Making Mom

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Making Mom
My mother became pregnant with me when she was only s*******n, married my father and had a good marriage with him until he simply dropped dead at work when I was a mere lad of six. After all these years, I recall him only somewhat vaguely. What I do remember clearly is crying my heart out, sitting on my mother’s lap after he died, my face buried in her ample bosom. I never got her fragrance and the softness of those tits out of my mind. I also remember being insanely jealous of my newly-borne sister enjoying the pleasure of breast feeding at the time. I so much wanted to be able to suck on those tits too, to have my mother coo over me. The last time I was to see her tits until much later in life was the day I pushed my sucking sister’s head aside and clamped my mouth on mom’s tit. She gasped but did let me nurse for a minute before gently pulling her nipple from my mouth, telling me I couldn’t do that.

She was careful not to let me see her breastfeeding again. But the rapturous feeling of sucking on that tit never left me. Maybe that’s what drove me to desire her so over the years.

Susan (my mother’s name) did have nice breasts—she eventually told me they were 32C-as well as the nice body to go with them. Always the athletic type, she kept more or less trim during her lifetime. Perhaps because of her small-boned body and lack of height—she was maybe all of 5’6″—that she never weighed over 110 pounds. I already towered over her well before I entered my teens. Her hair was thick, a shiny, dark chestnut brown and semi-curly, giving rise to my constant teen-age fantasy that her cunt hair had to be of the same luxuriant growth.

After the death of my father, my mother had to take a job clerking at a clothing store just to keep food on the table. Things were really tight financially and we managed to sc**** by only because my mother’s aunt baby-sat the three of us k**s for nothing when my mother was working. Mom’s in-laws helped her with groceries and added to our meager wardrobes on birthdays and at Christmas. We were stuck in a revolving door going nowhere. We kept going nowhere until I was sixteen.

That’s when Halston, or Hal as everybody called him, entered the picture. He was a jerk, a philanderer, a cheat, and most likely a crook as well. But Hal had money. I guess he too was taken by my mother’s ready smile and her thirty-four-year-old inviting body. He wined her and dined her. His attention to her was unrelenting. Eventually, Mom apparently gave into the idea that Hal wasn’t so bad and that he at least provided an avenue to escape a life of poverty. So even though he was twenty-two years her senior and had a reputation for chasing women, mom threw in the towel and married the bastard.

I hated him from the word go. The worst part was having to listen to their bed rocking late at night. I knew he was fucking my mother and the thought of his cock inside her intensified my hatred. The worst part was when the sound of the squeaking bed intensified, followed by Hal’s inevitable grunting, a signal that he had emptied another load into her body.

But to keep the peace, I tried to be civil. I think the reason he gave me a go-fer job at his office had as much to do with buying my civility as much as a desire to provide me with spending money. But the civility ended about six months into their marriage when I walked without knocking into his secretary’s office late one afternoon. I had merely come to empty the wastebaskets, part of my job. I thought everyone had gone home. But there he was, standing behind her, bent over her seated form, her blouse half unbuttoned, his hands hidden in her bra, massaging her tits.

I froze when I saw them. Tess, his secretary, tried to stand but he just pushed her back into the chair, his hands still clamped on her massive cones.

“Hal, for God sakes stop it,” she squeaked, her face beet red.

So it’s “Hal,” and not Mr. ___ when they are alone, was my thought. I was frozen in my tracks trying to comprehend what I was seeing.

“Come here, you little bastard,” barked Hal. “Anyone ever taught you to knock? You like to look at tits, don’t you? I’ve seen you looking at your mothers. Well here. Look at these,” as he unsnapped Tess’es front-closure bra and squeezed her tits together, her nipples erect, either from his earlier efforts or from embarrassment. “Don’t these beat what you mom has,” he leered at me.

Now I wanted to kill him. I ran to grab him. Tess screamed. And just as I reached for his throat, he gave me a knee in the groin, catching me in both balls. I dropped to the floor writhing in agony.

“You better keep your fucking mouth shut too,” was his response as he grabbed my hair and viciously slammed my head onto the floor. “Good for nothing little cocksucker.”

When I regained my senses, Hal was gone, Tess bent over me, asking if I was okay. Her tits practically hung in my face but I wasn’t interested. I thought I would die from the pain. I think Tess actually feared I might die. I just clutched my balls and moaned. Eventually, she helped me into her chair and only then, reassured my life seemed to be out of danger, started to stuff herself back into her clothing.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” she begged. “My husband would kill me if he found out. And I don’t think your mom would be too happy either. Please, Ben….”

I just started shuffling towards the door and didn’t look back. When I finally got home, Hal was there. He listened to me tell my mother that I had a gut ache and was going to lie down. I never went back to the job. I hardly ever spoke to him again. But from then on, I always knew what he had been doing those nights when he came home late from work….

The years went by. I left home, did the college thing, got married, had two k**s. My wife, Cathy, was from the neighboring town. “Blond,” smallish bust, conservative. Her breasts were 32 Cs, with nice nipples but much paler than I remembered my mother’s dark, areolas. Her hair was a brown-dyed-blond and as thick as my mother’s, maybe that was one reason I found her so attractive. Cathy was a great mother and wife. With an outgoing personality and winsome smile, she was a favorite at social gatherings. But she wasn’t my mother, the woman I had always secretly wanted to marry.

Cathy didn’t like oral. She would suck my cock on “special occasions” even though I could tell she didn’t like doing it. She made sure to quit sucking long before I could cum in her mouth. She cared even less for the rare occasions when she would let me eat her pussy, tensed up, and tried to get me to stop before I really got started. And I loved oral, the taste of female secretions like honey to me. Anal was out of the question, but it wasn’t something I was really in to, just something I wanted to try. One time—and one time only—I managed to get the head of my cock in her ass before she pulled away as though I had stuck her with a red hot iron. Language? She refused to call her organs cunt or pussy. She cringed when I called her a cocksucker when that was what she was doing. The only word she thought proper to use was “fuck,” and I think she used that only because she knew it turned me on when she kept “begging” me to fuck her when I was buried in her cunt.

Otherwise, like I said, a good wife and mother. But the woman I really dreamed of fucking was the one whose tit I had sucked way back when. I often fantasized it was she urging me to fuck her when I was pounding Cathy’s pussy, that it was my mother’s tits I was nuzzling….

Perhaps I should insert here a description of how Cathy’s and my sex life progressed. After the k**s were born, she essentially lost the little interest she had in doing anything erotic. Using typical male reasoning, I thought that if she could see others fucking, she might turn on to the idea. So I bought a porno video which showed all the possibilities. We often watched a “normal” tape when the k**s were away at grandma’s or attending a sleepover. I prepared for what I hoped would be a hot night of unbridled sex by reserving a table at the usual expensive restaurant, opening a second bottle of her favorite wine at home, using low level lighting to set the mood. After putting on our pajamas and robes, we sat on the couch together and I started the video playing. It took her only a few minutes to determine that this was not a Walt Disney production. She started crying, and stormed from the room. Needless to say, when I joined her in bed later, the cold shoulder she presented only added to the chill of an atmosphere which lasted for days.

Maybe three weeks later, I tried again, practically begging her to at least try watching and reassuring her that it wasn’t the porno actresses whose bodies I wanted, but hers. To my surprise and delight, she watched almost the entire production and (although she would never admit to it) I found obvious signs that she was turned on by what she was watching. I waited until well into the video before I began to caress her breasts. Her nipples were already rock hard. When I caressed her crotch, her pussy was already wet. We never finished the video that night. I eventually switched off the TV, led her into the bedroom, and did enjoy a good fuck. She even let me eat her pussy for several minutes.

It eventually became a routine, even though, with two k**s, the opportunities were limited. Nice meal, glass or two of wine, hot shower, video. She—without fail—was much more open to sex on those evenings. While watching the videos, I took note of when she was getting into it, then—when I began fondling her breasts—directed her hand to her pussy, where eventually she began masturbating. I think she hoped I wouldn’t notice. I guess frigging herself was not in the scheme of what she thought a proper lady would do. She especially seemed excited (in her quiet way) by lesbian scenes or those of some big-cocked black stud having his way with a white woman. Later, when we made love I often tried to get her to close her eyes and fantasize that it was a black cock that was going to cum in her pussy, something which always seemed to get her a bit hotter, to fuck a bit harder, although she adamantly denied she would ever want to be fucked by a black man. Although the videos didn’t turn her into the sexual partner I wanted her to be, but they did mark an improvement.

So, anyway. Back to the story.

Eventually, Hal got sick and died. God knows how many different women he had fucked while married to my mother. When he finally did die, not even my mother really cared anymore. I guess she too had long since figured out why he worked so late so often at the office and took so many out-of-town overnight business trips.

When my magical day arrived, it was so much easier than I had ever thought.

Several months after Hal’s death, mother had asked me if I might make the 180 mile journey to her place in order to help sort through everything that her former pack-rat husband had collected during the years they were together. It was a job that needed to be done so I agreed to devote a three-day weekend to the effort, arriving late Friday night. She seemed a new woman. The years of putting up with Hal’s cheating were over. She was free again, but this time with plenty of money to live on. We talked late into the night. When we finally turned in, I held her tight, kissed her gently on the neck and told her I never wanted to let go. My cock was beginning to harden just from holding her. Whether she noticed or not, I didn’t know. She gave me a squeeze, a peck on the cheek, and a whispered “Good night, Ben.”

On Saturday, we got an early start. Our mission: clean the huge garage, piled high with everything under the sun, including countless boxes of business records. It was a blisteringly hot July day. We grunted and groaned and sweated. Although I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, I was also distracted by the nearness of mom’s body. Her shorts showed off her tanned thighs quite nicely; her sleeveless T gave me glimpses of her bra and made me wish I could see the treasures it held. I was rewarded by occasional inadvertent tit rubs when we would work together to pull boxes from the overhead shelving. For me, those touches were bliss. From time to time, we sat in front of a high speed fan to cool off. Each time, as the air evaporated our sweat, I could see her nipples getting hard. It was a maddeningly erotic sight.

We finally called it a day in the early evening. Mom was already complaining of a lower backache from all the lifting. We were tired, sweaty, and starved. We celebrated our efforts with a gin and tonic (heavy on the gin), then I agreed to grill steaks while mom made a salad. The food hit the spot as did the second drink we had with it. She declined a third.

Mom was already getting more than a bit punchy as she normally doesn’t drink much or often. When she gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, I could feel her tits innocently mashing against my chest. I had to have this woman I had always desired.

I suggested we grab a shower, watch a video to relax, and then I would give her one of my “world famous” backrubs. Sounded good to her. I had brought a variety of videos with me from my collection. The one I carefully chose was suggestive without being pornographic. I knew she would never go for that—at least not at this stage. This flick featured several scenes of passionate kissing, heavy breathing, and the two stars winding up in bed together doing more of the same until they turned out the lights. It actually had a storyline and featured an uplifting ending. An innocent enough selection, but one which I calculated would further my ultimate purpose. I prayed it would get her motor running so as to be more receptive to what I hoped would follow.

To complete the preparations, I opened a bottle of champagne and made sure her glass was never empty. Before the movie was over, we were on our second bottle. Mom was quickly becoming drunk. During the more passionate scenes, I noticed she was breathing more rapidly and was squirming ever so slightly. She also would take another big gulp of champagne each time things got hot. I was positive she had had no sexual stimulation for some time, unless she was doing herself. That is, of course, something one can never tell, but I chose to doubt it. I just sat next to her on the couch, our legs and feet touching as we shared the footstool, my arm around her, my hand gently stroking her upper arm. The light blanket we shared to protect us from the coolness of the air-conditioned room added to the sense of intimacy.

When the movie ended, she announced with a yawn that she had to turn in before she passed out. I reminded her of the backrub and insisted she had to have one if we were going to continue working tomorrow. Although she protested that she was too tired, she finally relented. I told her to go lay on her bed. I would get a large towel and my oil. She was weaving as she made her way into the bedroom, now and then touching the wall for guidance and support.

When I entered her room with yet another glass of champagne for her, she was lying on her stomach under the glare of the ceiling light, fully clothed in her robe and nightgown. I turned her table lamp on low, killed the overhead light, and informed her that the oil wasn’t going to work too well with her robe on. At first she was adamant about keeping it on. But as I straddled her upper legs and slowly started to kneed her shoulder muscles, I gently convinced her to remove the robe.

She finally agreed, but not before asking me to look away. I told her the nightgown would have to go too, at least from her waist up, but she could cover with the beach towel. She paused at that suggestion, turned her head, and just looked at me with her big blue eyes. Even though she was dead drunk, I wondered if she was beginning to become suspicious. Had she felt my cock the night before? Were warning signals flashing in her brain? I saw my opportunity evaporating. I needed her cooperation to get started. **** was not an option. This was my mother. What I wanted from her is what I hoped she would want from me.

Then she surprised me. She again asked me to look away. I climbed off her legs and busied myself by studying the wallpaper. She did as I had suggested, somehow slipping her shoulders out of her gown, lowering it around her waist. When she told me she was ready, I turned to find her again on her stomach, covered to her neck with the towel. I offered her another sip of champagne and as she reached for the glass, the towel began to slip from her shoulders giving me a partial glimpse of those wonderful tits I had always longed to see, to feel, to suck. Her thinking was getting more clouded by the minute. Normally, she would have been more careful to ensure that she had covered herself.

I began to massage just her upper back and shoulders with oil. It didn’t take long before she was purring, she said it felt so good. I used my movements to ever so slowly and innocently work the towel lower. Five minutes later she was exposed from the waist up. As she lay on her stomach, beginning to fall asleep, I could see her tits pushing out to the side.

I finally pulled the towel (and her bunched up nightgown) beyond the swell of her hips, half way down her butt. She stiffened for a minute until I assured her that I just wanted to work her lower back and didn’t want oil on her gown. Massaging her hips from her spine outward, downward to the bed was a massive turn-on. My cock was more than ready, pushing out against my pajamas and I knew my pre-cum was beginning to flow. I hoped hers was too. She was beginning to breath more rapidly.

Finally, I again worked my way up her back, working in ever larger circles. My path quickly included her rib slats, my fingertips just touching the side fat of her tits. Her respirations increased in speed and intensity. She cleared her throat and suggested that maybe it was time to stop. It was a critical moment.

Time to go for broke.

“Mom,” I said, my voice cracking with passion. “You haven’t had any physical attention from Hal for a long time, have you.”

The seconds passed slowly before she found her voice. “No, I haven’t, but that’s because he was sick for so long and because ….” her voice trailed off.

I asked her if what I was doing felt good as I continued to work her sides, including the sides of her tits. She simply nodded and raised herself unsteadily to take another sip of champagne. As she lowered herself again to the bed, I slipped my hands down to cup her tits, my thumb and index finger seeking out and quickly squeezing her already erect nipples.

She, perhaps understandably, freaked. Forgetting she was bare from the waist up, she rolled onto her back, sat up, and pulled the towel up to her neck. I got my first full look at her tits, capped with dark brown nipples that seemed a half inch long.

“Goodnight, Ben,” she spat. “Is this what you really wanted? Time for you and your filthy mind to leave.”

“Look, mom,” I replied, standing next to her bed, my robe revealing the existence of a hardened cock. “I only want one thing for you and that is for you to cum. My guess is that you haven’t been fucked or even touched for ages. And I’m pretty sure you are wet. Maybe you should quit acting like you aren’t enjoying this.”

She didn’t answer. She just sat there.

“I just want to help you cum, that’s all,” I said, making no effort to conceal my erection. “Cause I know you won’t do it yourself. Am I right?”

“Ben…. Please. Just go to bed and we will forget all about this. Okay?” her eyes pleaded. I saw her eyes quickly shift to my groin, then back to my face. “And don’t use that language with me. I’m your mother, remember?”

“You need to cum. You know you do,” I said caressing her cheek. I bent down, gave her a soft kiss on her cheek, then on her lips, and fondled her breast through the towel. “Look. I will only work your tits if that is what you want. You can do the rest.” I paused. “You need to cum,” I whispered, reaching under the towel, again caressing her tit in my hand.

She sat in a daze, just breathing heavily. “But we can’t do this. Ben, I’m your mother,” she faltered.

“I’m just here to help you, “I answered. “No one will ever know.”

I took the towel from her hands and dropped it to the floor, fully exposing her body. Predictably, she raised one arm to cover her breasts, the other shot downward to conceal her genitals. I lowered my head, kissed her again on her lips, then on her neck. My mouth traveled to her chest, gently kissed her right nipple, then took as much of her generous tit in my mouth as I could, and started sucking.

She gasped. “Please. No. We can’t,” was her weak response.

I took her wrists in my hands, raised her arms to shoulder height and pushed her down on the bed, my eyes drawn to her crotch. Lush, dark pussy hair concealed her treasures and my desire. But she hadn’t clamped her legs shut and I could see the beginnings of her wet inner lips, tinged with pink, showing through the hair. I took her right hand in mine, and placed in on her pussy. Out of embarrassment, she tried to pull her hand away. But I held it between her legs and started working her fingers in circles on her pussy.

“Do you want to do this part or would you rather that I work your pussy,” I asked.

“Oh, God,” she wailed. “Can’t we just stop?” Her hand had ceased movement. She was now again shielding as much of her pussy as possible from my gaze.

“Look, mom. You need to cum. You want to cum. Do you want me to do this or will you,” I asked as I placed my hand on her pussy, amazed at the wiry thickness of her hair. As my hand touched her pussy lips, she jumped as though from an electric shock, and pushed my hand away.

I want back to nursing on her tits. She just laid there doing nothing, but let me continue. After a minute, I stopped sucking. Taking her hand again, I put it back on her pussy. “Either I do it, or you do it. You decide. But it is going to happen….”

My mouth again found her tit. I sucked, then paused. Just as I reached for her pussy again, I could feel her slowly beginning to frig herself.

“But we can’t fuck,” she said (I thought hopefully), as her breathing quickened. “Tell me you won’t fuck me.”

My heart skipped a beat. She was using the language!

“We don’t fuck until you want to,” was my reply. But as I said this I shucked my robe and lowered my pajamas to free my hardened cock which I pressed against her leg.

“I just want you to feel it.” I took her hand and wrapped it around my cock. Holding her hand in mine, I jacked my cock slowly several times before placing her hand back on her pussy. This time, she didn’t need to be told to begin.

Her hand now willingly became alive as she ministered to the needs of her pussy. I had a clear view of her pussy lips emerging from the patch of thick, dark hair—just as beautiful as I had always imagined it. I could see her fingers work her pussy lips and clit in a circular motion, then go lower and slip into her pussy. A stoke or two, and then her fingers were back—to the outer lips and clit, all the while, her eyes closed. I reached for my cock, squeezed some of my pre-cum onto my finger and raised it to her mouth.

“Open,” I directed as I touched my finger to her lips. Her eyes flashed open as I wiped my finger on her tongue. Her face showed shock as she recognized what she was tasting. I replaced my finger with my mouth and started tongue-fucking her, all the while massaging her tits, first one, then the other.

“Make your pussy cum,” I whispered. “Make it cum.”

I knew she was getting close. Now was the moment. This was my chance. I quickly rolled on top of her and rubbed my cock against her sopping pussy lips. She bucked and practically screamed for me to get off. Instead, I thrust forward, burying my cock in her cunt in one movement. She may have given birth to three c***dren, but she still was wonderfully tight, certainly more so than my wife. She pushed against my chest with her hands.

“Jesus. We can’t do this! You can’t fuck me! You have to get out of me!” her voice panic-stricken.

I gently fucked into her. “Don’t you want to get fucked as you cum?” I simply asked. “Isn’t that what your pussy needs?”

I gave her several more strokes and tongue-fucked her mouth again. This time, her tongue met mine.

“Make your pussy cum,” my voice now just a whisper. “Feel that cock in your cunt. Fuck! I swear no one will ever know!”

As I continued gently fucking into her, I thought I could feel her ever so gently fucking back.

“You can’t cum in me,” she begged. “We can’t do that. You said you wouldn’t.”

“Only if and when you want me to,” was all I said. But I could sense her arousal was beginning to wane. “Here, let’s do this then.”

I slipped my cock out of her pussy, turned her over and pulled her to her knees. I moved into position, but rather than entering her, I just let my cock rub against her wet pussy lips, and reached for her hand to place it back on her pussy where she paused, but then went back to working her clit. I fondled her pendulous tits, now much larger with gravity pulling them to their fullest.

God! What indescribable nipples, what marvelously soft tits.

I planted kisses on her shoulders, then her back, then on her hips and ass. But as I moved my mouth toward her thighs, she flinched forward.

“No. You can’t do that to me.” Her words stopped me cold. Every part of me wanted to taste her pussy but I knew I could ruin everything if I went too far too fast. My cock had felt her cunt and wanted more. Eating her pussy could wait for another time.

“Okay, okay,” I reassured her. “Let’s just make your pussy cum your way then! I pushed two fingers into her cunt while I reached underneath her to cup one of her tits in my other hand. Stroking her nipple, I felt her hand return to her pussy. She was getting close.

Within seconds, as my fingers fucked her pussy, I sensed she was about to cum, now gasping and starting to buck. In an instant, I slipped my cock back into her pussy.

“C’mon, Mom. Cum on my cock. Get fucked, cunt!” this as I stroked deep into her pussy.

Then she started to cum.

“Oh Jesus oh God oh God oh FUCK,” she croaked as her orgasm washed over her. She was hit by spasm after spasm. I tried to match my strokes to meet each one. She was still working her pussy and trying to squeeze her free tit at the same time.

Suddenly, she whirled around to face me which, of course, left me fucking air. Her fingers dipped into her pussy, apparently feeling for a load of cum. “You didn’t cum in me, did you? You can’t cum in me!! Oh, God! What did we do? Oh, Jesus!” She was having a full-blown panic attack.

“Does it look like I came?” was all I said. Her glance at my cock—still at full attention—provided her with the answer. “But you came! You really made your pussy cum! You are one hot cunt!” I whooped and pushed her down on the bed. I covered her with my body. My cock slipped back into her now-slick cunny. She had made no attempt to close her legs. But as I started stroking, she tried again to push me off.

“You can’t cum in me. Don’t!” as she tried to move out from under my cock.

“I need to cum too,” was my simple statement. “Let me fuck you. I always wanted your pussy. I always wanted to fuck you.”

“Ben, you have to stop! You said you wouldn’t do this! We can’t fuck, don’t you see?” Her panic was returning. I continued my slow strokes in her pussy.

“But you got fucked, didn’t you,” was my answer. “You got to cum. Please, let me to cum to.”

“I’ll make you cum,” she said. “But not that way. It’s not right. Please, Ben, don’t cum in me,” her voice begged, and then she started to cry.

I stopped fucking, savored the moment, the warmth of her pussy, then reluctantly pulled my cock out. “So what are you going to do?”

“Let me do it this way,” she said as she took my cock in her hand and started to jack me off. Her hand slipped easily up and down my cock, a cock lubricated with the juices of her pussy.

“Not quite the same, is it?” was my sarcastic reaction. She just continued to jack me off, no doubt hoping I would cum soon and the ordeal would end. “Can you suck my cock?” I asked.

She stopped stroking. Silence hung in the air. Finally, she just looked at me.

“This is all so wrong. How did I let this happen?” was her monotone reply. Then, coming back to the reality of my cock, she said she couldn’t suck me. She just couldn’t. I was her son.

“Okay. Then here’s what we’re going to do. Let’s see you work your pussy once more until you cum. I am going to start fucking you when you cum but I promise I won’t cum in your pussy. I’ll pull out when I cum. Either that, or let me eat your pussy and I’ll just jack off. It’s your choice, mom.”

She just sat there in a trance. I pushed on her shoulders until she was again lying on her back. I took her hands, placed them on her chest, and told her to play with her tits. When I prodded her with my knee, she started cupping her tits and rolling her nipples between her finger and thumb. She closed her eyes and softly moaned. I lowered my face to her pussy, dipped my tongue into her canal, then ran my tongue from the bottom of her slit to her clit.

“Ben, please, you can’t eat my pussy.”

I paused, then started again to tongue her clit. She clamped her legs together, rolled onto her knees and said we would have to do it like we did before.

Her fingers automatically returned to her pussy. I got into position behind her, reached around and grabbed her tits. She was already getting close to cumming so I mounted her and drove my cock all the way into her cunt.

“Does it feel good? Do you like getting fucked again? Are you going to cum with a cock fucking your cunt?” I punctuated each question with another deep penetration of her hitherto forbidden pussy. Then I really started hunching into her—and she started cumming.

“Oh God. Fuck me. I need to get fucked. I need to cuuuuummmmmmmmm! Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, fuck” was all she could say as her orgasm hit again and again and again.

I was so close. As her orgasm began to subside, I rolled her onto her back, entered her again, gave two or three more strokes, pulled out, and jacked off over her tummy and pussy hair, the first spurt actually landing on her neck and right tit. I was coming like I had never cum before. Mother just stared at my cock, absentmindedly again massaging her tits and smiling as she enjoyed her own afterglow. Finally, I could cum no more.

I slipped my cock back inside her, took her in my arms, and held her as we rolled onto our sides, my softening cock resting on her pussy hair, my cum now trapped between our bodies. I kissed her deeply. And she returned my kisses until we both fell into an exhausted lovers’ sleep.

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