Movies With Mom (TG AP RC Story)

Check out my Patreon for all of the images that go along with this story!

————-

The lobby of the movie theater smelled like stale popcorn and desperation, the kind that clings to your sneakers after a long day of dodging mall cops. I was Alex, 12 years old with a mouth full of braces and just beginning to take an interest in girls. My best friend, Ryan, felt the same, which is why he suggested we try to get into this movie. We were huddled by the ticket booth as the marquee glowed above us: Savage Shadows, the slasher flick everyone at school was whispering about. The one with gore that’d make your guts twist and tits that’d make your cheeks blush red. R-rated, no exceptions, and the acne-scarred usher was eyeballing us like we were stray dogs sniffing at the premium seats.

“Come on, Ry,” I muttered, tugging at my shirt nervously. “We gotta get in. I heard the killer rips the cheerleader’s top off in the first act…”

Ryan grinned, his gap-toothed smile all mischief, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, but how? Fake mustaches?” He glanced at the line of adults shuffling toward the dark entrance of the auditorium, envy twisting his face. “Man, I wish there was just… a way. Like, poof, we’re in. No questions.”

The words hung there, half-joke, half-prayer, bouncing off the velvet ropes. And then…thud. Around the corner by the water fountain, like it’d been dropped from heaven, a purse tumbled into view. Black leather, sleek and grown-up, with a gold chain that glinted under the fluorescence. There was no one else around. Just us and that impossible bag, sitting there like it was waiting.

Ryan blinked. “Dude… you see that?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Finders keepers?” I scooped it up before he could. I pulled the zipper open and began digging around inside. It was full of lipstick tubes, a compact mirror fogged with fingerprints, and a wallet made of expensive, butter-soft calfskin. I flipped it open, hoping for some cash, but the ID stared back like a punch to the gut.

It was her. Ryan’s mom. Mrs. Elena Vasquez, smiling that perfect, red-lipsticked curve from her driver’s license. Thirty-eight, the bio said, but she looked like she’d stepped out of one of Dad’s old porno mags. She had curves that strained sundresses, olive skin glowing like she’d lived her whole life in the Mediterranean, and dark hair in waves that begged to be tangled. I’d crashed at their place a hundred times, sneaking peeks when she’d bend to grab snacks from the fridge, her yoga pants hugging an ass that could launch a thousand crushes. “Holy shit, Ry. This is your mom’s purse. How the hell—?”

Before I could shove it back, a spark jumped from the plastic sleeve. It zipped up my arm like liquid fire, hot and sweet, pooling in my chest. “Ry… something’s wrong,” I gasped, dropping the wallet. My voice cracked, deepening into a husky alto that purred like velvet over gravel. Ryan’s eyes went wide, his jaw dropping in shock. “Alex? Bro, your face—it’s… changing.”

He wasn’t wrong. The heat bloomed outward, a blush that seared my skin from the inside. My cheeks flushed, then rounded, softening from sharp kid-angles to high, sculpted cheekbones dusted with a faint, natural rouge. Freckles faded like ink in water, my pale complexion melting into warm caramel, sun-kissed and smooth. I clawed at my face as I felt my braces dissolving in my mouth, teeth straightening into a pearl-white smile. I felt my nose narrow with a crack as my lips plumped into that full, bee-stung pout from the photo. Lashes fluttered long and thick, framing eyes that shifted from muddy brown to molten hazel.

“Stop! M-make it stop!” Ryan yelped, but his voice was distant, muffled by the roar in my ears. My hair prickled next, the short, sandy mop itching as it unraveled, thickening into raven silk that tumbled past my shoulders, curling at the ends with a scent of vanilla and spice. I recognized the scent…it was her shampoo, the one I’d stolen a whiff of last sleepover. I shook my head, and it swayed like a dark waterfall, begging for fingers to weave through it.

My chest tightened, then swelled. My flat pecs ballooned into heavy, aching breasts, D-cups at least, nipples hardening against my tee like diamonds cutting glass. The fabric stretched, threads popping, restitching into a lacy bra that cupped them just so, the cups overflowing with soft, jiggling weight that pulled me forward, forcing a sway into my hips.

God, those hips…my hips. I groaned as I felt a crackle in my pelvis, my bones grinding wide with a wet, electric pop as my ass rounded into plush cushions that strained my shorts till they split at the seams. They reformed too, denim weaving into sleek black leggings that hugged every new curve like a second skin, the beginnings of a camel toe teasing the seam where my cock throbbed one last defiant pulse before inverting.

It was ecstasy and agony as my boyhood began inverting. The foreign, sultry moans escaping my mouth got louder and louder as I felt my shaft shrinking, retreating into slick folds that bloomed wet, warm, and disturbingly hungry. The ovaries sparking to life tingled like fireworks in my gut. A womb, heavy and waiting, and between my thighs, a clit that pulsed with her…my…memories. I staggered, hands flying to the new heat, my fingers longer now, with nails manicured cherry-red, began brushing the new lips between my legs that quivered at the touch. “Ry… honey,” the word slipped out, maternal and laced with something darker, sultrier. My mind screamed “best friend, not son!” but it drowned in the flood of Elena’s life crashing through my mind.

My memories felt like they were being washed away, revealing Elena’s underneath. I wasn’t remembering Alex’s scraped knees and Fortnite marathons, but Elena’s wedding vows in a sun-dappled garden, Ryan’s tiny fist in hers at the hospital, the ache of nursing him through teething nights. And deeper, the fire: tangled sheets with Mark…Ryan’s dad, my husband now…his rough hands pinning her wrists, cock thick and insistent as he growled her name. Our honeymoon in Cancun, sand in the creases, his tongue tracing salt from my thighs. The wishes twisted: We wanted in… and here I am. Inside. The perfect ticket. I straightened, the transformation sealing with a sigh. Five-foot-ten now, stacked and swaying, leggings tucked into heels that materialized from the purse’s shadow, a turtleneck top that teased my gym-sculpted body and hugged my supple new chest in place as it heaved with each breath.

Ryan backed away, face ashen. “Mom? Alex? What the— you’re… you’re her. My mom.” Confusion warred with horror in his eyes, but I smiled that red-lipped curve, and cupped his cheek. My touch was soft, knowing, thumb brushing a tear he didn’t know he shed. “Shh, mijo. It’s okay. Mama’s here. And look! We’re going to that movie you…we wanted. No more wishing.”

He froze, then nodded, dazed, letting me link arms with him like it was natural. The usher didn’t bat an eye at the stunning Latina MILF with her wide-eyed son; he waved us through with a leer that made my new skin tingle. Inside the theater, the dark enveloped us like a lover’s arms. I settled into the seat, Ryan stiff beside me, popcorn forgotten in his lap. The screen flickered to life. Blood and screams, the killer’s blade flashing, the heroine’s shirt ripping to bare sweat-slicked breasts that bounced in the strobe. Ryan squirmed, twelve-year-old awe mixing with the weirdness, but me? Heat pooled low, thighs clenching on velvet. Mark would love this, a traitorous thought whispered, my mind flashing to his cock, veined and hard, the way he’d fuck me post-movie, pinning me to the couch while Ryan slept. I crossed my legs, hiding the damp spot blooming in my panties, biting my lip to stifle a moan disguised as a gasp at the jump scare.

The credits rolled too soon, lights up harsh and revealing. Ryan blinked, shell-shocked. “That was… awesome, Mom.” The word hung, testing, but it fit now, like a key in a lock. I ruffled his hair, forcing a laugh as we filed out, the night air cool against my flushed skin. “Told you, baby. Wish granted.” But inside, the fire raged. My new nipples peaked under silk, clit aching for friction, visions of Mark’s stubble scraping my inner thighs, his fingers digging bruises as he claimed what was his. Not now, I chided myself, waving down a cab, but my free hand drifted, adjusting the waistband where leggings clung too tight to my swollen labia.

Home was the split-level on Maple, porch light humming welcome. Mark’s truck was in the drive, his broad shoulders silhouetted in the window that had me yearning to see that bearded, handsome grin when he spotted us. “There’s my boy,” he boomed, scooping Ryan into a bear hug that left the boy giggling despite himself. Then his eyes met mine, darkening with that hunger I now knew bone-deep. “And my queen.”

I melted into his kiss, keeping it tame for Ryan’s sake, but god, the promise in it, his tongue flicking my lower lip, hand low on my back dipping toward the curve of my ass. “Movie was killer,” I purred, my voice all smoke and sin, pulling away before I ground against him right there. Ryan fidgeted, eyes darting with horror as Mark’s arm snaked around my waist, thumb circling possessively.

“Bedtime, champ,” Mark said, clapping Ryan’s shoulder. The boy trudged upstairs, but paused at the landing, peeking back as we lingered in the hall. I felt his gaze like a brand, that last shred of Alex screaming dude, run!, but Elena’s soul purred, content. Mark’s hand slid lower, cupping my cheek, then lower still, squeezing the plush globes of my ass through fabric, his breath hot on my neck. “Been thinking about you all shift. That ass in those pants…”

We stumbled toward the bedroom, door half-open in our haste, his mouth claiming mine fully now. His teeth nipping, his tongue delving deep as I arched, breasts crushed to his chest. Ryan’s door creaked, reluctantly watching with horror twisting his face as saw me, his former best friend, moaning like a whore. Mark kicked the door shut, but not before I caught the glimpse of my former best friend turned son. His wide eyes fixated on the woman I’d become, curves undulating as I dropped to my knees, pulling my husband’s zipper just like I’d pulled that purse’s zipper open. I gasped as his cock sprung out free…thick, veined, the head already weeping for me.

Wish come true, I thought with lips parting around him, throat relaxing to take him deep, the salty tang of home. Ryan’s sobs echoed faint from the hall, but they faded, lost in the wet slurp of my devotion, Mark’s groans building to a roar as he fisted my hair, pulling my back as he filled my mouth and covered my chest with his warm, salty cum. I smirked as I slurped up his seed, finding the taste almost like salty popcorn. This new life was better than any R-rated movie…

Check out my Patreon for all of the images that go along with this story!