Braking Point

OtterAshe, age difference, hare, incest, m/f, mother/son, motorcycle, oral, parent/child, shower sex, vaginal

A son makes a major discovery about his mother, and mother makes a few discoveries of her own. Now they have to decide what to make of what they've learned.

This one... it got away from me, ngl. I wanted to write a nice smutty story that combined two of my favorite things (motorcycle racing, and incest), and it went about 4 times as long as I expected it to. Please enjoy!

Braking Point

By Ashe the Otterwolf

Taylor had a problem.

The teenaged hare sat on the floor of his attic, clutching a small stack of polaroids and printed photos to his chest as he stared into the middle distance with wide, distracted eyes. Dust motes flitted around the room, caught in the stray beams of sunlight that passed through the room’s only window. The evening sun cast the room in warm hues and turned his dusty-brown coat into a golden shade.

He hadn’t meant to snoop, honestly. It was for a good cause.

It had been a simple, fun assignment for the first week of his freshman anthropology class: trace your family history back as far as you could using basic records. The sort of thing that would illustrate how lineage is traced and why record-keeping matters, with the added bonus of maybe giving a student insight into their history for the first time.

Researching his mother had been interesting: Brooke Hines wasn’t a common name, so the records he found were largely useful. There were a flurry of old hits for websites that confused him though—articles and records referring to a Brooke Hines as a motorcycle racer, and apparently a good one, too, if there was anything to be seen in the snippets that survived the years and dead links. It had to be somefur else, he’d know if his mother was a motorcycle rider for sure. And ‘Brooke’ could, like, conceivably be a guy’s name too, right? He couldn’t find the evidence one way or the other, so he just kept it listed in his notes as a curiosity.

Researching his father, however, had been an entirely different story. Every search for “Darrell Hines” came up blank, or about a completely different species of fur. Absolutely nothing that matched any memory Taylor had of the black-and-white lop-eared rabbit that had raised him.

In and of itself, the absence was curious. Since his father had died in an accident at the steel mill over a dozen years ago, his mother had cleaned things up around the house. A few select items and framed memories remained, but most of his father’s belongings had gone into boxes to be stored in the attic. And it was the faint hope that something, anything, might have been boxed up with them that had led the young hare up the drop-down ladder into the attic on behalf of his assignment.

He’d found the boxes surely enough, marked “Darrell” on the side and covered in a thin sheen of dust. The bleached cardboard opened to reveal a pile of clothes and belongings, as well as some random documents and a pawful of photo albums. He scooped up the photo books and leafed through them, and it brought a smile to Taylor’s face but no leads uncovered themselves, much to the brown hare’s frustration. Desperate for any sort of lead, he pushed aside boxes of discarded decorations and an old fake holiday tree that hadn’t seen use in nearly ten years. Tucked back in the corner, behind cases marked with unhelpful labels like “outgrown” and “sponsors”, sat a small box with a similarly cryptic label penned on the side:

Jeremy

Taylor couldn’t say what had compelled him to open the box and look inside; maybe because he didn’t know anyfur named Jeremy, and he didn’t think his mother did, either. Despite it, this random box sat in his attic, forgotten—or perhaps hidden—back under the accumulated detritus of life. While not exactly a shoebox it wasn’t large, but it was crammed full of nostalgic belongings: a slew of photographs, notes, ribbons, and trophies; all neatly folded and stowed. Taylor felt his jaw drop open as he slowly unfolded the clipped newspaper article lying on top of the stack.

POMONA’S OWN SUPERBIKE SENSATION - LOCAL HARE TAKES TOP HONORS IN CATUCIAN SUPERBIKE SEASON

Eyes widening, Taylor scanned the article as his paw swept through the box, scooping up a couple of the printed photos within. The article came with a photo of a slim-bodied racer on a bike that seemed almost too large for them to control, but the bike was leaned over compliantly in a corner as the leather-clad rider brushed their knee on the tarmac. The way the helmet was thrust forward over the bars, the light grip of the controls in gloved paws—every detail projected confidence and speed.

Scarcely able to believe the implications, Taylor looked over at the printed five-by-sevens tucked in with the folded article. The light grey hare in them was unmistakably the same rider—the sponsor-studded leather race gear was the same, the helmet tucked under one arm was the same—and equally unmistakably his mother. Time had changed a few things about Brooke Hines in the intervening years, but the face was nearly identical. The pleased, almost cocky grin was the same one he knew from all the times his mother had beaten him at a board game or caught him in a white lie. Her build wasn’t identical, but it was enviably similar. Taylor had always known that his mother took care of herself and got in the occasional workout, but he had no idea she was ever in professional athlete shape.

Objectively, categorically, Taylor’s mind recognized that his mother had been an absolute knockout in her younger days. Enough of his friends had joked about wanting to get with his mom that he’d grown inured to the understanding that his mother was an attractive femme, but even he couldn’t deny that if he had known Brooke Hines as the 20-year-old racer in these photos, he would have been ears over heels for her.

The next few photos were candids, taken during or after a race, presumably one that his mother had won given the size of the trophy she held aloft in her paws. There was a snap of her spraying fake champagne around the podium with her fellow competitors with drops of liquid caught frozen in midair, followed by a wider shot of the audience cheering as she stood with her arms raised. Taylor flipped to the next photo, and felt his heart jump into his throat.

His mother, standing in front of her bike. Her leathers dangling behind her, undone to her waist, still dripping from the podium celebration as she relaxed in a t-shirt and a Catucian Superbike baseball cap. Trophy and helmet sat on the ground leaning against the front tire.

And an unknown male hare standing beside her, arm thrown around her shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek as she laughed out loud at the moment the shutter snapped.

Taylor traced the photo with a finger, staring silently. The male was a good bit larger than his mother had been, his fur a dark and dirty brown, with white points on the ends of his fur. Taylor stared, comparing his own paw to the photo, seeing the same white points on his own coat, even if his brown fur was a fair bit lighter than the chocolate-colored hare he was looking at.

Every detail made his breath hitch in his chest—there was no possibility that this hare couldn’t be his father. Taylor knew this stranger's casual stance, because he saw it constantly in reflective surfaces. He recognized the shape of that jaw as the one that looked back at him every morning and evening when he brushed his teeth. Even the way one ear was cocked to the side was familiar.

The teenager felt his eyes growing wet as everything he thought was true fell away and became replaced with... Only questions.

Those questions swirled around his brain as he set the article and photos down on the floor and looked back into the nondescript cardboard box. His paw brushed aside several other ribbons, some folded notebook sheets that looked like letters, and stopped short as he spotted a bundle of instant photos tucked in the bottom corner of the box, tucked safely underneath the rest of the nostalgia. Something in his gut told him he was intruding; this box was put away for a reason. There were things in here that his mother hadn’t wanted him to know, or to find out in this manner at the very least. By all rights, he should close the box back up and go back to his assignment. He couldn’t bring himself to do so, though. A photo had brought to light that the rabbit he’d thought was his father was anything but, what else might he not know yet? There are things that a hare was entitled to know about himself, he reasoned, even if he was still young.

But there are also things that nobody, much less a 19-year-old boy, should know about their loved ones. Or especially themselves.

Taylor scooped up the polaroids. The brittle rubber band that bound them snapped and crumbled as soon as his claw pulled at it, leaving the photos loose in his paws. He flipped the top one over, and every swirling question he had was ejected violently from his brain.

The bike was the same, this time parked inside some sort of garage in front of a workbench with assorted paw tools scattered across the surface. His mother was leaning against the bike almost languidly, the arch of her back presenting her chest to the camera. She was wearing her race leathers just like in the trackside photos, but in those the leathers had been soaked with celebratory booze and folded down at the waist to show her in a t-shirt. In these snaps the leathers were dry, clean, and unzipped from throat to navel to show very, very obviously that she was wearing nothing at all underneath them.

Taylor’s eyes nearly sprang out of his head. He knew he was seeing something very forbidden to sons, that this was the kind of intimate view of a family member that one couldn’t just un-see. The hooded gaze she gave to the camera was enticing and dangerous. Everything in his brain told Taylor he should throw these back in the box and leave—but the blue bedroom eyes in the photo told him to continue.

Swallowing around the growing lump in his throat, Taylor slid the photo aside to reveal the next one in the stack. Brooke’s paws had roamed down her body, framing the zipper pull where it ended just above her mound. The leathers had fallen open to allow her cream-colored belly fur to spill out for the camera, but remained caught on the swell of her small but perky breasts just enough to maintain the barest semblance of modesty. That gorgeous ruff—Taylor felt an unbearable urge to reach into the photo and stroke that fur that looked so impossibly soft.

That’s your fucking MOTHER, a voice in the back of his head reminded him.

He should have cared. Most furs would. For some reason, he didn’t.

And just like that, Taylor knew he had a problem. He had a big problem.

Taylor had a big, throbbing problem, and it was in his jeans.

He clutched the photos to his chest, trying to keep from hyperventilating as his heart pounded against his ribs. He knew with every ounce of his being that looking at the rest of the photos would be wrong, and he also knew that he was going to do it anyway.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least try to be smart about it. After all, his mother would be home from work very soon, and if he was still in the attic when she arrived she’d want to know what he was looking for up there. That wasn’t a question he was prepared to answer—or even plausibly lie about—at the moment.

Taylor noted the date of the article from the Catalcan Chronicle so he could find it through other, less intrusive means before replacing all of the papers, medals, ribbons, and memories back into the box as carefully as possible. He left the attic confident that he’d left no obvious signs of his snooping, but the dozen or so instant photos tucked into the back pocket of his jeans felt like they were burning hot.

He tried to put it off as long as he physically could. Taylor tucked the photos carefully into his desk drawer without looking at them, presumably to wait until a time when his heart wasn’t racing quite so much. Until then, he could at least work on his assignment—you know, the reason he’d gotten swept up in all of this in the first place.

He quickly found the article in the archives of the local newspaper, thanks to his ill-gotten lead. The photo was the same black and white, a bit grainier as it was scanned from the original prints, but unmistakable. He ran the article and photo off to the printer, and took a chance on putting his mother’s name in the newpaper’s search bar.

There were a pawful of other hits, but only one dated after that article. Taylor clicked on the link to see the article. It was obviously not headline news, from a page much deeper in the sports section than the original one about her victory, and the lead was stark.

LOCAL SUPERBIKE CHAMPION CALLS IT QUITS: WON’T CHALLENGE INTERNATIONAL RANKS

Despite being fully aware that his mother wasn’t a motorcycle racer anymore, Taylor still felt his ears droop as he read the news. The article was cagey—Taylor guessed his mother wasn’t free with the details of why she had decided to retire, but honestly it wasn’t hard to read between the lines given the date of the article and his own birthdate. Barely six months between them.

His mother had retired from racing to raise him instead.

He rocked back in his desk chair to wrestle with the conflicting emotions he was feeling. It wasn’t easy for the 19-year-old to square the idea of the brash, confident athlete he saw in the photos with the mother he’d known his entire life. She’d been on top of the world, as far as accomplishments went. A name known across the continent, primed to enter the world stage as the only Catucian rider in the international GP scene. No matter how he considered it, he couldn’t find it in himself to say that his mother had made the correct choice.

He set the articles aside on the corner of his desk and cracked open the desk drawer until he could see the top photo again. Despite the obviously teasing nature of the image, Taylor found himself wondering more about whether or not his mother had known she was going to be a mother when they were taken. Twenty years or more after the fact, he could easily see that his mother hadn’t changed as much as he might have thought. Even pushing into her early 40s, Brooke Hines was gorgeous. So why was she still alone?

If I’d known her back then, he thought once again, I’d have been the luckiest hare in Catucia to be with her...

Taylor threw a furtive look at his bedroom door, shame blooming red on his cheeks and ears, before he jumped up and quietly shut it. His heart was pounding, his breathing coming fast and short as he leaned his head on the door for a moment. He was absolutely going to look at those photos. He also knew what would likely follow that. His body was already telling him; his rapidly swelling cock straining against his jeans made its intentions clear.

He sat back into his desk chair and withdrew the polaroids. His mother’s face teased him, her expression promising a litany of experiences that he was never supposed to know or feel. Taylor let out a long, slow breath and slid the top photo aside.

His eyes widened as he saw the one beneath it: same place and pose, but Brooke had slipped the leather racing suit artfully off one shoulder, turning almost bashfully away from the camera as one of her breasts came into view. Taylor stared, unable to tear his eyes away as they traced the image. The soft, pure-white underfur that covered the inner half of her breast, stopping maybe an inch short of its peak. The longer grey guard hairs that began to blend and take over her coat. The perky pink nipple that showed through the coat, pointing and clearly aroused.

The teen panted quietly, finding it difficult to maintain control of his arousal. But if this slightly-scandalous photo was testing his patience, the one beneath blew it apart.

Taylor let out a low soft moan as the next image was revealed. The leathers were off her upper body now, folding back loosely to hang at her hips as she lay back over the seat. Brooke practically lounged backwards along the curve of the bike, both paws cupping her exposed breasts as she gave the camera the most sensual bedroom eyes Taylor had ever seen, one thumb almost idly tracing around her nipple. The rift of white underfur came so nearly to a point before being cut off by the racing suit, teasing Taylor to an almost painful degree with what it barely concealed.

Taylor pulled off his shirt, sparing a moment to ponder how much he’d actually inherited from his father instead of her. He lacked the white belly patch of fur, but the frost-white tips of his brown coat were longer and thicker along his torso, giving a similar sort of gradient to his dusty coloring. He followed the imaginary boundary where that white began to grow more prominent as it ran down from his throat over his chest and disappeared behind the waistband of his jeans.

Without thinking about it, Taylor undid the catch on his jeans and let the zipper down to expose his tented boxers. It was as if following the line of his fur somehow absolved him of getting his dick out over his mother’s explicit selfies, or at least gave him an excuse for it. It was the flimsiest of rationales, but it was the only lifeline available to the teen at the moment.

His nose twitched as he was hit full in the face with the scent of his own arousal, and gasped as the first wisp of a touch against his member caused it to jump violently against his paw. Everything in his body wanted to do this—no, needed to do this. Taylor couldn’t even manage to put together an apologetic thought as he swept the photo aside for the next one and completely failed to stifle another, more strident moan.

The leathers were pooled on the ground in a rough pile, and Brooke was bent over the seat of the bike at the waist, presenting herself to the camera with tail raised and legs spread. Taylor had never been so turned on in his entire young life. Nothing compared to the rush he felt; not the first time he discovered pornography, not the first time he’d seen a female’s naked body in the flesh, nor even his first time getting laid his junior year—those experiences all felt fumbling and awkward by comparison. He didn’t know if it was the taboo of the act that was revving his engine so hard or if he was truly that genuinely attracted to the fur who gave birth to him, but he glanced down to see his paw had begun stroking himself off without any conscious command from his brain to do so.

Even the sound of footpaws on carpet couldn’t force him to stop, not at this point. He paused and held the polaroids lower in his lap to hide them from view if his door should crack open, but the sound grew quiet and the door remained closed. And speaking of growing closer...

Taylor was fully panting as he got to the last photo in the sequence, his raspy inhalations alternating with breathy moans and squeaks as he stroked himself faster and harder, the tip of his dick leaking like a milky faucet. The final photo was absolutely the culmination of the sequence, taken from the same view and likely from a tripod given how consistent the framing was, and this time his mother was seated broadside on the seat, one footpaw on the peg and the other hiked up to perch on the rear swingarm, giving the camera a full and unimpeded view of her lightly-furred pussy. Apparently deciding that wasn’t enough, Brooke was pinching and pulling on a nipple with one paw and the other was spreading her lower lips as wide as possible, leaving absolutely everything on display for the film to capture. Her eyes were closed and rolled back as her head lolled, ears dangling limp behind her shoulders. If she wasn’t in the middle of an orgasm in the photo then Tay would judge that his mom was a remarkably good actor to fake one so believably. The resolution wasn’t great on the cheap, instant film, but he swore he could see drops of her nectar running down the spread labia.

The teen clamped his jaws shut so hard that he felt his teeth grinding together, lest the passionate scream building in his chest actually tear free and echo through the house. Taylor’s hips bucked and jerked as he flew past the finish line, slamming his fist down and clutching around the root of his cock as it jerked and began to spurt his seed. It was easily the hardest orgasm he’d ever had, and seemed to go on longer than he thought possible. Spurt after spurt, growing weaker in volume but undiminished in intensity as his climax ran up and down his spine like lightning.

Finally, mercifully, he came back down and slumped in his chair like a discarded puppet. His groin was matted, and both paws were damp with rapidly-cooling jizz.

Wait, both paws?!

He looked down at the damage and swore under his breath, jumping up to find napkins, a towel, an old shirt—anything to sop up the streaks of semen that covered the surface of the polaroids before they had a chance to damage them in any way.

Thankfully the waxy surface shed his cum without any problem, leaving him to figure out a solution to the absolute mess that now covered his fingers, legs, chair, and desktop.

There was a soft knock on the door.

Taylor jumped clean off the ground in shock. “Y-yeah?” he stuttered, even that much control over his voice taking everything he currently had to spare in brainpower.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Tay,” came a quiet voice, barely audible through the closed portal.

His mom’s voice. His mother. Who he’d just been lusting over like a horny feral and used to supply an orgasm so powerful that he felt dehydrated now.

“Oh... okay, mom. I’ll be right there.”

Had he heard a sniff near the door? Was his mother’s voice sort of shaky, or was he imagining it because of how messed up he was inside?

As soon as the sound of footpaws left the hallway, he scrambled to the bathroom to clean himself up with desperate energy.

Dinner was a subdued matter for the brown-furred hare. He found himself unable to look his mother in the eye, and gave halting single-word answers to most of her inquiries. She looked at him with obvious concern, knowing that something was weighing heavily on Taylor’s mind, but she didn’t pry. As they ate, Taylor cast glances at his mom, seeing her in a new light now that he had a benchmark of her younger and wilder days to compare against.

As he’d inferred, the intervening years had been extremely kind to Brooke and only served to accentuate her inner beauty as she aged into a more realistic and approachable femme. The younger, scorching-hot Brooke was a knockout who would break your heart—the older, more worldly Brooke was a beauty who would put it back together again. Even with the subtle softness that comes with age and bearing a child, his mother still had the kind of form that ancient sculptors would base goddesses on. How could he have never noticed before? The slim denim capris and loosely-flowing blouse she wore couldn’t hope to hide it from him, not anymore. So...

Why has she been single all these years?

Taylor’s eyes fell back to his plate, his brow creasing as he frowned. She’d given up on her passion because she got pregnant, and even gone back to work to provide for him after dad—or at least after Darrell—died. And as far as he was aware, his mother hadn’t so much as casually dated since that time.

Why? Even without the ethical questions of finding your kin sexually desirable, no fur in Catucia would deny that his mother had the body and the brains to get nearly anyfur she could hope for. So what was holding her back from finding somefur?

Was it him? Was he... just in the way? Shit, should he have tried harder to go away to college instead of thinking he needed to stay at home to help her out?!

After dinner, Taylor left the kitchen and headed back to his bedroom, pretending not to notice the leftover scent hanging in the air. On the corner of his desk sat the printed news articles, staring at him. He couldn’t tell if they were blaming him for wrecking his mother’s life or pushing him forward to talk things out with her, but the one thing that was obvious was that if he was never brave enough to ask any questions then he’d never get any answers.

He scooped up the articles in his paw and spun back out of the room.

Brooke was rinsing the last of the dishes from dinner and loading the dishwasher when she heard her son’s pawsteps come back into the kitchen. He stopped, hesitated as she shut off the water and latched the appliance, and finally cleared his throat as quietly as he could.

“Hey, mom?”

“Yeah?” she responded, drying her paws off on a fresh kitchen towel.

“Can... can I ask you something?”

Brooke turned to him. Whatever was on his mind was obviously serious and deserved her attention. The teenager was obviously conflicted, with his ears hanging limp down the back of his head as he gnawed on his lower lip. “Of course, Tay, what’s up?”

Taylor took a long breath to steady himself.

“Why did you have me?”

His mother froze, completely caught off-guard by the topic. “I don’t... what do you mean?”

Taylor drew his paw holding the printouts from behind his back and stepped forward, holding them out to his mother by way of explanation. Brooke accepted the papers, a look of nostalgia blossoming over her face as she saw herself in profile. “Oh my goddess,” she sighed. “This was so long ago... Where did you find these?”

Hesitantly, he explained about his anthropology assignment and the confusing search results that came up for her name. “It took a long time to find anything with a photo attached,” he concluded. “Until that article came up I would have sworn all of that was about some other fur, but then, well...” He shrugged in the direction of the printouts she now held.

His mother was silent for a while, just reading the newspaper clippings and getting lost in memories before she recalled how upset her son was. She looked at him again, and his expression was the same: conflicted, somehow sad, almost ashamed. Brooke realized that this wasn’t about discovery and nostalgia—there was a much more serious discussion needing to take place, so she held out a paw to her son and said “Let’s talk, Tay.”

The pair walked into the living room and sat down on opposite ends of the sofa. “Taylor,” she said quietly, “what’s on your mind?”

The younger hare immediately snatched a pillow from the couch and hugged it to his chest. He was thoughtful, if distant, as he started to lay his thoughts out. “Learning all of this about you is... weird. I never knew you were a racer. I never knew any of this. It’s like learning about some amazing fur in a history class or something and then you find out that you’re related to them? And on top of that, you weren’t just good, you were a Catucian Superbike champion! And then you just... gave it up.” Taylor burrowed the end of his muzzle into the pillow, muffling his voice somewhat as he continued. “I can do the math,” he said flatly, “you had to have known you were pregnant with me when you made the retirement announcement. But why? I don’t think I would have been able to give it up for... to have a child. Was the idea of starting a family with dad just, like, that strong, or did I... did I get in the way?”

His mother took a long, deep breath as the root cause of her son’s discomfort finally came out and made itself known. The memories in her head stilled, and she reached out to take Taylor’s paw in her own. “I’m sorry, Tay. There’s a lot that you really have had the right to know for a long time now. I never meant to keep anything from you, it’s just that the time never felt right and I didn’t want to stir up negative memories if I didn’t have to. We never had to face it before, but I guess ‘late’ is always better than ‘never’.”

She gave his paw a squeeze, hoping the gesture would feel comforting as she smoothed out her blouse nervously with her free paw. “What questions do you have? I’ll answer them and fill in the rest as best I can, hon.”

Taylor didn’t look up at her face, his ears slack against his head and neck. “Darrell wasn’t my dad, was he?”

“No,” Brooke admitted sadly. “He wasn’t, not biologically. But that’s not to say that he didn’t love you, or me.”

“So... who was—is my dad?”

Taylor tried his best to keep a brave face on, but it was hard for his mother not to notice the hurt in the corners of his voice. “The year before that article I won a feeder series and qualified for the Catucian Superbike Tour. For a female to make it to the Tour... well, it was a big deal. I was touted as a racing prodigy, I had sponsors competing to support me and my team, and the whole season as a whole became an utterly maddening blur. I rarely had any time to myself to just... exist. And that was for a doe only a couple of years out of high school; I was barely older then than you are now. It was a ton of pressure and media scrutiny and commitments...” She shook her head. “I asked myself a lot if I really wanted to keep doing it at all, if I wanted to be part of this circus that kept following me around. What I really needed was a friend, and lucky me, I found one.

“His name was Jeremy.”

The image of the box in the attic flashed across Taylor’s eyes. His mother didn’t notice.

“He was the only other hare in the Tour, and at first that was enough of a bond for us to share some conversation. As we got to know each other, I realized that he was a lot more. He wasn’t intimidated by a female rookie rider, even as I started to surpass him in the standings. The fact that he could just treat me like a fellow fur and not like a threat meant a lot, and we started to get closer as the season went on.”

Taylor looked up as Brooke ran her thumb over the back of his paw, a wistful look in her eyes. “He was brown, a lot darker than you, but he had the same pointed coat that you do. The same smile. The same paws. He... He was a very attractive hare.” Taylor cocked an eyebrow as his mother seemed to realize that she’d just implied that her son was very attractive by proxy and coughed to cover it.

“We weren’t in love, not really,” she admitted, pushing past the awkward moment. “But he was a wonderful companion, a good friend, and a fur I was proud to know. He celebrated my series win without any regrets or hesitation, and... I, uh...” Brooke pulled her paw back, wringing it against her other one nervously. “Oh, it’s awkward.”

“It’s okay mom, I know how these things go,” Taylor tried to reassure her. “It’s not like I’m a virgin or anything.”

This time Brooke’s eyebrow raised from an awkward confession as Taylor buried his blush in the pillow. She laughed lightly. “Oh, Tay. Sometimes I do forget that you haven’t been a child for quite some time now. You’re a grown buck and I need to see you that way.” She shook her head at herself. “But yes, we fooled around over the course of the season, and especially after the Tour wrapped up for the season.”

“So... That w—is my dad?”

She nodded. “Yes, hon. Jeremy is your biological father.”

“So why isn’t he here?”

“That’s a fair question,” she replied, leaning back and growing a bit distant as her mind went back in time. “I don’t really know if I have a good answer for that, either, which doesn’t feel fair to you. I found out I was pregnant, but I just got done having my life under a microscope and having every little thing I did put in newspapers and trade magazines for the world to read about, and I think I was just... over it all. Going public with it, in the position I was in, that would be an enormous distraction on top of the already enormous commitment. I never even told him, I just wanted the world to go away and let me deal with my life on my own.”

Taylor sat up just a little, his ears raising off his shoulders as a little bit of hope entered his voice. “So he didn’t just, like, dump you or take off and leave you alone or anything?”

“Absolutely not,” his mother replied with an emphatic shake of her head. “I knew what I’d done. Neither of us were drunk, since I couldn’t drink legally and all. No fur was being co-erced or pressured. I just made a choice and I felt obligated to deal with the results of my choices as an adult.”

The younger hare gave her a confused, frustrated look. “So, why the hell did you have me?” He tried to ignore her look of shock, almost hurt at his question. “I mean, yeah, obviously I’m grateful to be alive and all, but you had everything going for you! You were a national champion, paw-picked to be the first female in history to be on the international Grand Prix grid! You could have made history, and... And you chose not to.” His face fell. “It’s hard to not feel like I’m to blame somehow, that I got in the way of you being successful.”

Brooke’s paws flashed out, grasping her son’s paws and holding them tight. “Taylor, it might be true that your conception wasn’t intentional, but you were never a mistake.” His depression never stood a chance in the face of her ferocious love, the sheer determination and honesty she showed him melted it away. “From the first moment I knew, it just—it felt right. You have always been wanted, and there has never once been a time when I’ve regretted my decision.”

“The decision to retire.”

She nodded. “I tried, for a while. I thought that maybe I could be a mother and an athlete. I went to pre-season testing, ran demos and shakedown sessions with my team, but something was missing. There’s a sort of... recklessness that you have to have to be a champion. You have to know that you’re indestructible, whether it’s true or not. You have to be willing to find the edge and push past it without hesitation—and I couldn’t do it anymore. I knew in the back of my mind that if I went down, then you might not survive it. I knew the kind of g-force and strain of racing would take its toll on my body in ways I couldn’t support. I knew I had something to lose that I was unwilling to give up, and very quickly I reached a point where an ultimate choice had to be made.

“And I chose you, Taylor.”

Her son was quiet for a long time. Minutes ticked by as he processed more information from the last eight hours than he’d learned in his entire life about his own mother. It felt overwhelming, like there wasn’t enough room in his head to hold it all, and that was without even adding in all of the things about himself that he was now calling into doubt.

He finally broke the silence with a subdued question. “So, who was...”

“The fur you called father?”

Taylor nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat.

Brooke took a moment to sort her thoughts, knowing that things might be awkward to explain but she was committed to trusting her son now. “Obviously, it’s not easy being a single mother at 20,” she began. “And I was—frankly—in the prime of my life. I had... needs.” She laughed as Taylor rolled his eyes with good humor. “I got lonely, and I tried to date around a bit. Obviously, it wasn’t easy at all between working part time, living off my winnings and the contract and sponsor money I’d saved up, and raising an infant—but I really tried. I had some flings, a couple of hookups, but...” She sighed. “When it got around to the point of bringing somefur home with me it never... felt right. The thought of introducing any of them to you just didn’t sit well, like I couldn’t do that to you.

“At least until I met Darrell.”

“Dad,” Taylor said with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” his mother confirmed. “Darrell was a good rabbit—a good fur. A lot more down-to-earth than anyone else I’d dated, and I think that was exactly what I needed at the time. For the first time since I announced my retirement, everything just felt right when we were together, and we fell for each other hard. We loved each other very much, and he loved you, too, Tay. So very, very much. In everything but blood, he was your father, and I hope you never doubt that.”

“I don’t,” Taylor said confidently. “I... I miss him a lot.”

Brooke swept a paw over her son’s cheek, comfortingly. “Oh, Tay, I do too. He provided for us, he cared for us, he wanted to be a part of our family in every way. And he was. We had talked about making it official, but before we ever got married he... well...”

Taylor’s voice went flat, emotionless. “The plant accident.”

Brooke could only nod.

“But we got his life insurance,” he realized. “If you weren’t married—”

“He signed it over to us about a year before the accident. We knew where we were headed, even back then, and he wanted to be sure that we were taken care of if anything unexpected happened. That’s just the kind of rabbit your father was, he was loyal and reliable, and he ended up taking care of us for years afterwards thanks to his selflessness.”

The small wound that remained in Taylor’s heart had been tugged at throughout the story, and to realize now that his dad came into a home that wasn’t his, loved a son that wasn’t his, and still willingly took on their mess and pain and issues—Taylor’s eyes grew hot and damp. He scrubbed at his eyes before tears could fall, and noticed that his mother’s eyes were equally misty to his own. Mother and son gave each other time to recover themselves, to feel their pain and be together in it, in silence. Brooke got up and went into the kitchen, returning with a glass of ice water for each of them, and the two returned to the moment.

“I’m really grateful to know all that, mom,” Taylor admitted. “But it still kind of bothers me that you’ve just been... single for the last fourteen years? It’s hard to imagine that you’re really, honestly okay with that.”

Brooke laughed lightly at her son’s concerns, but there was a tension in her jaw that he spotted. “Oh, Tay, please don’t worry about me. Your mother is happy, I promise you. Having you in my life has been as fulfilling as I could ever have asked for.”

He frowned, just slightly. “I... honestly, mom, it’s hard for me to believe that.” There was absolutely no denying that his mother was—and almost certainly still was—a sexual creature in addition to a mother, not anymore. He struggled to keep those thoughts at bay, lest this talk become far too awkward to cope with for either of them.

He struggled for a way to explain it that made sense without crossing a boundary that a son had no right to cross. “I know you’re my mom, but you’re also a grown female hare, and there’s just no way that you can get all your fulfillment just from... well, from me. Or from us. I mean—shit...” He swallowed and rushed forward to escape his awkwardness. “I can’t provide for us, not while I’m in school. And I absolutely can’t—I, um—I mean, you’re still going to an empty bed at night, and like you said: you have needs. It’s not like you’re old, by any means.”

Brooke smiled warmly at her son’s concern for her happiness. “You’re a sweet hare, Tay, but please don’t worry about your mother like that. I can take care of myself just fine.” She meant it to be reassuring, but the way his ears flopped downwards and his face lit up in a crimson blush made it clear that her reassurance carried some intimate implications.

Whatever, she thought. It’s not a lie, and he is an adult now.

He turned to the side to hide his face, but the glow on his cheeks remained visible. “I just... I want you to be happy, mom.” He yelped as his mother leaned in and swept him into a strong hug, one that he gladly returned. That hug could have gone on for hours without upsetting him in the slightest, but all too soon his mother released him and stepped back to appraise him with a smile that showed brightly in her eyes.

“I am happy, Taylor. What we have here makes me happy. You make me happy.”

“I wish I really could,” he thought to himself as he turned to leave with a half-hearted smile in return.

He did think that to himself, didn’t he? He definitely didn’t mutter it out loud, right?

...Right?

Brooke sat heavily on the edge of her bed, leaving the room dark. The unexpectedly heavy conversation had left her drained, nostalgic, and confused. It had been so easy for so long to simply push aside the loneliness that Darrell’s loss had filled her with. She stayed busy, didn’t dwell on it, and thus remained happy with just the two of them—but now Taylor had ripped that bandage off and the wound that she thought had scarred over years ago was shown to still be rather raw when poked at. Suddenly aware of where she was, the room felt too big, too empty. The queen-size bed had always felt like a luxury, but now she felt lost on it.

And she was burning to be touched.

As with regular hunger, there was a stage where it was a hardship, and then your body started prioritizing survival and stopped sending so many anguished signals to your brain—and it wasn’t until you ate something or thought about how long it had been since your last meal that you realized how much the emptiness hurt.

The hug Taylor had given her after their talk, as innocent as it had been, was nevertheless filled with emotions. Confusion and desperation, but also affection and a willingness to be there for her.

I wish I really could...

Brooke knew beyond a doubt that her son hadn’t intended to say that so she could hear him, but that was the thing about hares: if it was audible, they’d hear it. But what had he meant? Did Taylor doubt that he was actually making her happy by being in her life?

Or did he wish he could do more?

Something in her gut told her it couldn’t possibly have been a casual assertion: Taylor’s slip of the tongue was an honest revelation if ever he had one. But even that could have been so much easier to brush off if it hadn’t been for the scent and sound she was trying to forget about when she’d gone to summon him for dinner. The smell was unmistakable, and unmistakably male—and the muffled sounds through the door left zero doubt in her mind what he had been doing. As before: if a sound was audible, then a hare would undoubtedly hear it.

The timing of it all was... well, a charitable detective would call it “suspicious”, but to suddenly be made aware of this mysterious backstory of hers, and to be caught somewhat in the act of relieving his pent-up urges, and to then let such a heartfelt admission slip in the heat of a very emotional moment between them...

She moaned in frustration and settled on stripping off her clothes and going to take a shower, hoping to find some sort of stillness and focus. The steaming water nearly scalded her back, but it was nothing compared to the heat inside her chest. She ran her blunt claws through her short coat, and the moans she made now were from a different sort of frustration. It was inevitable at this point, she had to get off, and it might as well be here.

Brooke tried to focus, to imagine the claws caressing her skin belonged to a strong, attentive male. Some fur who understood her needs, who was eager to please her without the typical “me-first” greed of the standard hookup fodder on the dating apps these days. A fur who wanted to do whatever it took to fulfill her body’s wishes...

I wish I really could make you happy.

That had been the unspoken end of that sentence, as much as Brooke didn’t want to admit it. And as much as she tried to protest otherwise, she was missing the fulfilment that came with a mate. Her paws drifted lower, running down her stomach, the thumbs and fingers framing her dripping sex. Goddess I need a cock right now...

Having let her mind roam free, she now found it impossibly difficult to control. Scents were such a powerful trigger for memory, and just like the taste of food would reveal a fur’s true hunger, the scent of a male’s release made it painfully, shockingly apparent just how long it had been since Brooke had experienced any sort of sexual fulfillment.

Taylor really was so much like his father. His paws, nearly identical to the strong paws that had held her down and squeezed her flesh in all the right ways. His fur was the same; just on the edge of coarse, and the way Jeremy’s coat had rasped against her own couldn’t help but blend from her memories into her current fantasy. What would have happened if she’d given into that deep-seeded, subconscious impulse to open Tay’s door? Would she have seen him? Would his cock be as similar to his father’s as his scent was?

Brooke gasped as her finger began to massage and flick at her clit without her conscious orders, and the gasp shifted into a long, shaky moan as it sank in. She couldn’t stop herself now, not for anything. The best she could do was enjoy it, make sure the inevitable shame and regret of completely failing as a mother would be worth the end result.

The hug Taylor had given her was sad, but so filled with affection and love. She could feel his arms around her again now, as though he were standing behind her at that very moment. Out of every male she could possibly go to for a short-sighted-mistake of a release, he would undoubtedly give his all to fulfill her needs. Like she had told him: he wasn’t a leveret anymore, growing into his body and trying to find his place in the world. Now he was a strapping young buck of nineteen, smart and strong and compassionate and sure of where he wanted to be—and—and virile... And apparently not a virgin anymore...

I bet he fucks just like his dad did, too, she thought, her hindbrain forcing itself violently into her mind over the objections of every moral and value she thought she had, instead choosing to spear her soaking wet cunt with two of her fingers. There was basically no friction at all, she was so worked up and so desperate. A third finger joined in quickly as she half-collapsed against the wall with a loud thump, her knees threatening to buckle out from underneath herself.

Brooke closed her eyes, giving in to the pleasure, finger-fucking herself as fast as her arm could sustain. The rush of the shower could no longer cover her moans as she began to see her climax approaching. “Goddess,” she gasped, “yes, fuck, fuck fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” Behind her closed eyes, brightness began to grow, steadily overtaking her senses. “Fuck me... Yes, yes!” Brooke sank onto her rump on the floor of the shower, bending double at the waist as she fell over the edge into bliss. Her head craned back, exposing her neck to an imaginary lover, clutching at her breast with her free paw as she felt her snatch gripping her fingers tightly. “Oh, fuuuuuck, Tay...lor...”

Almost immediately as her body sagged and her eyes fluttered back open again, the wall of shame began to build in her mind—but it was muted, somehow distant. I should be utterly disgusted with myself, she knew, I just fingered myself thinking about my own son. Despite the logic, and the fact that the shame was there, there was no danger of her being overwhelmed by it. She’d desperately needed to get herself off, and for whatever perverse reason, the taboo was what her mind needed to do the job. Her son was a near-facsimile of his father, and she was missing his memory. That was all it was. That was all it needed to be. She just, you know, maybe shouldn’t make a habit out of it.

And maybe Brooke should be looking for a mate again. It had certainly been long enough, maybe it would do her some good to put herself out there—even if love wasn’t on the table, she wouldn’t complain about a chance to get railed good and properly, either.

There was just the problem of that little nagging sense in her mind that maybe Taylor wouldn’t approve of whoever she found, and along with it the equally nagging question of why it seemed to matter to her so strongly whether or not Taylor approved.

Taylor shut his bedroom door behind himself, his eyes wide and breath panting, bordering on panic. He slumped against the door, his shirt riding up his back as he slid down its face to sit on the carpet. The brown hare tugged his ears down over his eyes, hiding the world from his sight.

She said my name.

He had been so worried that maybe he might have let his thoughts slip out during the heartfelt conversation that he just went back to his room and sat in silence, contemplating his paws and trying to still the spinning of his mind. The thump that echoed through the house had shocked him back to awareness: it had the clear sound of a body falling against a wall, and he rushed to his mother’s room to make sure that she was unhurt. The shower had been running—had she slipped and fallen? Hit her head, perhaps? The teen cracked the door to his mother’s bathroom, intending to call out to check on her, but the sounds that met him stole his voice from his throat.

“Goddess,” she had gasped, “yes, fuck, fuck fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

He froze, his limbs running cold with shock—and from all the blood in his body seemingly rushing to his groin all at the same moment. Of course the master bath just had to be arranged in a way that the shower was visible from the swing of the door. The patterned and frosted glass wall would make it nearly impossible to distinguish between a door that was closed securely and one that was cracked open, so Taylor found himself in the crosshairs of another big problem.

Beating off to his mother’s old photos was as fine a moral line as he could ever hope to walk, but this was orders of magnitude worse. He’d just stumbled wildly over the line, and the only ethical and moral choice was to turn and leave, immediately. There was no possible argument, no articulable reason that could excuse him if he continued to just stand and stare at his mother pleasuring herself. It was his fucking mother, for goddess’ sake.

...just like it had been his mother that starred in his fantasies earlier that same evening.

Despite the glass’ distortions, it was still clearly apparent that Brooke had several fingers deep in her pussy and was getting herself off with everything she had. The smell of female was heavy in the air, and the perfume of lust and need was drilling straight to his brainstem, leaving him stunned. He couldn’t break away until a burst of discomfort made itself known, his once-again-erect maleness cramped and strained within his jeans. Shaken, he felt the shame come over him in a wave, and he grabbed the door handle to sneak away when Brooke moaned the most fateful words:

“Oh, fuuuuuck, Tay...lor...”

The bubble of memory popped, leaving him exactly as worked up and confused as he had been when it happened mere minutes ago. He moaned in sympathy on the floor of his room, repressing the urge to scream into his own ears. His pants hadn’t gotten any less tight in the meantime, and he had absolutely no idea what to do about that. To think that his mother would think that about him, of all furs! Yes, he had technically kind of sort of violated her privacy first, but he felt super guilty about it! Just because he came harder than he even thought possible while staring at photos of his mother’s naked body didn’t mean...

Did it?

“Okay,” he muttered, slapping himself in the cheek, “think, Tay, think. What the fuck does this mean?”

Well, to begin with, maybe I’m not the only one with a weird fetish in his house.

But was that... was that okay? Everything he’d ever been taught by society, morals, religion, or science—everywhere across Catucia—made it very, very clear that it was not acceptable to have fantasies about your family, much less to act on them!

Right?

This was all becoming far too much for the hare buck to try to parse. No, far better to simply go about his life, don’t make waves, and see what happens. His mother was too precious to him to think about risking their relationship over something stupid like that. She needed him, just as he was: supporting her as her son. She might need things beyond the scope of what her son could provide, but that wasn’t a burden for him to carry. He’d just have to come to grips with the idea that she’d get those needs met from—well, from some other fur. A seemingly random male who didn’t know her...

If it wasn’t his problem then why did the idea of it tighten his chest and burn behind his eyes?

“Fuck, oh Goddess... Mom...”

Taylor had tried to be good. He’d tried with everything in him to put his feelings and his restless teenaged libido aside and just exist as a proper, honest, good son should do. The hare just wanted life to go on, to be normal, to be comfortable.

He’d lasted nine days.

Things had changed in both mother and son since that fateful day of awakening, and they were both playing a very dangerous game of willful ignorance. Simple little “slip-ups” had suddenly become commonplace: Brooke walking around the house in a bra and shorts, Taylor letting his gaze linger a little too long at his her chest as she walked past, mother walking into his room without knocking almost as if she was trying to catch him masturbating, son finding reasons to brush past her to get to the fridge or being considerably more prone to giving hugs that were tighter and much longer than normal.

The two were playing with borrowed money, and neither one would admit that they were playing it, even to themselves. These were all just the ways that a mother and son would naturally act if they weren’t all uptight around each other, they reasoned. They were both adults, they could endure just sharing a space without trying to police each other. And just because their subconsciouses were pushing them to press the boundaries just a liiiiitle bit more with each passing day, that didn’t mean that they had a motive or anything! The hares were setting Olympic records for the mental gymnastics, but no matter how much they tried to ignore them the effects were still hitting both of them. Hard.

Taylor had heard the sounds of his mother pleasuring herself from the hallway, though she refrained from calling out his name anymore. He teetered back and forth between trying to remain silent as he jacked himself off in the shower and almost daring her to hear his moans. Even now, pawing himself to bliss, some part of his brain was aware that he hadn’t actually locked his bedroom door, but no rogue thought was going to break through the powerful wall of lust surrounding his senses.

He was getting close again, now, kicked back in his desk chair with one footpaw on the desk. His paw was stroking at his painfully swollen length like he was trying to start a fire, the other one holding on to the taboo photos that had started all of this off, leering at his mother’s younger image bent over and waiting. He wanted to tug on that little scut tail so bad, just give it a yank while he pushed himself deeper and—

Something in him snapped. Maybe it was the impending mess he knew he’d make, maybe it was the need for noise to hide behind—but suddenly he couldn’t remain in his room like this any longer. He needed to be in the shower to finish what he’d started. Taylor jumped up like he’d been shocked by a live wire, threw the photos back down on the desk, and stripped in a heartbeat. He snatched up a towel and raced across the hall with the haste that only a hare could manage to start the water, so single-minded on his release and trying to hide himself that he didn’t realize that another fur was actually in the hall at the time.

Brooke managed to refrain from crying out in surprise as a brown-furred blur shot across the hallway, bare but for a towel around its midsection, and braced herself with one paw on the wall for several seconds before her brain could make sense of what it had seen. It had definitely been Taylor. He’d definitely been dressed in only a towel. And that towel had definitely been tented at the front. impressively tented.

And he left his bedroom door open...

Yet again, Brooke knew that there was no legitimate rationalisation for wanting to snoop on her son’s fantasies, but logic had left her behind several days ago. She had to know, even if for no other reason than to find some way to minimize the overwhelming shame she felt at her own depravity. Reason stood no chance.

She swayed on her paws as her nose twitched, practically assaulted by the heady scent of a male in desperate need to rut. She could feel herself getting wet from the odor alone. Brooke bit her lip, trying to keep herself in check, and practically tip-pawed her way to his computer desk. Surely he hadn’t been able to clear his browsing history if he’d been in that big of a hurry to leave the room, right? In her lust-fueled haze, it didn’t even register to her that his computer wasn’t even on until her paw landed on the mouse and her eyes fell upon the scattered pile of polaroids next to the mousepad. Her eyes widened as she looked down at her own face—at her own body.

What... how in Catucia... that’s me ...

Brooke had completely forgotten that those photos existed at all. They’d been intended for Jeremy to see, taken in the heat of a moment, and shoved aside along with all of her other memories of that time when she’d run away and started her life over again. She gathered them up, holding them in her paws as she fought to make sense of everything. The old instant snaps were still in nearly perfect condition, protected from the sun and moisture as they had been in the attic, but she noticed small creases and claw indentations from where Taylor had gripped the photos just a bit more tightly than he meant to. Some of the photos bore the slightest discoloration, as though they’d been spilled upon...

He was masturbating to these, she realized with a start. Those claw marks, had those been left while he was cumming? Climaxing to the sight of his mother’s younger self? Goddess, she was so fucking wet right now!

Absent-mindedly, Brooke tucked the photos into the back pocket of her slim-fit jeans. The theft would guarantee that Taylor knew she had been there, that she had seen—but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted Taylor to know.

Her brain wanted him to be properly ashamed of himself and stop this madness.

Her body wanted him to come to her for his release.

Everything about the room was laced with her son’s scent, suffusing it. Especially the desk chair; it was drenched in the scent of his lust. How many times had he jacked off in that chair to leave such a permanent imprint? How many times had it been done to her?

Her ears flicked backwards. No fur but a hare could possibly have heard that low, muffled noise—but what her ears hadn’t fully comprehended her brain was all too quick to fill in the blanks for: Taylor moaning in the shower.

Before she could think it through, Brooke stood in front of the bathroom door. The spray of the water was apparent, but beneath that it wasn’t difficult to make out a rhythmic squelching sound. Panting breathing interspersed the steady beat, and the grey-furred doe could feel her own breathing speeding up until they were in sync. She cracked the door open, as silently as she could.

The second bathroom was smaller and much more linear than the master suite, and the door opened away from the tub/shower—but directly facing the large mirror above the sink. The mirror was starting to fog up, but through the hazed border she could clearly see Taylor’s form behind the translucent shower curtain. He was hunched, his head held beneath the water’s spray, and very clearly pleasuring himself. Brooke’s breath hitched and caught as she watched. The details were tantalizingly hidden, but the shapes and movements were unmistakable. And if she had to guess based on the way his arm was moving, her son wasn’t exactly lacking down there...

Brooke bit her lip, one paw seemingly glued to the door handle as the other slowly moved to her waist. It wasn’t much of a fight to begin with, and her paw was just starting to dig into the hem of her panties when Taylor found his voice.

“Goddess yes, mom, fuck, fuck...”

His mother jerked backwards, very nearly slamming the door shut out of reflex before catching herself. She closed it silently, but rather than flee Brooke leaned heavily against the portal, one ear pressed against the hollow-core door as her paw finally found her sodden slit.

“Goddess dammit, mom, you’re so fucking hot... Wanna... Gonna... Fuuuuuuck...”

Her starting later than Taylor was no impediment, not when she knew full well that she was the object of his masturbatory fantasies. Her fingers slid either side of her aching clit, popping her button back and forth between them, rapidly pushing her to the climax that she could plainly hear her son approaching as well.

Through the door she heard a long, low, moaning sigh; and that was enough for Brooke. She slid silently down the door, biting her lip and screwing her eyes shut hard enough to see stars as she bent in orgasm, her fingers clutching at her pussy.

Brooke stayed in that position, half-slumped and panting, until the water turning off startled her back to awareness. She fled into her room and sat on the bed, fighting to resist her internal turmoil.

You can’t keep doing this, Brooke. You’re going to get caught, and what would you say then? What would happen?

...What would happen?

She sighed unhappily. She desperately needed to get all of this out of her system. Feelings be damned, there had to be a better, more healthy way.

The next few weeks were bitterly awkward in the Hines household. Neither mother or son could fully look at each other without blushing or feeling a wave of shame, and so they lived together in a terse emotional stalemate. The constant, unasked question of how long it could hold finally came up over dinner.

“So...” Brooke hedged, swirling vegetables around her plate with her fork, “I’m thinking about trying to date again.”

Taylor’s heart fell out of his chest, his entire body feeling cold—but he held his composure. “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” he replied with what he hoped was a believable amount of cheer.

“Do you think you’d really be okay with that?” she asked her son, unable to decide what her preferred answer would actually be.

“Of course, you deserve to be happy. I’m an adult, it won’t break me to see my mother dating.” The artificial lightness in his voice was convincing, but to him it felt sharp, like broken glass that he dared not step on.

“I just want to be sure you know that I’m not trying to replace your dad. Or you. Or, like, trying to push you out or anything.”

“Of course not. It’s been too long already.”

“Okay, if you’re sure..”

“Yeah, mom.”

“Okay.”

The two hares sat, stewing in silence for several minutes. Neither one could truly make sense of their feelings, or explain why the only logical path forward felt somehow wrong to both of them individually.

The dam held, but cracks were growing steadily. Taylor began to find it unbearable to be around his mother. Obviously one of the hottest hare does in the world would be a prized commodity to single males, so while it was no surprise that the notification ping of the dating app was a constant background intrusion it quickly grew to grate on Taylor’s nerves. He winced at each digital chirp, until Brooke finally, mercifully put the app on silent. But the subtle vibrations were still plenty audible to him. And each one ran up his spine like a cold shiver until he finally just secluded himself in his bedroom to avoid it altogether.

Neither mother nor son were comfortable with how cold and uncomfortable their relationship had suddenly become, least of all Taylor. He tried to put forth as much effort as his heart could bear. He showed the proper enthusiasm when Brooke announced that she had a date. He gave dutifully appropriate feedback about her looks when she prepared to go out, despite his heart pounding just from looking at her. He did everything in his power to resist taking out his frustration on his unrepentant dick—especially now that the missing polaroids all but confirmed that his mother had discovered his dirty secret. He felt like he was going insane, like his mind was cracking down the middle, and he had no idea what to do about it.

It lasted until the fateful night that Brooke texted her son to warn him that she was going to bring somefur home with her. Taylor couldn’t keep up the show any longer. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the male that would have his mother in a way he never could. There was just no way he could pretend to be happy for her. He remained in his room, silent and invisible, sulking behind his closed door as low voices and laughter drifted from the living room to his ears. He put in his earbuds and tried to ignore the sound of footpaws moving from the living room down the hall towards the master bedroom. It wasn’t any of his business. In fact, he only left his room to get a snack from the kitchen because it was further away from his mother’s room, and therefore harder to hear the subtle creaks and hushed voices. He wanted to give them space. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with the growing need to absolutely smash something, anything around him into thousands of pieces.

Tee-tonk.

An unfamiliar sound drew his attention to the living room, and to a glowing phone he didn’t recognize on the coffee table.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!”

Taylor fully kicked the door open, denting the drywall of his mother’s bedroom as two bodies scrambled in a panic in opposite directions beneath the covers.

“Taylor?!” his mother shrieked, covering herself with the duvet and half-falling off the far side of the bed in her scramble.

“What the fuck? Who the fuck is this?!” the male skunk yelled, his tail rigid with shock. “You said you were single!”

“That’s my son—”

“She is single, you cheating piece of shit!” Taylor screamed, hucking the skunk’s phone at his head. The skunk ducked, saving him but leaving the phone to bang into the headboard and fall to the bed with the screen spiderwebbed and cracked.

“My fucking phone! What the hell, asshole, I—”

The skunk’s face paled as he saw the text notification on the lock screen, easily noticable even through the lines in the glass. He tapped on it to see the message header.

Wife: I know you’re working late, but there’s leftovers in the fridge for...

The message preview cut off, but more than enough was there to damn him for his infidelity. Taylor growled, his voice lower and more threatening than Brooke had ever heard it before.

“Get your shit and get out of our home or I swear to the goddess I’ll tear your throat out.”

The skunk took full notice and scrambled out of the bed, completely heedless of his nudity as he snatched up his belongings and left the room in a rush. Taylor watched him go, putting on only enough clothing to avoid a public indecency charge, and made sure he got in his car and left.

Lashing out felt right. It felt justified. But it hadn’t made Taylor feel good. His paws shook with pent-up adrenaline and anger. He wanted to strike, he wanted to smell blood and feel his paws bruise and break on that bastard’s skull. He wanted to punish the asshole who would abuse his mother’s trust, nearly as much as he wanted to punish himself.

He remained in the living room, staring at the closed door with so much rage and hate and shame coursing through his body that he just felt like crying. He shouldn’t feel like this, it wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his right. Brooke wasn’t his.

But he wished she was all the same.

He was so caught up in his emotions that he didn’t realize his mother had come out to check on him until her arms swept around his chest from behind. He smeared the hot tears away from his cheeks with a paw and tried to find some semblance of focus and calm.

“Are you okay, Tay?”

The soft voice of his mother, concerned for him after what had to be one of the most unwelcome shocks of her life—it destroyed his fragile grip and he started crying in earnest.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

“Taylor, no!” Brooke held him even tighter. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were looking out for me. You protected me.”

“I did everything wrong,” he sobbed. “I’m the worst son in Catucia.”

“Why? Because you defended me?”

“Because I’m jealous. I chased him off because he’s an asshole, but really it was... it was because I was jealous.”

Taylor tore away from his mother, unable to hold back the truth as it spilled along with his tears. He slumped onto the couch, laying his head in his paws despondently.

He felt the sofa shift as his mother sat on the other end. “What do you mean, ‘jealous’?”

“I’m jealous because I’m in love with you. In a way that a son should never, ever look at his mom. The last few weeks have been utter hell. I can’t stand to think of some other male putting his paws on you. It’s been driving me mad, and when I spotted that notification on that fucking skunk’s phone, I—I just snapped. I wanted to kill him, to drive away the chance of any male getting to have you. I wanted to put myself between you and them, to keep you for myself.” He panted as the tide of words slowed and stopped, feeling his tears slowing with them until he just sat in silent shame, staring at his own footpaws because he couldn’t bear to look at the doe who raised him.

“That’s why I’m the fucking worst. That’s why I hate myself for doing that. That’s why I’m broken, why I’m wrong.”

Brooke was stunned. Her son, her dear leveret, was distraught and in desperate need of her support and comfort—but that would also break him completely if she gave it. This obviously was more than a couple of weeks’ worth of building feelings—how long had this been weighing on him? Had all of her motherly affections over the years been inadvertently torturing him? By all rights, Brooke should have been scandalized by the admission, or at least shocked. Or even surprised. Disappointed?

At the least she should be feeling literally anything other than the rays of joy and pride that was slowly growing in her core.

“Tay, honey... How long has this been a thing?”

“I don’t really know,” he admitted sadly. “I don’t think I was aware of it before I found those newspaper articles about you, but they—it pulled back the covers. We’ve always been closer than other mothers and sons. With it being just the two of us, I think that was inevitable to some point. But as I look back, I think I would have been equally upset and unhappy with you dating at any point after dad died. I just wouldn’t have been able to say why. Now... now I know.

“Objectively,” he continued, “I know that there shouldn’t be any reason at all why you can’t find somefur to be happy with. You deserve that. I want to see you be happy, but I can’t shake the feeling that no one out there is good enough. They don’t deserve you. They can see how beautiful you are, but they’ll never know you like I do. How strong you are. Or how good, and caring, and smart, and talented...”

“B—beautiful?”

Taylor finally looked up at her, incredulous that she wouldn’t realize her own attractiveness, but all thoughts left him when he realized for the first time that his mother had only replaced her underwear before coming out to check on him. She sat on the couch, oddly unbothered by being clad only in a bra and panties around her adult son. He tried not to stare, but the soft white garments with light blue flowers printed on them stripped all conscious thoughts from his brain as his eyes followed the curve of the lace trim to where it met the ample rise of her breast. He followed the straps upwards, along the graceful curve of her neck, over her soft cheek, to meet her eyes and fall completely into them.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

In that instant, Brooke could read her son like a book, his face was open and honest and showed all of the myriad levels that were supporting that simple, flattering statement. Her son wasn’t just attracted to her, he was devoted to her. She didn’t even doubt that he might go so far as to worship her to a degree. She honestly didn’t believe that there was any command she could give him, any wish she could express, any desire her mind could invent that he wouldn’t immediately give his all to fulfill.

Brooke’s breath hitched in her chest. She felt warm, nearly feverish, but it was the kind of warmth that put her in the mind of an impossibly comfortable quilt. The kind of warmth she could shelter in and find safety. He truly was so much like his father... Different, too, but different in ways that made him seem like a mystery she wanted to learn about. She wished she could find the words to tell Taylor how long it had been since somefur had seen her for what she truly was, all the good and bad at once, and accepted it eagerly. She wished there was a right way to tell him how messed up she was inside, how much she knew how wrong this was, and how much she couldn’t find a reason to care. But there were no words, no rationales, no explanations. Nothing could make any of this make sense.

So instead she just leaned forward and kissed him.

Taylor jerked, utterly taken by surprise from his stupor, but he instinctively gave in and reciprocated almost immediately. This was as far as you could get from the chaste, loving kiss of a mother for her son—this was an impassioned kiss, fueled by repression and desire and need. His mother’s lips were impossibly soft. He had to be dreaming or something, but he was in no hurry to wake up if so.

Despite the back of her mind screaming in protest of her actions, Brooke didn’t pull away. She took her full enjoyment, teasing her son’s mouth and tracing his lips with her tongue, until her lungs were screaming for oxygen. She finally pulled back, flushed and panting, and saw Taylor’s shocked expression and firmly-tented basketball shorts. This was so, so close to becoming the biggest mistake of both of their lives, she knew. She had to regain some purchase in reality. She had to put a stop to this.

“Tay, if this is going to happen, we need to get some things clear first,” was what she said instead.

Taylor’s eyes went wide. “Wait, what?”

Brooke’s ears were red hot and fully flat against the back of her head. She felt drunk, or at least like she was watching herself from the outside without agency. “I don’t think it’s wrong to say that we both want this, right? That we both want each other?”

“I—wh—we—you want me?”

She nodded. “And you want me.”

“More than anything,” he breathed.

“Then we can not fuck this up.”

Taylor sobered as her words sank in. “Shit... shit, you’re right. I’m so sorry, mom, I didn—

She grasped his paws and gave them a squeeze. “Stop, Tay. I—I wish I could say that I knew what I was doing. I wish there was something I could use to say that it wasn’t wrong, or that everything will be okay, but I can’t. I...” Brooke shook her head ruefully. “I guess there’s just something deeply wrong with me—or maybe both of us—but if that has a chance of letting us grow closer and find some happiness that we didn’t have before... Is that—can that be enough?”

To his credit, the younger hare was intensely thoughtful about the situation. “Mom, I... I want more than anything to say ‘yes’, that this will be okay and it can just be whatever we need it to be, but I... I don’t know if I can say that. It might be a lie.”

“How about we start with what you want it to be?”

Taylor bit his lower lip to prevent the I want to be your mate that was building in his chest from leaping out of his mouth. She saw his hesitation, though, and just as readily he saw that she knew how hard he was holding back.

“Be honest with me, Tay. I won’t judge you.”

He bowed his head. “I—I want to be yours. I want you to be mine. I want to be able to give you everything you’ve been missing, everything you could want. I want to make sure that not a single day goes by that you aren’t told how beautiful you are and how much I love you.”

He looked back up in time to see a tear roll down his mother’s face to be caught on the corner of her broad, heartfelt smile, and when he cocked his head in confusion Brooke outright laughed and wiped her face off. “Oh, Tay. I promise I’m not trying to make this weird or anything, but that was just so... You sounded so much like your dad. Darrell, the dad you knew.”

Taylor blushed, beaming at the praise. “It probably should feel weird, but honestly it doesn’t. We both loved him, and he loved both of us. I don’t know if he’d condone anything we’re talking about doing, but I do know he’d want us to be happy as a family.”

The hares lapsed into a silence that was at once both comfortable and unsettled. They’d said all that they needed to say, but...

“So what happens now?” Taylor asked timidly. “I... I don’t know what to do.”

Brooke’s mouth quirked to the side. “I don’t really know, either. There isn’t exactly a manual for getting into a relationship with your son or anything.”

He laughed, but both the sound and his smile were hollow, and both faded quickly. “Mom?” he said, “I—I’m kinda scared.”

“I know what you mean, honey. We can’t put the genie back in the bottle, but this is uncharted territory.”

Taylor grasped his mother’s paws tightly, rubbing the backs nervously with his thumbs, until she leaned in and gave him another kiss—this time on his cheek.

“Let’s take this one step at a time,” she decided. “Would you...” Taylor was stunned to see his mother actually looking nervous and bashful, her ears entirely flushed crimson. “Would you like to take a shower with me?”

In the master bathroom, Taylor shucked off his t-shirt without issue, but hesitated when his paw landed on the button of his jeans. This shouldn’t be so difficult, he reasoned. After all, it was only fair, his mom had been in her underwear for this entire time and didn’t seem to be having a problem with it all, so why was it taking all of his willpower to undo his pants?

It was such a struggle for him that he had to wait until his mother was turned around and adjusting the handle of the shower before he could slide them slowly down his hips. He was obviously as hard as he’d ever been in his life—the situation was too absurd and too intimate to be anything else. Even so, Brooke flushed as she turned back and saw his cock tenting his boxers out lewdly.

Letting the shower warm up in its own time, Brooke closed the distance with her son. “You can say you want to stop at any time, Tay,” she assured him, stroking her paw down one of his lowered ears. “Nothing needs to happen that we’re both not okay with.”

Taylor took a breath to steady himself as the knowledge sank in and centered him. “Yeah, of course,” he agreed. “Thank you, uh... mom.”

Brooke couldn’t help but grin as she put her arms around his shoulders. “You can just call me ‘Brooke’ if ‘mom’ is too much.” She pulled him closer, feeling his hips bump against hers, bringing her muzzle close to his ear for a husky whispered admission: “But I have to admit that I like how it makes me feel to hear you say it right now...”

The younger hare threw his arms around his mother eagerly, meeting her muzzle with his own in a desperate kiss. Both of them could feel Taylor’s stiff arousal caught between their bodies, just like they could feel how much of Brooke’s own arousal was soaking through her panties and into his boxers. Both lovers ran their paws up and down each other’s backs as they made out, short claws raking through dense guard coats, exchanging soft moans and gasps into each other’s mouths as they discovered sensitive new spots on the other’s bodies.

It didn’t take long for Taylor to get tired of her bra getting in the way of his paws, and after dipping fingers and paws under the band a few times, he got the unspoken nod of permission from his mother and gripped the ends. It took him a few tries, but he managed to undo the hooks one at a time until they went slack. Brooke pulled back for just enough space to let the garment drop down her arms and off her body, finally allowing her ample tits the freedom they’d been needing for weeks. Her son was captivated by the sight: he knew that as an athlete his mother had been perky if not exactly expansive, but childbirth combined with the years had been exceedingly kind to her. He put his paws to her waist, no longer the slender hourglass of her youth but somehow all the more inviting and enticing and real for it.

“Holy shit, m—Brooke...” he gasped under his breath, bringing a bright pink flush to her cheeks in response. His paws traced up her sides, rippling through her grey fur, and caressed up the sides of her breasts. Brooke gasped in return as she finally felt what she’d been dying to feel: her son’s paws on her body, on her tits, on all the places that society wouldn’t allow them to share. Taylor examined her chest carefully, intimately; he felt the give of her wonderful orbs under his claws and tested their weight in his paws. His eartips twitched to Brooke’s moans as his fingers found her nipples and gave them the barest, most hesitant of tweaks.

“Yes, Tay,” she breathed into his ear. “Go ahead, they’re not fragile.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered in a daze, his fingers exploring, pinching, and twisting the perfect pink nubs. He catalogued every breath, every twitch, every sound his mother made in response, until the only thing left he could do was to bend down and take one into his mouth.

Brooke moaned out, long and loud, rubbing the backs of Taylor’s ears with her thumbs, just needing to feel as much connection to her son as possible. “Do it, baby,” she cooed at him. “They were for you anyway, originally.”

The tide in her was rising steadily and quickly, the waves crashing higher and higher with every repetition of Taylor’s tongue against her sensitive flesh. If he continued, she would surely be pulled under soon.

Brooke tugged at Taylor’s ears, pulling the brown-furred head away from her chest even as his tongue stretched out to try to maintain the connection. He looked up at his panting mother, confused.

“Get those boxers off,” she commanded him. “We should get in the shower before we make a very large mess.”

Taylor grinned, and his underwear came off far faster and less hesitantly than his jeans had, quickly leaving him in his bare fur, fully erect and proud for the woman who gave birth to him nineteen years prior. He wanted to climb into the shower first, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away as Brooke stripped off her panties, visible threads of arousal clinging to her lips and glistening against the darkened fabric. Taylor’s cock jumped in response.

Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck—_it looped in his head like a mantra as he stepped into the large, invitingly-open shower and felt the first blast of warm water on his coat. _This is actually happening.

He let the water sluice down his back, warmth seeping into his shoulders and backside, as Brooke entered behind him and pulled him back against her chest with a tender hug. She nipped at the nape of his neck, paws running over his chest, making it abundantly clear that she was exactly as into this as he was. Her son lacked her fluffy bellyfur, as his coat took strongly after his father and his guard hair covered his coat entirely, but it was distantly familiar and Brooke couldn’t get enough of the feeling. Her blunt claws raked through Taylor’s fur, brushing lower and lower as he squirmed and fought his energetic arousal.

Taylor’s halting pants broke as his mother’s paw closed slowly and firmly around his aching cock, stroking the smooth flesh with her index finger and just varying the grip of her paw on his shaft to tantalize him.

“Goddess, mom, I... I’m sorry, I—I’m not gonna last long.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t want you to last.” She began to stroke his flesh with her paw, pumping her fist down the length of her son’s impressive erection as he reached back and clenched his fist into her headfur. “I didn’t intend for this to be a one-time thing, and I’d prefer we get the nervous excitement out of the way before the main event.”

The taunting, the touching, the unbearable taboo of the moment was too much for the teen, and he bent at the waist, hunching his hips and gritting his teeth as his cock began to jerk and shoot. Behind Taylor’s shoulder, Brooke was barely able to see the results of her work as they splattered against the tile, but the sheer volume of his release had her biting her lip and clenching her knees together. Even with the circumstances, it was an impressive volume of cum.

Taylor slumped, his back to the wall of the shower, only just able to keep himself upright as his entire body loosened like an uncoiled mainspring. Brooke couldn’t resist bringing her paw to her mouth and giving the matted fur a taste. Her eyes rolled back and closed as she experienced the taste for a male’s seed for the first time in over a decade. Her sigh of pleasure was matched by her son’s moan at seeing his mother so enamored of his flavor.

For the first time, Brooke was able to get a full, uncovered look at her son’s endowment, and even as it went slowly limp and receded it was still impressive. She grabbed the showerhead’s wand attachment and cleaned her paw, then the wall, and then gave a playful spray to her son’s groin to help him clean himself as well.

As soon as he was rid of the stickiness, Taylor pulled his mother into a hug and kissed her fiercely. The wand fell from her paw and clattered against the tile floor, spray scattering weakly into the air across the shower like the plume of a rogue fountain. Taylor turned them both, her back to the wall instead of his, and pushed his mother back against the cool tiles as his tongue invaded her muzzle roughly. Brooke moaned, melting into the kiss. It had been so, so long since she’d been desired like this, since she’d felt this level of need from a mate. She could feel his penis starting to reawaken, the shaft jumping up to meet the kiss of her lower lips as it slowly returned to turgidity. Every light bump of his flesh against her soaking wet mound felt like it might set her off. Her clit was swollen to the point that it was protruding just slightly from her lips, taking the brunt of each grind and touch directly onto it.

Taylor wasn’t the most experienced lover, but he knew full-well what was proper for him in this situation: he slid to his knees willingly—eagerly. For his first time going down on a female, he couldn’t imagine a better and more enticing opportunity. His mother’s paws scrabbled against the smooth tiles for purchase that didn’t exist as he pressed his lips firmly but lightly against her labia, fully taking in the scent, taste, and sensation of her sex.

The heady scent he’d picked up only in hints before was the only thing he could smell, and if it had been an aphrodisiac from the other side of a closed door it was a full-on sucker punch directly from the source. His body responded immediately, his tired cock suddenly refreshed and eager as his blood swirled. Taylor dipped his tongue out, sweeping it from back to front between the dewy lips before him. Brooke writhed and twitched like she was being electrocuted, unwilling or unable to hold her voice back. Her cries echoed off the tiles, sweet music to the ears of her son as he lapped happily at her folds.

His mother’s nectar was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, and his eagerness more than made up for any lack of experience. His tongue swept out, seeking every possible nook of Brooke’s most intimate area, needing to get every drop of her dew he could reach. Satisfied with how well he cleaned her pussy, Taylor turned his attentions to the proud button poking out at him from the crest of her spread labia. He knew well enough what it was, and what it would do for his mother, and he attacked it with a will. He lashed it mercilessly with his tongue, even pressing his lips against it and kneading the tender clitoris with his lips and teeth.

“Taylor, oh my goddess!” Brooke screamed out. “Oh my boy, oh my... you’re so good at that, fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuuuck eat my pussy son!”

Taylor could not have guessed in a million years that his mother would have such a filthy mouth on her, but now that the secret was out her exclamations and swearing were a symphony. He held her thighs with his paws, feeling them grow increasingly shaky and rubbery as his mother approached a body-shaking climax. The younger hare felt an odd mix of pride, arousal, and love—this was his doing. No other fur in Catucia could do what he was doing for his mother. And she was this worked up, this distracted, this desperate because of him.

He closed his teeth around the base of her clit as gently as he dared, tongue flicking at the nub.

Brooke fell headlong over the cliff.

Her body shook, pulling her free of his mouth just in time to send a shower of girlcum over his muzzle. She gasped and moaned, twisting against the wall as she lowered slowly to the floor of the shower. Brooke’s knees hit the tile, and she slumped forward into her son’s chest, gasping for air as she shuddered through the aftershocks of the strongest orgasm she could remember.

Taylor held her while she recovered, reaching for the shower wand as her breathing started to return to a normal rhythm. The water had run completely cold, but a twist of the knob managed to eke out just enough hot water for him to reluctantly clean off his muzzle and offer the same aftercare to Brooke. She moaned as the spray and his paw touched onto her overstimulated sex, but in relief instead of outright horniness. Taylor cleaned his mother as tenderly as he could before they exhausted the contents of the water heater and he had to shut the water off.

The hares didn’t move though, not immediately. Mother and son held each other on the floor of the shower, dripping onto the tiles as their fur grew steadily colder in the humid air, neither one feeling compelled to break the silence.

Both hares dried off in silence when they finally found their way out of the shower, only occasionally sparing a glance at the other, mostly searching for any hint of regret or shock. For his part, Taylor was shocked to discover that he couldn’t find any—he genuinely felt a real glow around himself after all of that. He reasoned that, sure, a younger fur could probably be really fucked up by all of this, and there was certainly no way to deny that there was probably something wrong with him, too—but despite all the things he knew he should regret, it just never surfaced.

Brooke was twisting the towel gently around her long ears as Taylor’s arms enveloped her from behind, hugging her tightly against his chest.

“Oh!” she squeaked in surprise, “Tay? You good?”

“Real good,” he responded, nuzzling into the nape of her neck and resting his head on her shoulder. “It feels weird how much what we just did doesn’t feel weird.”

His mother smiled and blushed. “I know what you mean,” she responded in a low voice. “That was...” Brooke turned in Taylor’s arms so they were face to face with his arms looped around her chest and rested her own arms around his neck. “This is the best I’ve felt in many, many years.”

Taylor planted a quick kiss on his mother’s forehead, remembering a time when he wasn’t tall enough to do that. Something about that thought, that memory; it reinforced just how much all of this was growing out of their intense, shared love for each other. No other fur in Catucia could know him and understand him like Brooke did. And he knew the same was probably true the other way around, too—especially now.

“I...” Taylor took a breath to steady his nerves, as all of this was new territory for the teenaged buck. “I’d like to keep feeling this good. W—With you.”

Brooke’s smile deepened. “I would too, Tay.” She leaned in and kissed him. “Take me to bed.”

Both bodies hit the bed at once, mingling in a joyful, hedonic rush. Both of them could scarcely figure out what to do with their paws. Brooke couldn’t remember this kind of desperate, frantic, clumsy sexual energy since she’d been an inexperienced teenager herself. Something about this new passion was lighting her up like it was her prom night all over again. Taylor was trying to pace himself, but without the burden or barrier of any clothing between them, his impatience and eagerness was showing itself as the hares made out on the duvet.

Taylor broke away from the kiss, ducking his head down to take Brooke’s nipple between his lips and give it the same tongue lashing he’d just given to her lower lips half an hour before. His paws gripped her by the hip and covered her crotch, grinding his palm against her slit as his middle digit started to probe inside.

Brooke writhed and moaned, quickly returning to her earlier state of wet and aroused. She latched both paws onto Taylor’s ears, pulling at them as her back arched off the mattress. “Oooohhhhhh, Taylor, baby... I need you so bad.”

He slid into position between her legs, pausing long enough to look her in the eyes and see the implicit consent and need within.

“I—I love you so much, mom.”

“Hey, Tay? Can you... um...” she bit her lip, adorably nervous. “Just for right now, can you call me by my name? I—I want... I want to feel like your mate.”

“Of course. Brooke.”

He pressed forward and both hares gasped out loud as his twitching shaft made contact with her folds. Taylor kissed her again, hard, sucking on Brooke’s tongue as he slowly slid himself into her body. Brooke’s body shook with her need, and she wrapped her legs around Taylor’s hips, practically pulling him into her pussy as they shared both breath and moans with each other.

“H—holy... shiiiiiiiit.”

Taylor’s hips made contact with Brooke’s as he bottomed out in his mother. Involuntarily, his pelvis twitched, starting the thrusting motions he needed without waiting for his input—slow, shallow, halting thrusts at first, both hares simply enjoying the feelings of being so deep and so full, respectively.

Brooke’s pussy fluttered around Tay’s hard cock, still revved up from her previous climax and eagerly anticipating another. She raised her hips, desperate to pull him still deeper yet as the meshing of their fur was teasing and tickling all around her mound in the most delightful ways.

“Goddess, Brooke, I—I can’t...”

“Fuck me, Tay. Take me!”

He did.

Their cries reflected off the walls and mingled in the bedroom air, music over the backbeat of the constant rocking of the bedframe and the meeting of bodies. As Brooke had intended, the relief Taylor had already gotten had given him the headroom to avoid a quick climax, while hers had only served to get her hot and bothered and hungry for the main course. She cooed happily as Taylor shifted and set his paws against the duvet, lifting her rump and bending her nearly double as he covered her, pressing her into the mattress and fucking her roughly.

Goddess above, he actually does fuck like his father...

His new angle was hitting all kinds of wonderful points inside her, and he seemed to be perfectly formed for her body. The tapered head of his cock was spearing deep into her, rubbing roughly over her g-spot with every full thrust he made. His nuts swayed beneath, bouncing off her with every repetition, stimulating her labia yet more as the furry sac rubbed over her lips.

With her legs around his body, ankles locked behind his back, Brooke could feel the muscles in his back tensing as he got closer to his release, and she knew hers wouldn’t be far behind, if she outlasted him at all.

Her overwhelmed brain was trying to tell her something—something about how she needed to decide whether to tell Tay to pull out or not, when suddenly he surprised her by doing exactly that. He withdrew, letting Brooke’s rump drop back down to the bed as she blinked in surprise.

“Turn over,” he said, and the low growl in his voice made her shiver. She didn’t even respond, the way her lover had commanded her went straight to her brain stem and she obeyed without a second’s hesitation.

No sooner was she on her paws and knees, her ass presented to her son’s view below her quivering tail fluff, than he was on her. He positioned his cock at her lips, and as soon as he was lined up he plunged full depth back into her cunt.

Brooke screamed in joy, arching her back as her ample chest went flat against the bed. She needed this. She might not ever be able to live without this again. Everything she could have asked for in a sexual partner she’d suddenly found in the most unlikely and forbidden of places.

Taylor continued, gritting his teeth as he struggled to last as long as he possibly could before his end. This was the woman he loved—the one who had raised him. He owed it to her to give her his best, but he had to admit that his best wasn’t going to be very long if Brooke continued to be this fucking hot and this fucking sexy. He watched her paws grip the duvet, balling it up in her fists as he rocked her into the bed.

“Taylor, fuck! Yes! Goddess fuck, I’m so close. I’m so close...”

He shut his eyes as he listened to his mother beg and whimper, trying to make it just that last little bit longer, but he knew the battle was futile, and some buried impulse was demanding he do one last thing to make it all perfect...

Without saying anything, Taylor wrapped his paw around his mother’s scut tail and pulled.

“Oh FUCK ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh...” Brooke screamed into the pillow, rocking and shaking in the midst of a full-body orgasm that was rippling from ears to footpaws and back again.

Taylor followed her over that cliff, dropping fully into his own spine-tingling climax, instinctually pressing himself as deep as physically possible into his partner as he shot load after load of his young, fertile seed into his mother’s needy, grasping cunt.

Both hares promptly blacked out.

They came to soon after to find that they’d collapsed to the side, Taylor spooning his mother, still partially buried in her pussy as remnants of his cum ran slowly from between her lips and down over her leg. Conscious thought lagged minutes behind as his body slowly recovered, gasping for oxygen to try to replenish his burning muscles, but as soon as it returned alarms started going off in his head.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck I just came inside my mother...

“Tay? Babe? Are you okay?”

Taylor forced himself to relax—of course as close as they were she’d have felt his body tense up. “Um... Maybe? Did I, um... I sorta...”

To his absolute shock, Brooke laughed out loud. “Oh goddess, I’m sorry Tay, I should have said something earlier.” She rolled away enough to be able to look him in the face, putting a calming paw onto his cheek. “When I decided to start looking for a mate again I got on birth control. We’re totally safe, hon.”

He let out a long, heartfelt breath, sagging in relief. “Goddess...” he shook his head ruefully. “I can’t believe I risked it like that. I should know better, but, well...”

“Your mom’s pussy was just too good to have second thoughts?”

Taylor stared gobsmacked at his mother, who gave him a shit-eating grin. Her entire coat was completely disheveled, the fur around her rump matted and damp, but she paid it no thought at all as she rested her cheek on her folded arms and looked at him behind a wild mop of headfur.

No fur had ever looked more beautiful to Taylor than Brooke did at that moment.

“I guess you could say that,” he admitted, slowly realizing how amazing this night had ended up being.

“Did you kind of like the thought of knocking me up though?”

He shook his head. “Goddess above, Brooke, I had no idea your mind was this twisted.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, impishly. “Maybe when you’re ready to be a dad.”

“What happened to going on birth control?”

“Well yeah,” she said simply. “That was for when I was looking for a mate. I think I might have found one, now.”

Taylor smiled, suffused with a warm glow both inside and out as he kissed her on the forehead and settled in at her side.

“Absolutely.”

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