The universe has a sick sense of humor, and I'm the punchline. Mom stands at the front of the classroom, those red-frad glasses perched on her nose, sipping coffee from a mug that says "Best Mom Ever." The sa fucking mug I got her last Mother's Day. The sa mug I jerked off into before wrapping it up with a bow because I'm that level of fucked up. My cum was probably sealed into the ceramic by now.
God, I hate myself.
She catches my eye over the rim, and I swear she's smirking. Probably rembering this morning, her hand around my cock, seven strokes to completion, like I'm so kind of virgin teenager. Which, technically, I was. Whatever.
I slouch lower in my seat, wishing the floor would open up and swallow whole. Of course, she's teaching my creative writing class. Of fucking course. I should've seen this coming a mile away, should've connected the dots when she ntioned becoming a professor. But my brain's been too busy short-circuiting between guilt over Sabrina and whatever twisted thing is happening with Mom.
Speaking of Sabrina, she's sitting next to , completely oblivious to the nuclear ltdown happening in my head. Her knee occasionally bumps against mine as she shifts in her seat, each contact sending guilt spiraling through . She's doodling little stars in the margin of her notebook, her green eyes darting up to watch Mom with undisguised admiration.
"Professor Sterling is so put-together," she whispers, leaning close enough that I can sll her cherry lip balm. "Like, magazine-level gorgeous. I bet she's never had an awkward day in her life."
If she only knew. If she only fucking knew that less than two hours ago, "Professor Sterling" was licking my cum off her fingers while I lay in her bed like the world's most pathetic motherfucker.
"Yeah, she's sothing," I mutter, the understatent of the century burning my tongue.
Mom sets down her mug and starts writing on the whiteboard, her handwriting elegant and flowing. The teal dress hugs her ass as she reaches up, and I notice at least three guys in the front row adjust themselves not-so-subtly. My stomach churns with a nauseating mix of jealousy and disgust before I realize I'm sporting a chub myself.
"Forbidden Desires," Mom writes on the board in flowing script, each letter a deliberate stroke as she underlines the words twice. She turns to face the class, those red fras highlighting the intensity in her eyes.
"Can anyone give an example of character relationships that fall into this category?" she asks, scanning the room before her gaze lands directly on . "What about you, Mr. King? Any thoughts on forbidden desires?"
The room seems to shrink around , air suddenly thick and unbreathable. Every eye turns in my direction, including Sabrina's curious green ones. My mouth opens but nothing cos out, my brain a jumbled ss of panic and inappropriate mories.
"I... uh..." My voice cracks like I'm thirteen again.
"Teacher-student relationships," so guy in the back calls out, saving from total humiliation. "That's pretty forbidden."
Mom's, Professor Sterling's, lips curl into a slow smile. "Yes, quite forbidden indeed. Though perhaps a bit... obvious." She walks along the front row, heels clicking against the linoleum. "Anyone else?"
"My mom and her boss," so dude with a patchy beard shouts from across the room.
I flinch, my face involuntarily scrunching up as I glance at him. Jesus Christ. The way he blurted that out with such enthusiasm makes wonder what kind of fucked-up ho life he's dealing with.
Probably more normal than mine.
"Interesting dynamic," Mom says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "The power imbalance there creates natural tension."
"A nun and a priest," pipes up a girl with purple hair from the front row, not bothering to raise her hand.
Sabrina clutches my hand. It's a nice feeling, but makes feel nervous.
Mom's eyes light up, clearly entertained by the growing energy in the room. "Religious taboo, excellent example. The conflict between spiritual devotion and human desire creates powerful narrative possibilities."
I notice Sabrina's other hand shooting up beside , her entire body practically vibrating with excitent. Her eyes are wide, earnest, like she's about to share the most brilliant literary insight of the century. My stomach drops as Mom's gaze lands on her, a predatory gleam flickering behind those red fras.
"Yes?" Mom points to her with a perfectly manicured finger. Then her eyes notice Sabrina holding my hand. "Your na, girl?"
"Sabrina Johnson," she announces, her voice clear and confident in a way I've rarely heard from her. Then, without hesitation, she drops the bomb.
"Incest."
The word hangs in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. Several students snicker nervously. Soone whispers "damn" under their breath. I sit frozen, blood draining from my face so fast I'm surprised I don't pass out.
Mom's expression doesn't change, but sothing dangerous flashes in her eyes as they flick from Sabrina to , then back again.
"Incest," she repeats, rolling the word around her mouth like she's tasting fine wine. "Perhaps the ultimate taboo in most societies. Can you elaborate on why you chose that example, Ms. Johnson?"
Sabrina's confident deanor evaporates instantly under Mom's intense scrutiny. Her shoulders hunch as she shrinks into herself, those few seconds of academic boldness withering like flowers in frost.
"I... um..." she stamrs, fingers fidgeting with her pen. "It's just sothing that cos up a lot in, you know... dia and stuff." Her voice drops to nearly a whisper. "Like, it's a common trope in certain... adult content. Not that I watch that! I an, sotis, but not specifically that genre or anything."
The class erupts in laughter, and Sabrina's face darkens with embarrassnt. She slides down in her seat until her chin nearly touches her chest.
"Just sothing I've read about in psychology," she mumbles, clearly wishing she could disappear.
Mom's smile widens, predatory satisfaction gleaming behind those red fras. "No need to be embarrassed, Ms. Johnson. You're absolutely correct. Incestuous relationships are indeed a recurring motif in literature, from ancient Greek tragedies to modern psychological thrillers." She walks closer to our row, each click of her heels making my heart rate spike. "The forbidden nature of such connections creates instant dramatic tension."
I want to reach out and comfort Sabrina, but my body feels paralyzed as Mom approaches. She stops directly in front of our desks, so close I can sll her perfu, the sa scent that was all over her sheets this morning.
"The question becos," Mom continues, leaning slightly forward, "what drives characters to cross such boundaries? Is it re lust? Psychological trauma? Or sothing deeper, a love so deep that it transcends societal norms?"
Her eyes lock with mine for a fraction of a second, a private ssage passing between us that makes my throat go dry. Then, she turns away, addressing the entire class again.
"For this week's writing assignnt," Mom announces, striding back to her desk with purpose, "I'm going to assign each of you a forbidden relationship I'd like you to write short stories on."
The class murmurs with interest as she picks up a stack of small papers and begins moving through the rows, distributing them like playing cards in so twisted ga of literary roulette.
"These are your assigned relationships," she explains, handing one to Patchy Beard Guy, who grimaces at whatever he sees. "Two thousand words minimum, exploring the psychological and emotional complexities that drive your characters together despite societal taboos."
My pulse thunders in my ears as she approaches our row. She hands Sabrina a slip first, her fingers lingering just a mont too long before moving to stand directly in front of . Our eyes lock as she extends the paper, her fingertips deliberately brushing against mine during the exchange.
I look down at my assignnt, and the two words written in her elegant handwriting punch in the gut: "Mother/Son."
Of fucking course.
I sigh heavily, fighting the urge to crumple the paper and walk out. This has to be so kind of sick joke. Or a test. Or both.
Curiosity gets the better of , and I lean over to peek at Sabrina's assignnt. Her paper reads "Teacher/Student" in the sa elegant script. She notices looking and gives a nervous smile, tucking the paper quickly into her notebook.
Mom finishes distributing the assignnts and returns to the front of the class, surveying us like a general inspecting troops.
"One important guideline," she announces, tapping her manicured nails against the desk. "I don't want stories about why these relationships fail or how society tears them apart. That's predictable, boring writing." Her eyes lock onto mine again. "Instead, I want you to imagine what these relationships look like when they actually work. How do two people navigate the forbidden nature of their connection and find happiness despite everything?"
A hand shoots up from the back. "So you want us to write, like, happy endings?"
Mom's smile is all teeth. "I want you to explore the possibility that sotis the forbidden isn't forbidden because it's wrong but because others don't understand it."
She prowls between the rows again, stopping when she reaches our desk. Her fingers trail along the edge of my table as she leans down, addressing both Sabrina and , but her eyes never leave my face.
"And don't be afraid to make it smutty," she adds, her voice dropping to a silky purr that sends heat racing up my spine. "Writing sex is good for the soul."
Sabrina makes a small choking sound beside , her pen clattering to the floor. Mom straightens, looking imnsely pleased with herself as she walks back to the front.
"This is due next Friday. Any questions?"
The room remains silent, everyone seemingly processing what just happened. I'm staring at my assignnt slip, the words "Mother/Son" burning into my retinas.
I'm staring at these two words so hard they start to blur. It's like Mom's handwriting is branding itself onto my brain. This clearly isn't a coincidence.
The sick realization hits like a freight train, this whole assignnt is just her twisted way of making write out my darkest fantasies. She wants to put into words what I've only ever allowed to exist in the shaful corners of my mind. She's forcing to confront exactly what I feel about her, what I want from her, all under the thin veneer of academic work.
Fucking brilliant, Mom. Get your son to write incest porn as howork. Maybe she'll grade it based on how wet it makes her.
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