I never meant for it to happen, but once I heard her voice on that recording, everything changed. It was just supposed to be a stupid experiment. I was twenty-two, living back home after college, broke and bored, when I bought that cheap microphone and started messing around with audio files late at night. Id record myself jerking off, describing what I was doing in a low whisper, then delete them. It felt dirty and private, a way to get off without anyone knowing.
One night I left the mic on by accident. Mom must have come into my room while I was out. She found the file, played it, and instead of freaking out, she made one of her own.
Her message started with a soft breath right into the mic. Baby, if youre listening to this, I heard yours. I shouldnt have, but I did. And now I cant stop thinking about it. Her voice was low, a little shaky, but she kept going. She described how she touched herself while listening to me, how wet she got imagining it was her sons hand instead of her own. She said my name when she came. I listened to that file three times before I could even breathe again.
The next night I recorded a reply.
I told her exactly what her voice did to me, how hard I was stroking myself to the sound of her moaning my name. I told her I wanted to hear more. She answered the same night. Her second recording was longer, dirtier. She described spreading her legs on her bed, sliding two fingers inside herself while she pictured me standing over her. She asked if I wanted to hear her cum again. I answered yes.
We kept going like that for weeks. Every night a new audio file would appear on the shared drive we never talked about during the day. Hers always started with the same little gasp when she pressed record, like she was nervous but too turned on to stop. Mine got bolder. I started telling her what I wanted to do to her, how I wanted to fuck her, how I wanted to hear her beg for her sons cock. She answered by describing exactly how she would take it, how tight she would be, how she would ride me until I filled her up.
One night the recordings werent enough. I was in my room, headphones in, cock in my fist, listening to her latest one. She was panting, telling me she was on all fours, pushing back onto her fingers while she imagined me behind her. Halfway through I heard her door open down the hall. Soft footsteps. Then my door opened.
Mom stood there in a thin nightgown, phone in her hand, the same audio still playing from her speaker. Her nipples were hard against the fabric. She didnt say anything at first, just walked over, took my headphones off, and pressed her mouth to my ear.
Keep listening, she whispered. Then she climbed onto the bed, straddled my thighs, and sank down onto my cock in one slow, wet slide.
The audio kept playing while she rode me. Her recorded voice moaned my name while the real her gasped and clenched around me. Every time the recording said something filthy, she echoed it out loud. I came so hard I saw white, and she kept moving until she followed me, soaking my lap and the sheets.
After that we stopped pretending the audios were separate from real life. We still made them, sometimes together, sometimes apart, but now we fucked while the mic was running. She liked it when I described exactly how her pussy felt while I was inside her. I liked hearing her tell the mic how much she loved her sons cum leaking out of her.
The last recording we made was the longest. She started it while I was eating her out, her thighs shaking around my head. She narrated every lick, every time she came on my tongue. When I finally slid into her she was already hoarse from moaning. She kept the mic close to her mouth so every wet sound, every slap of skin, every desperate fuck me, baby, fill your mom up was captured.
We listened to it together afterward, her head on my chest, my fingers still between her legs. By the time the file ended she was riding my hand again, whispering that we were never deleting any of them.
I still have every single one. Sometimes at night I put my headphones on and let her voice take me right back to that first accidental recording, the one that started everything. And every time I finish, I hit record and tell her how much I still want her. She always answers.
