She stopped just a few feet away now, close enough that Max could smell her perfume.
"And as I started to feel alive again," Yuki whispered, "started to feel like a woman, I began to notice things. Notice you. Not as my little boy, but as the man you've become."
Her hand came up, fingers trailing along the thin fabric covering her stomach, drawing attention to her figure—the narrow waist, the curve of her hips, the way the dress clung to everything.
"You're so strong now," she breathed. "So confident. You walk into rooms and people notice. Women notice. I see how they look at you—Velara, Elena, even Keiko. They see what I see. A man who's dangerous and capable and utterly magnetic."
Max's vision was blurring.
"Stop," he begged, voice breaking. "Please, Mom, stop. This isn't you. This isn't—"
"Isn't it?" Yuki took the final steps, closing the distance, and suddenly she was right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough that Max could see every detail.
"Or is this who I really am?" she whispered.
Her hand reached out—that hand that had held his when he was scared, that had checked his temperature when he was sick, that had ruffled his hair affectionately a thousand times—and pressed against his chest.
"Your heart is racing," Yuki observed softly, her palm flat against him, feeling every thundering beat. "So fast. Are you scared? Or are you excited?"
"I'm terrified," Max gasped, and it was the most honest thing he'd ever said. "Please, this is wrong. You're my mother. I'm your son. This can't—we can't—"
"Says who?" Yuki's other hand came up, both palms now on his chest, and she pressed closer. The sheer mesh of her dress touched his shirt, and through the thin fabric Max could feel the heat of her body, could feel her breasts against him.
"Society says it's wrong," she whispered, her face tilting up toward his. "Religion says it's wrong. Law says it's wrong. But does it feel wrong? Here, in this moment, with corruption singing in your veins and power flowing through you—does it feel wrong to want something that wants you back?"
Her hands slid slowly up his chest to his shoulders, and Max realized with horror that this was the exact same gesture Elena had used, Velara had used, Keiko had used. The same touch. The same movement. The same seduction.
But this was his mother. His actual mother. And that made it infinitely worse.
"I've watched you give me everything," Yuki breathed. "Isn't it time I gave you something in return?"
"You're my mother," Max said desperately, like repeating it would make this stop. "You gave me life. Raised me. Loved me. You don't owe me anything like... like this."
"Don't I?" Yuki's hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair.
Her leg came up—God no—hooking around his, the short skirt riding up completely now, exposing the full curve of her ass.
"The way you look at me now," Yuki moaned softly, pressing her hips against him—against where Elena's and Velara's hands were still moving, still stroking. "I haven't felt desired in decades. Haven't felt beautiful. But when you look at me, even when you try to hide it, I feel all of that."
Max tried to pull away but couldn't move. The corruption held him frozen, or maybe it was his own traitorous body.
One of her hands left his neck, sliding down his chest, his stomach, joining Elena's and Velara's at his crotch. Max felt his mother's hand—his MOTHER'S hand—wrap around his cock through his pants alongside the others.
"You're so hard," Yuki breathed, sounding pleased, almost proud. "Even with all this horror, all this wrongness, your body is responding. Because deep down, in that corrupted core, you want this. Want me."
"No," Max sobbed, but even as he said it, his hips jerked into the combined hands—Elena's, Velara's, Keiko's, and now his mother's—all stroking him together in synchronized rhythm.
"Yes," Yuki whispered, and she pressed up on her toes—those high heels making her tall enough—and her lips brushed his. Not a kiss. Just contact. Just a hint of what could be.
"Let go," she breathed against his mouth. "Stop fighting what you're becoming."
Her hand tightened on him, stroking with the others, and Max felt pleasure building despite everything—despite the horror, despite the wrongness, despite knowing this was his mother touching him sexually.
"Your father was a good man," Yuki whispered, and then she said the words that destroyed him: "But he never made me feel the way you do."
She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear.
"I gave birth to you," Yuki moaned softly. "Carried you inside me for nine months. Fed you from my body. Raised you with everything I had. Don't you think that means you belong to me? That I have first claim? That my blood, my flesh, my milk made you—so you're mine to take back if I want?"
The perversion of that logic—turning motherhood into ownership, nurture into possession—made Max's stomach turn even as his body betrayed him.
"Let me thank you properly," Yuki breathed, and her free hand went to his belt, actually working the buckle open while her other hand kept stroking. "Let me show you how grateful I am."
The buckle came free. The button of his pants popped open. The zipper started to slide down.
Elena's voice joined from his left, still touching him: "Share him with us. We can all have him."
Velara from his right, her hand working with his mother's now: "He's powerful enough for all of us."
Keiko from behind now, arms wrapping around his waist, breasts pressing against his back: "We'll worship him together. All of us. His whores and his mother."
And Yuki in front, looking up at him with those familiar brown eyes that had always meant safety and love and home.