Sophie lounged on the plush cushions of the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a glass of red wine cradled in her left hand. The rich liquid swirled gently as she shifted, its warmth lending a pleasant buzz from the two glasses she’d sipped earlier. The living room glowed softly in the late afternoon light, sheer curtains swaying with a breeze that carried the faint scent of lavender from a candle on the mantel.
She wore an old, over-large men's sweatshirt that slipped off one shoulder and faded jeans that hugged her hips, her auburn hair spilling in gentle waves down her back. Her hazel eyes, lightly glazed from the wine, drifted across her phone screen as she scrolled with her right thumb. Then, a notification pinged sharply, cutting through the quiet.
She squinted at the name. Liam. Her brows furrowed, and a soft giggle escaped as she steadied the glass. Liam, her eighteen-year-old son, rarely texted her. He’d just yell—“Mom! Where’s my jacket?” or “Mom! What’s for dinner?”—his voice echoing through the house. A text felt… odd. She set the glass on the coffee table with a gentle clink, a drop spilling over the rim, and tapped the screen, murmuring, “What’s he up to?”
The message loaded: “Can’t stop thinking about last night. You’re incredible.”
Her breath caught for a moment, a quiet “Huh?” slipping out. She blinked at the screen, then chuckled, the wine loosening her amusement. “What’s this about?” she mused, taking a small sip, the tartness lingering on her lips.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, the phone in both hands. Her mind, pleasantly fuzzy, tried to piece it together. Liam? Last night? It didn’t add up. She shook her head, a light laugh bubbling up. Then it clicked. “Oh my god,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest briefly. His old phone had broken a few days ago, and he’d gotten a new one. She’d helped him set it up, probably jumbled the contacts. “He’s texting his girlfriend—got me instead,” she grinned, taking another sip. “Little charmer.”
She pictured him—tall, lanky, that dark hair always in his hazel eyes, like hers. That crooked grin he’d flash to get his way. Imagining him typing all lovey-dovey made her smirk widen. She sank back into the cushions, wine glass in one hand, phone in the other, her lips curling mischievously. Why not have some fun? she thought, her pulse ticking up from the wine and a spark of playfulness. She’d been curious about this Mia girl he’d mentioned—time to dig a bit. “Okay, let’s play,” she murmured, her voice teasing as she typed: “Oh? And what exactly are you thinking about?” She hit send, giggling softly, and took another sip, savoring the warmth.
The phone buzzed, and she swiped it open with a grin, reading: “You know what I mean… the way you looked at me, the way you touched me. I can’t get it out of my head.” Her eyebrows lifted, a soft “Ooh” escaping. She shifted, stretching her legs out, the denim brushing her skin. “Someone’s got it bad,” she said, her tone light and playful. She typed, “You liked that, huh? Tell me more,” and sent it, leaning back with a smirk, sipping again.
His reply came fast: “The way your hands felt on my chest, your breath on my neck—it’s driving me crazy.” Sophie’s grin stretched, a quiet laugh spilling out. “Driving you crazy, huh?” she echoed, teasing. She typed, “What else you got in that head?” and sent it, her legs swinging idly off the couch, her mind caught up in the game, the wine keeping her relaxed and carefree.
The phone buzzed: “How you pressed yourself against me, like you couldn’t get close enough. I keep replaying it.” She tilted her head, lips pursing in mock thought. “Aw, that’s sweet,” she murmured, taking another sip. She typed, “Did I leave you wanting more?” and sent it, her body loose, her thoughts on his goofy romance.
His reply popped up: “So much more. I wanted to pull you closer, feel every inch of you.” Her brows lifted, a soft “Hmm” humming in her throat. She chuckled, “Every inch, huh?” She typed, “What would you have done if I’d let you?” and sent it, taking another sip, the wine warming her chest as she set the glass down.
Liam’s next text shifted: “I’d have slid my hands under your shirt, felt your skin, your curves.” Her breath hitched slightly, a quiet “Okay” slipping out, but she laughed it off, the wine dulling any real awareness. She shifted, the couch creaking, and typed, “And then what? Go on,” sending it with a grin. She reached for the bottle, pouring a modest splash, the red glinting as she swirled it.
His response came: “I’d have you straddle my lap, your tits right in my face. You’d grind against me, and I’d hold your hips, pulling you closer.” Sophie’s eyes widened, a quick “Oh” tumbling out. The word tits jarred her, and her chest tightened, nipples stiffening under her blouse, though she didn’t clock why—just giggled, taking a sip. “That’s… bold,” she murmured, her thighs shifting, denim rubbing. She typed, “Is that all you want me to do?” and sent it, her pulse picking up.
His reply hit: “No, I’d grab your ass, squeeze it while you move, feeling you press harder against me.” Her breath caught slightly, a soft “Mmm” slipping out without her noticing. The image flickered in her mind, vivid and unexpected, and her hips shifted again, typing, “You like me moving on you like that?” She sent it, sipping her wine, the glass cool against her lips.
His next text came quick: “Yeah, it’d drive me wild—your tits bouncing, your hips rocking. I’d be so hard for you.” Sophie’s eyes widened again, a quiet “Oh, wow” escaping as warmth spread low in her belly. The bluntness—bouncing, hard—sent a jolt through her, her thighs pressing together, but she didn’t pause to think, just typed, “Hard, huh? What’s next?” She sent it, sipping, the glass now nearly empty again, and leaning forward, caught up.
His reply struck: “I’d slide my cock out of my pants, and you’d wrap your hand around it, stroking me while you watch me lose control.” Her breath stuttered, a soft “Wow” escaping. Cock hit her like a spark, and a flush spread, her nipples tightening further. Flushed head to toe, she typed, “You’d like that, huh? Me watching you?” She sent it, reaching for the bottle to pour a small splash, the wine’s buzz fueling her momentum.
His next text rolled in: “Yeah, and I’d tease you back—run my hands up your thighs, so close but not quite there.” Her skin tingled, and she squirmed. “Tease me, huh?” Her hand drifted to her jeans’ waistband absently as she typed, “How long you gonna make me wait?” She sent it, taking another sip, her body moving without her noticing.
His reply came: “Just long enough to hear you beg for it.” A soft hum slipped out, her fingers brushing her jeans’ button without thought. “Oh, cheeky,” she murmured, typing, “And if I begged? Then what?” She sent it, leaning back, caught up in the flow, the wine keeping her loose.
His response struck: “I’d slide my hand down your pants, my fingers finding your pussy. I’d rub your clit, then slip a finger inside you, feeling how wet you are.” Her breath caught, a quiet whimper escaping as her thighs clenched. Warmth pooled, but she didn’t pause—just typed, “I’m getting so wet thinking about it,” and sent it, reaching for her glass to sip the last bit, setting it down empty.
His next text flowed: “Good. I’d kiss you, then trail my lips down your neck, your breasts, your stomach, until I’m right where you need me most.” Her chest tightened, nipples hard, and she mumbled, “Yeah?” typing, “What you gonna do with that tongue?” She sent it, absently undoing her jeans' button.
The phone buzzed: “I’d take my time with you, kissing my way down your body until I’m between your legs. I’d lap at your clit slowly, feeling you tremble beneath me.” Her breath quickened. “Oh…” she whispered, sliding her fingers into her panties. They brushed slickness, and she gasped, typing, “Keep going,” and sending it, lost in the rhythm.
His next message came: “I’d swirl my tongue around your clit, teasing you until you’re squirming, begging for more.” Her thumb circled her clit, hips twitching as she murmured, “So wet…” She typed it, her vision blurring, still riding the wave. Liam’s reply hit: “Then I’d slide two fingers inside you, curling them just right while my tongue works your clit.” Her fingers followed, slipping two inside as her thumb pressed harder. “Oh,” she moaned, head tilting back, typing, “I’m touching myself…” Her eyes fluttered, swept away.
His final text pushed her: “I’d keep going until you’re screaming my name, your juices spilling over my tongue.” Her breath came in gasps, fingers moving faster, deeper. “Yes…” she whimpered, trembling as pleasure hit, crashing through in a sudden wave that arched her back and drew a sharp cry. She slumped back down, panting.
She grabbed her phone, typing shakily, “I just fingered myself to an orgasm reading your texts,” and sent it, a giddy laugh escaping. She pushed her jeans down further and spread her thighs, snapping a quick photo of her pussy, a small strand of glistening mucus strung between her fingers as she spread her labia, and sent it, caught in the buzzed thrill, reaching for the bottle to pour a final splash.
The phone buzzed: “Wait, I thought you said you shaved your pussy?”
Her head jolted. “What?” she muttered, blinking hard. Another text: “Wait, is that a wedding ring?!” Her pulse raced, eyes dropping to the gold band. A third screamed: “MOM?!!!”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Sophie’s head snapped up, hands scrambling to yank up her jeans. “Oh no,” she gasped, fingers fumbling. Too late—Liam burst in, hair wild, eyes horrified.
“Mom?!” he yelled, his voice cracking slightly as he stopped short, taking in the scene—Sophie sprawled on the couch, sweater askew, jeans half-fastened, wine glass beside her.
Her face flushed hot, a wave of mortification crashing over her as she finally secured the button. “Liam, oh my god, I—listen, this was a total mix-up,” she stammered, her voice trembling as she sat up straighter, hands flailing a little. “I’m so sorry, it just… it got out of hand, I didn’t mean for any of this.”
Liam ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps, his sneakers scuffing the floor. “Jesus, Mom, I don’t even know what to say. This is so messed up—I thought I was texting… and you were…” He trailed off, shaking his head like he could shake the image loose.
“I know, I know,” she said, her words rushing out as she pressed a hand to her forehead, still reeling. “Your new phone, the contacts got messed up, and I thought I’d just play along for a laugh, but then it… escalated. I swear, Liam, I didn’t plan this—it won’t happen again, ever.”
He stopped pacing, turning to face her, his expression a tangle of disbelief and unease. “It escalated? Mom, I can’t—I don’t even know what to say to this. It’s too weird.” He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “I need some air or something. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Okay, yeah, go,” she said, nodding frantically, her hands wringing together. “I get it. I promise this won’t ever happen again. I messed up big time.”
He lingered for a moment, then gave a small, awkward nod. “Yeah… I’m just gonna head out for a bit,” he said, his voice trailing off as he turned and walked out, his footsteps retreating up the stairs.
Sophie sank back into the couch, burying her face in her hands. “What the hell did I just do?” she groaned, her voice muffled, the wine’s buzz fading fast into a heavy wash of shame. Her body still tingled faintly, a lingering echo of the moment, now drowned in regret as she sat there, alone with the mess she’d made.
