers trailing down to his toned abs, feeling the heat radiate from him. She gasped against his mouth, excitement coursing through her as he responded, sliding his hands down her back, pulling her closer. Wayne’s erect penis pressed against her stomach.
As he held her close, I could see a smirk playing on his lips, as if he knew he was doing something others would never dream of—and that made him all the more appealing to her.
As they kissed, she could feel his hands explore her curves, squeezing her waist before moving up to cup her face, tilting her head to deepen their kiss. The world outside faded, and it was just the two of them, lost in their own pleasure. She felt daring, emboldened by the thrill of their connection, her strict demeanor slipping away as passion took over.
Then the main event—a longer clip of her riding him cowgirl style.
I almost didn’t want to watch it. Oral and "muscle worship" was one thing, but vaginal intercourse?
My own mum was about to cross the line forever, and have incest.
Mum straddled Wayne, her brown bush...
