Chapitre 45: "Mom-Son": A Romantic Date -2
"Both of them," he smiled.
I leaned back in my chair, shifted my body, slipped out of my heels, moved my feet to his stiff rod and began giving him a stocking foot job.
"Shit," he whimpered, as I slowly stroked his cock throughout the performance of 'SOS'. He grunted, "I think I may have to have my own SOS."
"No coming yet," I teased, moving my foot to his mouth.
He took my stocking toes in his mouth as he massaged my foot simultaneously. I realized that if anyone looked up at our private box, they would see a stocking-clad leg in the air. After a few more seconds, I returned to stroking his cock for the remainder of the song with my feet. I decided then and there I was going to fuck my son, here and now. I couldn't wait any longer, my insatiable hunger overriding common sense.
"I love you, Mom," he groaned, as the song ended.
"Then you are really going to like this," I promised, standing up, straddling his legs, tugging my thong to the side and lowering myself on his erect missile.
"Mommmmmm," he moaned, shocked by what I had just done.
"What? Your mother does know," I playfully quipped, as the actors broke into the fun 'Does Your Mother Know?'
"Shit, Mom," he groaned.
"I thought I was Courtney, tonight," I moaned back.
"You're my everything," he romantically retorted, as I watched the show while my son's cock was buried deep inside me.
I just sat on Paul for the next few numbers, occasionally moving my ass back and forth to tease him and in turn me.
It wasn't until the encore, when they broke into 'Dancing Queen' some forty minutes after I had straddled his cock, with lots of slow teasing, did I lean forward, against the balcony rail, and demanded, "Make me a fucking queen, baby."
Paul didn't need to be told twice. Obviously forty minutes of having his cock stuck in my oven, he was ready to cook.
He began fucking me slowly, clearly concerned about drawing attention to us.
"You bad boy, fucking a hot MILF in public," I moaned, wanting to be fucked hard, so I began bucking back to meet his strokes.
"Oh God, Mom," he groaned.
"Fuck me, baby, fuck your Mommy while all these well-dressed couples are oblivious," I said, getting turned on even more by the kinky reality of what we were doing.
"I'm going to come any second," he warned, as clearly I had overheated him while I kept him on broil the past forty minutes."
"Cunt or mouth?" I asked.
"Mouth, Mommy," he groaned.
I turned around, and dropped to my knees just in time to get his first spray directly on my face.
"Sorrrrry," he groaned, as he gave me an accidental facial, the second spray shooting directly in my open mouth.
After one more rope hit me in the chin, I took his cock back in my mouth and lavishly finished what I started, my own pussy still on fire and begging attention.
He said, a few seconds later, "Sit up, let me get you off now."
"You don't have to," I said, even though I was dying to come.
"Sit back on your chair and enjoy the rest of the show," he ordered, somewhat firmly.
"Yes, sir," I joked, as I obeyed.
I watched as he dropped to his knees, went under my dress and buried his face in my pussy. I moaned on contact, knowing my orgasm was already near eruption. As the show came to a climactic end, so did I, as I moaned, biting my lips so as to not alert the entire theatre, "Mamma Mia."
He laughed as he continued licking my cum.
A moment later, he sat back up, just as the crowd all stood to applaud the actors. We stood up too, both of our faces coated with each other's cum. It was ludicrous and beautiful.
He took my hand and asked, surprising me again, "Truth or dare?"
"Well, the truth is already incredibly crazy so I'll take dare," I answered, curious where he was going with this.
"I dare you to keep my cum on your face until we get home," he said, surprising me yet again.
"You dirty boy," I smirked, the idea both incredibly twisted and naughty, yet a little extreme.
"It's just a fantasy I've always had," he explained.
"To come all over your mother's face and then strut her around as a slut?" I quipped, although my tone implied I was teasing him.
"Honestly," he said, "Yes, that's exactly the fantasy."
"Well, I've been pretty good at trying to make all your fantasies true so far, no point backing down now," I replied, the idea so naughty, it made my cunt tingle.
He took my hand and asked, "Shall we?"
"You're the man," I said, loving giving myself to him completely, seeing him not as my son, but as my lover and protector.
"And you're my woman," he replied, not in the barbarian way one might usually say it in a dominant man-woman relationship.
He led me out of the private box and down the stairs, I had no idea what I looked like. Did I have a big gob of cum that was obvious on my face? Had it dried already? Was my make-up still immaculate? I felt slightly self-conscious, and I wondered if every person we passed saw the cum all over my face and if they thought me a whore. Yet, being with Paul, hand in hand, I didn't give a flying fuck what anyone else here thought of me, I was in love with him and would do anything, and I do mean anything, to please him.
A woman did give a couple double take that convinced me the cum on my face was noticeable, but I just kept smiling as we walked out of the theatre and into the lovely summer air.
We returned to the car and started driving home. Once we were on the highway, Paul asked, "Did you enjoy our date?"
"It was a perfect night, except I just realized something," I said, with a smile.
"What's that?" he asked, with concern, clearly wanting this night to be perfect.
"I didn't get any dessert," I revealed, fishing out his cock, pulling it out and taking it in my mouth while he drove.
He moaned instantly.
After a minute of getting him fully erect, I took his cock out of my mouth and said, "Now don't get us killed while I have my dessert."
"Okay," he chuckled, as I took his cock back in my mouth. "Although it would be the best way to die."
THE END
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone