I was filled with shame after the hours that followed me spying on my son masturbating. It was not something a mother should do. It was depraved and wrong. I promised myself that I would never do anything like it again. And yet, in the days that followed, I found myself thinking about my son more and more. No matter what I tried to busy myself with, images of his tremendous cock flooded my mind.

I pictured his rock-hard abs, his bulging biceps, his muscular legs, his tight buttocks, his big heavy balls, and his huge, thick cock. I saw his closed eyes, his face contorted with pleasure as his dick spasmed and shot his cream all over the shower wall. I imagined myself on my knees, his endless streams of cum flying all over my face and breasts. And I found myself getting wet at the thought. I pleasured myself countless times over the memory.