“Thomas,” I breathed, as the heat of arousal and pleasure started to spread outward from my core. He didn’t speak, but made me wet with this saliva and my own juices, basting my folds in preparation, before he began to roll my t-shirt up, kissing up the small of my back, licking me, making me moan and stretching my arms out before me.
Now he was up to my shoulders, kissing my neck and his hands cupped my breasts, as I raised my body to allow my t-shirt to desert its post, as my last barrier to being naked with my son.
Teasing a feathered finger down my spine, I could feel his cock on my ass crack, looking for my entrance, wanting to come home, and my pussy angled to accept it. “Thomas,” I moaned, feeling hot and flushed, as he reached down and touched my vagina on the way to his penis.
He leaned forward, next to my ear and whispered, “I’m a man now. Call me Tom.”
My pussy had been wet already, but I could feel a trickling down my leg as he set his mushroom head in my folds. He rubbed it around and nudged my clit as I breathed out, “Yes.”
That must have been what was waiting for, because as I hissed out the end of the word, he gently pushed forwards and slowly, his uncut head entered me. Then, with a further push, about a third of his hard, long length parted the walls of my vagina, as, “Uuuung” escaped my lips and soon, he was right up in me.
Pulling me back, he seated himself, like a jockey controlling his mount. I could feel his cock inside my cunt, moving as he set himself between my spread legs, and he started to stroke in and out. It was gentle at first, just leisurely caressing in and out, back and forth, his considerable length carried on, every vein and ridge now being my tormenter.
“Oh Thomas,” I said, forgetting to call him the abbreviated version that almost everyone else does.
“When we’re,” he thumped into me, with his balls slapping against my pussy; “Together like this,” he slammed home once again;
“It’s Tom,” he finished his sentence with force, before he started to really go at me, gripping my hips and slamming back home to where he came from, 18 years ago.
He fucked me hard, fast and brutal, in and out he pistoned. I was writing about on the bed in the dark, sweat was sticking my hair to my face and my pussy was rolling, rippling, pulsing and leaking buttery, thick lube.
I cried, I wailed as his balls hit my clit, then he reached under my body and groped my 34DDs and slowed, as he twisted and played with my nipples.
Part of me wanted to turn the light on, flip around to see if it was real. Part of me wanted to hold him to my breasts, and have him suckle, like a baby.
The biggest part of me, however, didn’t want to break the spell, in case reality set in, and he didn’t spasm and paint my walls, or even worse…..what if I woke up? I just lay there, taking the pounding of a lifetime, as it built and built my orgasm, until it rocketed through my body.
I stiffened against him, as the first wave hit, surprising my every sensation. He gripped me more firmly by the hips and fucked me over and over. He reached underneath me and played with my clit and the fireworks went off again. My body fell into the bed as I wailed and screamed, paralysed to do anything else as my body spasmed, squirted and contoured in beautiful agony, and gave itself over to pleasure.
He wasn’t finished. Pushing me down into the mattress, he put his legs either side of me. My vagina rippled and squeezed as she sucked and clamped him inside. If my cavern had been sensitive before, every roll of his hips dragged and drove his manhood over the pleasure needles, now stabbing into my very being. Finally, as my womanhood clutched and released, bathed and squirted, I felt that final thudding, and the warmth that followed was bathing my hidden, velvet walls and seeping into every cavity of my red hot, weeping in happiness, vagina.
He lay over my back, panting over my shoulder and I cooed at the feeling of his skin on my own. Part of me wanted him to speak, explain to me why he was doing this to his own mother. Not that I was the innocent party in this, I had all but sent him an invite this evening.
The greatest part of me, however, sighed in relief when I heard and felt his sticky front lifting, separating himself from me as if like velcro, such was our perspiration and then, in silence, he was gone.
Almost in a daze, I lifted my iPhone and opened up the Notes app. Just before turning in to sleep, I just wrote the 4 simple words, “This isn’t a dream!”
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