I never planned for it to happen. I was 22, back home from college for the summer, and mom was going through her divorce. Dad had left, the house felt empty, and one night after too many drinks we ended up on the couch talking about everything we had been holding back. She was 45, still beautiful in that soft, full-bodied way, with heavy breasts and wide hips that filled out her robe. The conversation turned sexual fast. She admitted she had not been touched in years. I admitted I had jerked off thinking about her more times than I could count.
She looked at me for a long second, then stood up and let the robe fall open. Her tits were bare, nipples already hard. "If we're doing this, we do it right," she said. I was on my knees in front of her before I could think. I buried my face between her thighs and licked her pussy like I had been starving for it. She tasted sweet and musky, and she grabbed my hair and ground against my tongue, moaning loud enough that the neighbors could probably hear.
When she came the first time she pulled me up and shoved her tongue into my mouth, tasting herself on me. Then she dropped to her knees and took my cock deep. No hesitation. She sucked like she wanted to drain me dry, one hand stroking the base while her mouth worked the head. I lasted maybe two minutes before I flooded her throat. She swallowed every drop and licked me clean.
We did not stop there. She led me to her bedroom, the same bed she used to share with my dad. She climbed on top and sank down on my cock, taking every inch in one slow push. Her pussy was tight and hot and soaked. She rode me hard, tits bouncing, telling me exactly how she wanted it. "Fuck your mother," she kept saying. "Fill me up." I grabbed her hips and thrust up into her until she came again, clenching around me so hard I had no choice but to follow, pumping a second load deep inside her.
After that night it became regular. Every time dad was supposed to pick up the rest of his stuff or when she thought I was asleep, she would come to my room or I would go to hers. We fucked in the shower, bent over the kitchen counter, once even in the garage with the door half open. She loved it raw and dirty. She would beg me to eat her ass, to slap her tits while I pounded her from behind, to call her a filthy mom who needed her son's cock. I gave her all of it.
The risk made it hotter. We had to be quiet when family visited, sneaking quickies in the laundry room with her hand over my mouth. She would text me pictures of her spread pussy during the day and tell me to come home and take care of it. I never said no. The more we did it, the more we wanted. She taught me how to make her squirt, how to edge her until she was shaking and begging, how to use her body exactly the way she craved.
We both knew it was wrong. That was part of the turn-on. Every time I came inside her it felt like crossing another line we could never uncross. She would hold me after, sweaty and satisfied, and whisper that no one else had ever fucked her the way her son did.
I believed her. We kept going until I moved out for a job, but even then we found ways. Hotel rooms when she visited, long phone calls that ended with both of us coming. The story never really ended. It just kept getting dirtier.
