The recording starts with my own shaky breathing. I can hear it clear as day on the tape, that first ragged inhale when the door clicked shut behind them. My son Jake stood there with two of his buddies, all of them eighteen and built from years of football and lifting. They didn’t say much at first. Just looked at me like I was already theirs.
I told them to get out. My voice came out thin. Jake hit record on his phone and set it on the kitchen counter without a word.
“We’re keeping this,” he said, low and flat. “So you remember who you belong to now.”
They moved fast after that. Rough hands on my arms, my waist, yanking my shirt up over my head. My bra straps snapped under their fingers. One of the friends, the tall one named Marcus, shoved me forward over the table. Plates clattered to the floor. My cheek pressed against the wood while someone yanked my jeans and panties down in one hard pull.
Jake’s voice stayed close to my ear. “Spread your legs, Mom. We’re not asking.”
I tried to fight. Kicked once, twisted my hips. It only made them laugh, low and mean. Marcus’s thick fingers pushed between my thighs and found me already wet. He laughed harder. “She’s dripping. Your mom’s fucking soaked for this.”
They didn’t waste time with teasing. Jake lined up first. I felt the blunt head of his cock press against my entrance, then the brutal shove that buried him halfway inside me in one thrust. I gasped loud enough that the phone picked it up perfectly. He didn’t stop. He drove the rest of the way in, hips slapping against my ass, and started fucking me like he’d been waiting years.
The other friend, Derek, unzipped and fed his cock into my mouth. I gagged when he hit the back of my throat, but he held my hair and kept pushing. Spit ran down my chin onto the table. Every time Jake slammed in deep, my whole body jerked forward and took Derek deeper.
They talked the whole time. Dirty, filthy things that the audio caught in crisp detail.
“Listen to how wet she is,” Marcus said, stroking himself while he waited his turn. “Sloppy fucking cunt on your own mom.”
Jake grunted with every thrust. “Tight though. She’s squeezing me like she doesn’t want to let go.”
They switched. Marcus took Jake’s place and drove in even thicker. The stretch burned. I moaned around Derek’s cock and hated how the sound came out needy instead of scared. My hips started rocking back without permission. Marcus noticed and slapped my ass hard.
“That’s it. Fuck yourself on it. Show the recording how much you love your son’s friends wrecking you.”
They took turns for what felt like hours. One in my pussy, one in my mouth, sometimes both at once when they tilted my head just right. Cum leaked down my thighs and pooled on the floor. Every time one of them finished inside me, another took his place. Jake came last. He pulled out and painted my back and ass with thick ropes while the phone kept recording every wet sound and every broken moan I couldn’t hold back.
When they finally pulled away, I stayed bent over the table, shaking. Jake picked up the phone, stopped the recording, and leaned down so his mouth brushed my ear.
“We’re sending this to the group chat later. You’re ours now. Every time you hear it, you’ll remember exactly how it felt.”
The file ends with the sound of their footsteps leaving and the door closing again. My own ragged breathing fills the last thirty seconds. I’ve listened to it more times than I’ll ever admit.
