Law, Order, and Incest

Mom was home. In a house of fitness buffs, you recognized the heaviness of the weights from their clangs. Normally, Damien would take his shirt off and rush to join her to make sure she didn’t slack off on her stretching.

Every girl at Hepburn Fields High fawned over the muscular student-athlete, but once that bell rang, their rolled-up skirts and unbuttoned shirts had no effect on him. Damien was going straight home in the rare case a certain busty, silver-hair goddess took a break from her relentless pursuit of justice and needed a spotter. When you’re Anna Smith, chief of police of the worst district of Bay City, triple shifts are just called shifts. The fact that she still found the energy for workouts had always inspired Damien to push his limits.

The sound of his mother’s training had made Damien forget this clusterfuck of a day but his bruised rip and scraped up back reminded him, when attempting to take off his shirt, that today, for the first time, he should avoid his mom. He fought against invisible forces to take his steps to the guest bathroom instead of the basement gym, and his reflection in the mirror confirmed that he made the right choice. “You fucked up,” the dirty, red-eyed young man on the other side of the glass told him.

Most of the blood on his shirt wasn’t his. His back felt like it still had gravel indented in it, but the bulk of the red stain was from the other guy’s busted nose. After carefully and painfully peeling it off his torso, Damien hid the evidence in the last place his mom would ever look: the washing machine. He noticed the dirty police uniform in the hamper. That was Anna’s way of asking him to do her laundry. He didn’t mind at all; Anna had proved herself the alpha of their family and he never passed up a chance to handle her unmentionables.

The blue high leg thong was part of the cop uniform; its string waistband had to stick out of the tight leather pants. The midriff-baring shirt looked more traditional, at least on most officers, but his mom’s double D’s always had the cleavage buttons ready to pop. You could thank the mayor for wanting police officers to disarm hooligans with their feminine wiles. That man was truly desperate for re-election.

He should have headed to his room and quietly masturbated into his mom’s panties, but the siren song of the elliptical machine was too much for him to resist. Maybe just a peek…

Damien carefully put on a hoodie over his scratched up back and pulled the hood over his messy brown hair before threading the creaky stairs. The sight of Anna’s cheeky micro-shorts showing her buttocks rubbing each other on the cross-trainer made the day’s worries a distant memory. From the back, her gray hair was the only badge of her MILF status, because she had the booty of an Olympian half her age.

The son was so entranced that he did not notice the elliptical machine winding down.

“Damien!” His mom was out of breath but still ran to her son. Damien’s eyes couldn’t agree on whether to look at the bouncing titties the thin camisole was struggling to contain or the pronounced camel-toe on the other side of the toned abdominal bridge.

“Are you OK? What happened?” she asked. Of course she saw through his fake smile. She could probably even smell the worry on him.

“Sarah broke up with me,” he finally said after thinking about it for way too long. Sarah did exist. She was one of the many short-lived girlfriends that didn’t manage to satisfy him. He broke up with her weeks ago but it’s the first name that popped into his mind for this deception.

“Oh sweetie…” she pressed her massive bumpers against his chest and her crotch discovered his erection. They had a ‘don’t worry about it’ policy when it came to Damien getting hard from their healthy flirtatious interactions.

“Listen, Damien. I know I’m not often here for you, but don’t think for a second that you’re ever alone, OK? I think about you all the time. And girlfriends will come and go but I’ll always love you, always. Got it?” Anna held her son’s head straight to force a staring contest.

The Smith household had three home invasions in recent memory (that’s Bay City for you). Each ended with the robber zip-tied on the floor, begging for his life through a mouth full of missing teeth. No, wait, that’s not true; the last one didn’t beg because he had his own sawed-off stuffed down his throat. All this to say that when a woman like that shares her tender side, you treasure that moment.