It started with a late-night storm knocking out the power. I was in the kitchen rinsing dishes when the lights died, leaving everything dark except the flicker of candles I'd lit earlier. My son, home from his first year away, was stretched out on the couch in nothing but boxers. He'd always been built, but now he was a man, thick through the chest and arms, and I couldn't stop noticing.
"Power's out again," he said, voice low. I walked over, barefoot, wearing just my thin nightshirt. No bra. My nipples were already tight from the cool air.
He sat up and I sat beside him. Our thighs touched. Neither of us moved away. The house was quiet except for rain on the roof. I felt his eyes on my legs, then higher.
"You look good, Mom," he said. Direct. No hesitation.
I turned to him. "So do you." My hand landed on his thigh. I didn't plan it. It just happened. His muscle flexed under my palm. I slid higher until my fingers brushed the hard line of his cock through the thin cotton. He was already stiff, hot, and big.
He didn't flinch. Instead he reached over and cupped one of my tits through the shirt, thumb dragging across the nipple. "Fuck, I've thought about this," he muttered.
I squeezed his cock. "Then stop thinking."
He pulled the shirt up and off me in one motion. My tits spilled free. He leaned in and sucked a nipple hard, teeth grazing. I moaned and pushed my hand inside his boxers, wrapping my fingers around his thick shaft. He was throbbing, leaking at the tip. I stroked him slow and tight while he switched to the other nipple, biting just enough to make my pussy clench.
We didn't talk much after that. He stood, shoved his boxers down, and his cock sprang out, heavy and veined. I dropped to my knees on the rug and took him in my mouth without asking. I sucked the head first, tongue swirling, then pushed deeper until he hit the back of my throat. He groaned and grabbed my hair, fucking my face in short thrusts. Spit ran down my chin onto my tits.
After a minute he pulled me up, spun me around, and bent me over the arm of the couch. He yanked my panties down and kicked my legs apart. Two thick fingers pushed straight into my cunt. I was soaked. He pumped them hard a few times, then replaced them with his cock in one rough shove. I cried out as he filled me, stretching me open. He didn't ease in. He fucked me deep and fast from the start, hips slapping against my ass, one hand gripping my hip and the other reaching around to rub my clit.
"Harder," I told him. He gave it to me. The couch creaked. My tits swung with every thrust. I came first, cunt pulsing around him, legs shaking. He kept pounding through it.
He pulled out, turned me, and lifted me onto the back of the couch. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He drove back in, face buried against my neck, grunting every time he bottomed out. I clawed his back and told him to fill me. He slammed in one last time and came, hot pulses flooding my pussy. We stayed locked together, breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside me.
Later we moved to my bed. He took me again on my back, slower this time but just as deep, watching my face while he fucked his load deeper. I came twice more before he added another one. By morning the power was back, but we didn't stop. We spent the whole next day in that bed, raw and sweaty, saying exactly what we wanted and doing it.
No guilt. Just heat and the wet sound of him sliding in and out of me over and over.
