Drunk Mom Taboo Novels & Stories

I know my mom would do anything to keep me from doing crazy things. "A little bit?" Amora glared at me. "Don't fool me, Aceia; it is enough that you reeked of alcohol, and look at you, it seems like you didn't sleep for almost a month; you looked wasted. God, did I really raise a daughter? Your attitude is not really feminine." I was really nervous. Oh my god, I can't afford to be grounded again. Just thinking about not going to a party makes me feel agony. "Mom, I'm sorry. I was having so much fun that I didn't know that I drink a lot, so please don't tell dad about this. I'm sure he would ground me and freeze all my cards." I was begging, looking at mom, trying my luck.

But, despite what everyone thinks of me and my nickname, Ice Hockey Stud, I am still respectful and if a woman’s that wasted and drunk, there is no way I am going there and taking advantage. My mother brought me up with respect for women, manners and decency. The things I get up to with other women, they know the deal. It’s pure raw sex nothing more nothing less, and they’re never that wasted. A few drinks maybe before we usually get it on, but Immi. She was plastered last night.

My mother has a strange obsession with cleanliness. Everything has to be scrubbed down with bleach before she considers it clean. I know full well how damaging bleach fumes are to the lungs, and I pull up research to talk her out of it. She finally stops. But then, my brother catches an infectious disease, and a doctor recommends disinfecting the floors with bleach. She turns on me immediately, screaming that if she hadn't listened to my nonsense, my brother never would've gotten sick. My brother hears this from her every single day and takes it to heart. When his condition gets worse, he pushes me off the top of a building. Maybe even God can't stand how unfairly I died, because I come

I turned to Mom, she was sobbing. “No,” I said, my voice firm. Her smile didn't waver. “You'll change your mind. When she's passed out on the couch again. When you need someone who actually shows up.” Mom’s cup hit the floor at that instant. The content spilled on the rug. “Don't,” she whispered. “When she's so drunk she forgets to feed you,” She continued, louder now. Heads were turning. “When she brings home men who look at you wrong—”

He probably would have asked more if it wasn't for the coughing fit he went into for a few seconds. I dropped the empty box on the table, "I can't control the things I do when I'm drunk neither can I control my mother," I replied, "She does what she wants and the alcohol does what it wants too." "Is that what we're calling it now? Is that what we're calling the obsession?" Zade was known to tease a person to the point of madness so this didn't surprise me, "The fact that you want to bend her over and fuck the living daylights out of her is now known as 'the drink does what it wants'"

I thought the sessions with the psychologist would be more difficult. The topics we address are heavy, yet I find it easy to open up to her. Like Jane, I’m a very reserved person, and it embarrasses me to admit that I endured severe psychological abuse from my husband. I'm also ashamed of having had a lover. According to the values I was raised with, that was immoral—no different than being a prostitute. And on top of all that, I danced in a nightclub where illegal dealings took place.

she teased, making me frown. “That’s not the point, mom—” “Oh, don’t me, sweetie. I heard you—accidentally, on the phone earlier. Saying, you want to talk to him personally, right?” “Eavesdropping is ain’t good, mom.” My mom winked at me. “It’s no big deal, sweetie. So, let’s go. Let’s taste the Sex On The Beach.” My forehead creased. “Are you being serious, mom?” “What? That’s what they called it, and it’s a hard drink. You better try it.”

"No flirting with me. No lingering glances, no accidental touches, and no late-night trips to the kitchen in your underwear. Am I clear?" A startled laugh escaped Javed’s lips before he could stop it. "Flirting with you? You’re the one who trapped me against the counter last night!" Martin didn't smile. He didn't even blink. His expression remained deadly serious, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he stared Javed down. The sheer gravity in his eyes sent a sudden, violent pulse racing straight to Javed’s core. The air in the room instantly grew heavy, thick with the unsaid truth: Martin wasn't making the rule because he was annoyed. He was making the rule because he was terrified of his own lack

"And why were you drunk-driving?" Liz was in problems. Her mom was sitting on the sofa, with her laptop on her legs and her glasses on with an accusatory look on her face. She wasn't the type of mom who would tell her kids off for anything in the world her friends would always envy her because of how permissive her mom was. But drunk driving was her limit. However, Liz was lost in her mind and the last thing she cared about was what her mom had to say about her.

I'll kill mom and hang myself for being a fool. My palms flatten, spreading the pictures across the sheets. Blood thrum in my ears. Tristan's laughter is all I hear. Not joyful. But mocking, angry, pained. More and more. Images of dead massacred bodies, occultism with Mom at the head seat like a queen, weapon houses, and money crates like piles of trash. I thought Mom was just a millionaire influencer. Thought she was selfish. Thought she couldn't harm a fly. But this — I turn to Damon. “Can these be faked?”