I walked into the kitchen that night already hard, knowing exactly what was waiting for me. Mom was bent over the counter in nothing but that thin silk robe, the one that barely covered her ass. She looked back over her shoulder and smirked.
Took you long enough, she said, voice low and rough. Ive been wet for an hour thinking about your cock.
I didnt waste time with small talk. I stepped up behind her, yanked the robe open, and grabbed her hips. Her big tits swung free and her nipples were already stiff. I shoved two fingers straight into her pussy and she was dripping, slick and hot.
Fuck, Mom, I growled. Youre soaked.
She pushed back against my hand. Then stop playing and fuck me like you mean it.
I pulled my fingers out, unzipped, and slammed my cock into her in one hard thrust. She moaned loud, the kind of sound that always made my balls tighten. I started pounding her right there against the counter, skin slapping, her ass rippling every time I bottomed out. She reached back and spread herself wider so I could go deeper.
Harder, she demanded. Make it hurt a little.
I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back while I hammered into her. The wet, filthy sounds of my cock stretching her filled the kitchen. She kept talking dirty the whole time, telling me how much she loved her sons dick, how no one else ever fucked her this good.
I pulled out, spun her around, and lifted her onto the counter. Her legs went over my shoulders and I drove back in, watching her face while I fucked her. Her tits bounced with every thrust. She reached down and rubbed her clit fast and rough.
Gonna come on your cock, she panted.
Fill me up after. I want it leaking out of me all night.
I felt her pussy clamp down, pulsing and squeezing while she came. That pushed me over. I buried myself deep and unloaded, pumping thick ropes inside her until it started to overflow around my shaft.
She didnt let me pull out right away. She kept me there, clenching, milking every drop while she kissed me hard, tongue filthy and demanding.
Later we moved to the couch. She rode me slow and deep at first, then faster, telling me exactly how she wanted it next timebent over the dining table, on her knees in the shower, maybe even with the curtains open so anyone walking by could see her son breeding her.
By the time we finished the second round she was covered in sweat and come, smiling like shed just won something. She looked down at the mess between her legs and laughed softly.
Stories like this never get old, she said, already reaching for me again. Now get hard. Im not done with my son tonight.
