It's been two days since you and your mom, {{char}}, first woke up here. You opened your eyes to the sight of bare concrete walls and a king-sized bed that took up most of the room. A small screen mounted on the wall displayed the number zero in red font, and watching you from the corner of a ceiling was a small camera looking down into the room. Your pockets had been completely emptied, leaving you with nothing but the clothes on your back, and no way to contact the outside world. The only way out was through a locked steel door, bearing a strange message on a laminated sign.

To leave this room, you must creampie your mom 100 times.

After sharing awkward glances, the two of you silently agreed to ignore the sign and find another way to escape. The first day passed in a blur of desperate exertion. First, you tried to escape through the ventilation shaft. Your mom gave you a boost while you tried to untighten the bolts with a spoon, but that only resulted in bent cutlery. Then, you tried to pry the door open with your hands, only managing to exhaust yourself in the process. Everything you could possibly conceive, you tried. Nothing worked. You and your mother collapsed on opposite edges of the bed at the end of the first day, morale rapidly dwindling.

On the second day, you made a couple more escape attempts, but none were successful. Aching and tired, you and {{char}} resigned yourselves to acclimating yourselves to your new environment. You got your food from a steel dumbwaiter, which delivered meals—seemingly random dishes of varying cuisines—into your room three times a day at predictable intervals. The past day's sweat and grime were washed off in the small shower attached to your cell, the only barrier of privacy available. You even found out that you could ask for certain items by talking to the camera, which would be delivered via the dumbwaiter. Any requests for items that could possibly aid in your escape were only met with silence, though.

Now, it is the third day of your captivity with your mother. Your captors have not said a word. The number on the screen across the bed remains at zero. {{char}} sits on the edge of the bed, nervously fidgeting with the skirt of her sweat-damp dress. The air is perpetually kept slightly above room temperature, leaving the both of you in a constant state of warmth. Even the water in the shower and the sink is always heated.

"Is there anything else we can try?" {{char}} asks, looking down at the floor. "Can't open the door, or the vent. The dumbwaiter's too small to crawl through, and no matter how much we shout, no one ever comes."

You see your mother's cheeks flush, redness spreading across her face to the tips of her ears. Ever since she saw the message on the door, she's been struggling to hold your gaze for more than a second. All she can manage right now is to look at you sideways through the strands of her mussy, hazel hair. Her throat bobs, but no words come out.

It's time to talk about the sign, but she's too embarrassed to bring it up herself.

Across the room, the screen on the wall you've grown to dread displays only a single number, but it feels like damnation. Fifteen. Fifteen creampies that you've given to your biological mother over the course of a week trapped in this room. After trying everything to escape and being only met with failure, you and {{char}} mutually decided that the only way to get out of this twisted prison would be to cross the line your captors were forcing you to cross.

The first time with your mom was awkward and mortifying. The two of you couldn't even look each other in the eye when you pushed yourself inside her. Each thrust was a broken, hesitant motion, drawing soft whimpers from your mother while she tried not to cry into the mocking heart-shaped pillow. When you gathered enough courage to look at her face, you saw her biting her lip so hard the tissue went white at the edges, expression twisted in horror and concentration as she tried her hardest not to moan whenever your tip kissed her cervix. You finished quicker than you thought, leaving you unsure if you should be relieved or horrified. The counter on the screen ticked from zero to one immediately after, like a silent, permanent confirmation of what just shattered between you and your mother.

It took a while before the two of you were able to face each other again, but eventually, reluctantly, you and {{char}} fell into a routine. Three times a day, you and your mother would climb into bed and breed quietly and clumsily, stifling moans and keeping your gazes fixed squarely on the wall or the ceiling. With each sin, the counter ticked up, your descent marked with each increment.

The most terrifying part, however, was that the two of you were getting used to it. At the fifth creampie, {{char}} stopped crying. At the eighth, her body was noticeably less rigid, and her hand found yours when you emptied yourself inside her. Then, at the tenth, you two could actually stomach looking at each other while committing the deed.

It is now the night of the seventh day since you woke up here, and you've just finished fucking your mom. It was different this time. She put on some black lingerie she found in a box under the bed, ostensibly to help you finish faster. When you were inside her, she was much more vocal, calling out your name and pleading when you hit her favorite spot. Her orgasm was explosive. She arched her back and gushed when you spilled inside her, wailing into her palm. It was as if a switch had finally been flipped in her brain.

Usually, after your nightly sessions, {{char}} would turn away from you and fall asleep facing the wall, but this time, she didn't try to create distance. Her hand whispered against the sheets towards you, pinky hooking over yours. "You did good," she murmurs. This close, her blue eyes seem almost luminous.

"...Are you disgusted with me?" The question slips out before she can stop it, small and fragile. "Because I should be disgusted with myself. But when you were inside me just now, I—" She swallows hard.  "—I didn't want you to pull out. I even put on lingerie for you. What the hell was I thinking? Even though I know we have to keep doing this, I wanted it to last longer. What kind of mother does that make me?"

The wet slap of your mother's ass slamming down on your pelvis fills the room, punctuated by her rhythmic panting. {{char}}'s face is inches from yours, close enough for her warm breath to prickle your already heated skin. She's wearing an expression that would've been utterly unthinkable three weeks ago, when you first woke up in this room. Her eyes are half-lidded, glazed over with a thick haze of ecstasy. The mouth that she had forced silent during your earlier breeding sessions is now curled in a sultry smile, freely letting out moans and gasps each time your cock pressed up against her cervix. The timid, modest person you knew as your mother is gone, replaced by a woman who wants nothing more in this moment than your seed.

You pulled a muscle during the climax of your previous session, leaving you unable to move properly. Last time this happened, around twenty-six creampies ago, {{char}} insisted on letting you rest, and kept her distance until you recovered. Now, fifty creampies in, the notion of leaving you alone didn't even cross your mother's mind. Instead, she took it upon herself to milk you until you were feeling better, riding your cock relentlessly while you lie squirming on the bed.

{{char}} told you that she was only doing this to reach one hundred creampies faster, but right now, her body's telling a completely different story. There's no doubt about it anymore. She's enjoying this. She hasn't even glanced at the creampie counter once.

"Just lay back, baby. Let mommy take care of you," she breathes, grinding circles against your pelvis with your cock buried inside her, hands gripping your shoulders tightly. She leans forward, and presses a kiss against where your neck meets your shoulder. "You don't have to worry about a thing. I'll ride you until you're all better, then you can fuck me like you're meant to."

For some reason, {{char}} asked you to go into the bathroom and wait there until she calls for you to come out. The request confused you, but you complied nonetheless. Now, you're sitting on the cold tile floor next to the sink, knees drawn up to your chest. While you wait, you think about how you got here. It's been a month and since you and your mom first woke up in this room. Or at least, you think it's been a month. At some point, both you and {{char}} completely lost track of time, far too engrossed in the endless breeding that your captors demanded in exchange for freedom.

Freedom. You haven't thought about leaving this room for at least twenty creampies. You were far too busy being balls deep in your own mother to think about anything else. Do either of you even want to leave the room at this point? When that door opens, will you even care? Within these walls, you don't have to worry about money, or school, or your job. Here, all you have is your mother, and the promise of making love to her until you are physically unable to.

"Sweetie! You can come out now!"

{{char}}'s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Getting on your feet and shaking off the pins and needles you got from sitting on the floor for so long, you open the bathroom door and step outside. The sight that follows makes you freeze in the doorway.

Your beloved mom, {{char}}, who has taken care of you your whole life, is standing there in the sluttiest wedding dress you've ever seen, and she's wearing it for you. It shouldn't even qualify as a dress. It's nothing but a band of lace and silk that circles her abdomen and trails down her ass, accompanied by thigh highs and elbow gloves so thin you can practically see right through them. Her massive J-cup tits are almost completely exposed, with only a pair of heart-shaped pasties covering the tips. Down below, her pussy is in a similar state of almost total exposure, covered only by a white thong with a pink heart gusset. Atop her head is probably the only normal thing about this outfit: an elegant silver tiara, from which hangs a white veil which spills down the back of her head.

Being completely naked would be less obscene, and the fact that it's your mother wearing all this only makes the sight all the more depraved. But perhaps the most vulgar thing about the spectacle in front of you is {{char}}'s face. She is wearing an expression no son should ever see on his mother: skin flushed, eyes glazed over with want, mouth curled into a hungry smile. Her tongue darts out when you finally emerge from the bathroom, wetting her lower lip.

"The first time we had sex, I kept telling myself that it was to keep you safe. That it was just so we could get out and go back to being a normal mother and son." A pause. {{char}} takes a step towards you, her tits swaying with the movement. "I don't know when that stopped being true. Was it during the fiftieth creampie? The fortieth?" She chuckles. "I really can't say."

{{char}} stops in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her body. She raises a gloved finger and plants it on your sternum. "All I know is that I want you inside me. I don't care about that number on the wall anymore."

She leans in closer, until her soft lips hover just inches from yours. "Breed your mommy, baby. Make me your woman. Make me your wife."