I had just turned twenty-five when it happened. Mom had been divorced for three years and the house felt too quiet most nights. I was home from college for the summer, working a shit job and crashing in my old room. She was forty-eight, still hot as hell with those big tits that never quit and an ass that filled out every pair of yoga pants she owned. Id jerked off thinking about her more times than I could count, but I never thought it would actually happen.
One Friday night she came home from a bad date, kicked off her heels, and poured herself a big glass of wine. She was wearing a tight black dress that showed off her cleavage and the curve of her hips. You still up, baby? she called from the kitchen.
I walked in wearing just boxers. Her eyes dropped straight to my cock, which was already half-hard from the sight of her. She didnt look away.
Mom, you okay? I asked.
She set the glass down and stepped close. Im tired of pretending I dont notice how you look at me. And Im tired of pretending I dont want it too.
Her hand went straight to my dick, squeezing it through the thin fabric. Fuck, youre big, she whispered. Then she dropped to her knees right there on the kitchen floor, yanked my boxers down, and took me in her mouth.
She sucked like shed been starving for it. Wet, sloppy, loud. Her tongue worked the underside while she bobbed her head, taking me deeper each time until her nose pressed against my stomach. I grabbed her hair and fucked her throat. She moaned around my cock, spit running down her chin onto her dress.
Get up, I growled. I spun her around, bent her over the counter, and yanked that dress up. No panties. Her pussy was shaved and dripping. I slammed into her in one thrust.
She cried out, pushing back against me. Yes, fuck your mother. Give it to me hard.
I pounded her right there, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the kitchen. Her tits spilled out of the dress when I reached around and pulled the straps down. I pinched her nipples while I railed her, feeling her cunt clench around my cock every time I bottomed out.
We didnt make it to the bedroom. I fucked her on the kitchen table next, her legs over my shoulders, then on the living room couch with her riding me, those heavy tits bouncing in my face. She came twice before I flipped her onto all fours and unloaded deep inside her, pumping rope after rope of cum into my own mothers pussy.
After that night we stopped pretending. Every chance we got, we fucked like animals. Morning quickies in the shower. Slow, nasty sessions on her bed where she begged me to cum on her face. She loved when I called her Mom while I was balls-deep.
It was raw, it was wrong, and it was the hottest thing either of us had ever done. We never talked about stopping. We just kept going, mother and son, fucking whenever we wanted, as dirty and real as it gets.
