I never planned on fucking my mom. It just happened one sticky summer night when Dad was out of town and the house felt too damn quiet. I was twenty-two, home from college for the break, and she was forty-five, still hot as hell with those heavy tits and thick thighs she always tried to hide under loose dresses. That night she came out of the shower in a thin robe that clung to her wet skin, nipples poking hard through the fabric. She caught me staring and instead of getting mad, she smiled slow and dirty.
"You like what you see, baby?" she asked, voice low.
I didn't answer with words. I stood up, cock already straining my shorts, and walked right up to her. She dropped the robe without another word. Her body was soft and full, pussy shaved smooth and already glistening. I grabbed her by the hips, spun her around, and bent her over the kitchen table. No foreplay, no sweet talk. I yanked my shorts down, spit on my hand, rubbed it over my dick, and shoved it straight into her cunt from behind.
"Fuck, yes," she groaned, pushing back against me. "Give it to me hard, son. I've been wanting this cock for months."
I pounded her like I hated her, balls slapping her ass with every thrust. Her pussy was tight and wet, gripping me like it was made for my dick. She reached back and spread her cheeks so I could watch my shaft disappear into her. Every time I bottomed out she moaned louder, begging for more. I slapped her ass red and kept slamming until her legs shook and she came, juices running down her thighs.
I didn't stop. I pulled out, flipped her onto her back on the table, and drove back in. Her big tits bounced with every thrust. I leaned down and sucked one nipple hard while I fucked her, then switched to the other. She wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me deeper.
"Fill me up," she panted. "Cum in your mother's pussy."
That did it. I buried myself to the hilt and unloaded, pumping thick ropes of cum deep inside her. She clenched around me, milking every drop. When I finally pulled out, my load leaked out of her swollen cunt and dripped onto the floor.
We didn't talk about it after. We just cleaned up and went to bed. But the next morning she came into my room wearing nothing but panties, climbed on top of me, and rode my morning wood until she squirted all over my stomach. After that it became our routine whenever Dad was gone. Quick, filthy fucks in the laundry room, bent over the couch, even once in the shower with her on her knees choking on my cock while water poured over us.
She loved it raw and nasty. She'd whisper the dirtiest shit while I fucked her: how she used to finger herself thinking about me, how she wanted me to breed her, how she got wet every time she heard my voice. I gave it to her exactly how she wantedhard, fast, no mercy. Sometimes I'd pull out and paint her tits or face with cum, then watch her lick it off her fingers. Other times I'd stay buried and fill her up, then make her walk around the house with my load leaking down her legs.
It stayed our secret. Short, intense sessions whenever we could steal them. No romance, just pure, nasty need. And every single time she came harder than the last, begging for her son's cock like it was the only thing that mattered.
