I still can't believe it happened. I'm 42, divorced for three years, and I've known Linda since college. Her son Jake came home from his summer internship last month, all 22 years of him, tall and broad-shouldered from years of college baseball. I was just supposed to drop off some paperwork for Linda while she was out of town. Instead, I ended up on my knees in her living room with her son's cock in my mouth.
It started innocently enough. Jake answered the door in nothing but low-slung gym shorts, sweat still gleaming on his chest from a workout. "Auntie Claire," he said with that easy grin, even though I'm not his aunt. "Mom's gone till tomorrow. Come on in."
I stepped inside, trying not to stare. The house smelled like him—musky, young, male. We chatted about his classes while I handed over the folder. Then he offered me a drink. One glass of wine turned into two, and suddenly he was standing close, his hand brushing my hip as he reached past me for the bottle.
"You've always been the hot one of Mom's friends," he said, voice low and direct. "I used to jerk off thinking about you when I was a kid."
My face burned. "Jake, that's not—"
He cut me off with a kiss, hard and hungry. His tongue pushed into my mouth and I tasted salt and something sweet. I should have pushed him away. Instead my hands went to his shorts and found him already hard, thick and hot through the fabric.
"Fuck, I've wanted this," he growled against my lips. He grabbed my ass with both hands and pulled me against him. I felt every inch of that young cock pressing into my belly.
We didn't make it to the bedroom. He bent me over the kitchen counter, yanked my skirt up, and tore my panties aside. His fingers found me already wet. "Jesus, you're soaked," he said, sliding two thick digits inside me without warning. I moaned and pushed back against his hand.
He fucked me with his fingers until my legs shook, then replaced them with his cock in one smooth thrust. He was bigger than my ex, stretching me open in that perfect, aching way. "Take it," he muttered, gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. "You've been wanting this too, haven't you?"
I confessed everything right there, voice breaking with every thrust. How lonely I'd been. How often I'd thought about younger men. How his mother would kill us both if she knew. Jake just laughed low and fucked me harder, the wet sound of skin on skin filling the kitchen.
He pulled out before he came, spun me around, and pushed me to my knees. "Open," he ordered. I did. He stroked himself twice and painted my tongue and lips with thick ropes of cum. I swallowed what I could and licked the rest off his shaft while he watched with dark, satisfied eyes.
We didn't stop there. He carried me to the couch and ate me out until I screamed, his tongue relentless on my clit. Then he flipped me onto my stomach and took me again from behind, slower this time, whispering filthy things about how tight I felt and how he was going to fill me up. When he finally came inside me, I came with him, clenching around that young cock like I never wanted to let it go.
Afterward we lay tangled together, his cum leaking down my thigh. Jake kissed my shoulder and said, "This is just the start, Claire. Mom's gone all week."
I should have said no. Instead I smiled and reached for him again.
That was three weeks ago. Jake still texts me when Linda's out. Last night he fucked me in their guest room while she was at book club, his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.
Every time I think about stopping, he sends a photo of his cock or shows up at my door with that grin. I'm addicted. And the worst part? I don't want to quit.
