Bab 125: Mom’s kinky side
The last thing I remembered before waking up was my father yelling at me, his words long forgotten by the time I realized I had been dreaming, though my racing heartbeat got the message slower than my mind.
My door popped open, and Mom stuck her head into my room, her cheeks glowing from some new light within her body. "Make sure you shower before you come downstairs," Mom said. "You don't want your father smelling my pussy on you, do you?" She nibbled her bottom lip as she gave me a long look and smile, then she ducked away, reminding me of a teenager as the door closed behind her.
Fuck what my dad may have smelled; I wasn't going downstairs until he left the house. My phone rang with Jenna's ringtone. I grabbed it, swiped it, and said, "Yell-O?"
"I can't take it anymore," Jenna said. "I'm doing something tonight that's either going to make my dad let me have you or make him put me in therapy. I'll call you later."
"Wait," I said. "What?" But I was talking to empty space.
I stared at my phone, with my thumb hovering over the dial button, but one yawn later, I set my phone down and looked at my dick, which was standing up big and strong and fucking sore. I got out of my bed, naked and sticky with Mom's pussy juice, our cum, and our sweat. I pulled on a pair of shorts and headed to my bathroom, where after taking care of my morning ritual, I jumped in the shower and let the warm water wash away the layer of sex that coated my body. The sex residue melted away, sliding off me with a thick, prurient grip that reminded me of last night in vivid detail. After cleaning myself, I thought about my soreness and remembered that athletes used the cold to rejuvenate their bodies, so I turned off my hot water.
"Fuck this," I said after a second of freezing my nuts off and shrinking my dick. I jumped out of the shower, finished up, and returned to my room.
I dressed in shorts and a shirt, both loose, without my boxer briefs. I watched my clock tick away until eight in the morning, knowing that my father had left by then unless he had stayed home for some reason. I hadn't heard the garage door open, but then my father didn't always park in the garage either.
Oh, no, I thought. Was my father staying home today? Was that why Mom had told me to take a shower? No, no, no! He couldn't stay home when I could now have sex with my mother whenever I wanted. Fuck-fuck-fuck!
I hurried downstairs with my phone in my hand and my cock as soft as a feathered pillow. I hit the foyer and turned toward the kitchen, quick-stepping through the shortcut hallway and into the kitchen, where I found Mom sitting at the end of the breakfast table and no sign of my father anywhere. My eyes moved so fast that I had yet to take in what my mother was wearing this morning.
"What's the matter?" Mom asked, biting into a quartered pear. "You look anxious."
"Did Dad leave?"
Mom nodded, saying, "Did you need to tell him something?"
I shook my head, sighing, and I let my gaze settle over my mother, who wore her hair up and knotted at the back of her head, loose strands hanging in an artsy mess. Then my eyes drifted downward.
A creamy-white knitted cardigan adorned her body; the wooden buttons were undone straight down the center of her torso. On the table, where Dad ate his breakfast, lay a pair of pajama pants, a shirt, a bra, and a skimpy pair of lacy, thong panties. Mom sat with the chair angled toward the kitchen island, her left leg on the floor, her right on her seat, open and giving me a window to the blonde pussy between her thighs. She had her paper in her left hand and was eating her pears with her right, her white teeth snapping into the porous fruit, but none of the juices dripped past her full lips.
"Eat," Mom said, not looking at me. "If last night didn't wear you out, then you weren't trying hard enough."
I laughed to myself, the sound barely leaving my throat as my chest and shoulders shook. I picked up my phone, selected the camera, and took a picture of my mother. The first focused on her entire body, but for the next one, I zoomed in on her pussy, and for the last, Mom set down her fruit and lowered her hand between her legs, covering her inner and outer lips but not the hollow dip into her thighs. I snapped the picture as my cock grew semi-hard and continued to harden.
"Eat," Mom said.
I was hungry.
"Okay," I said.
A bowl.
A spoon.
Milk.
Cereal.
I finished my breakfast before Mom finished hers. I knew she felt me looking at her from where I sat in the guest of honor chair to her right when she smiled, silently chewing on her pair. I pushed my chair outward, the legs sliding against the wooden flooring, and I turned toward her, waiting.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked.
"Like a baby," Mom said. "You?"
"Same," I said, curling and uncurling my fingers against my upper thighs. "I woke up kind of sore." My heartbeat rose, and my feet tingled, the pre-damp signs of perspiration beading my palms and the soles of my feet.
"I woke up sore as well," Mom said, the corners of her lips pulling into a smile. "I've missed that feeling."
"Is it always like that?"
Mom's smile deepened as she said, "It is when I'm allowed to be on top."
I swallowed, my heart thumping at the perverse question that came to my mind, and I asked, "Dad doesn't let you be on top?"
"Not often," Mom whispered, her next breath coming in deep and shaky. "I was your father's princess before we married, and now he treats me like a queen when all I want to be is his whore."
My cock turned to steel, the head mashing into my shorts, the pressure trying to compress my knob.
"Since your father won't let me be his whore," Mom said, her voice low and anxious, "will you make me be your whore, Mark? Will you do that for your mother?"
I grabbed my cock through my shorts to ease the ache pulsing through it. "Yes," I said, squeezing myself hard, but that only reminded me of how exposed my dick was without my boxer briefs holding it in place.
"Well," Mom said, setting down her paper and turning her green eyes on me. "Then you better make me do something before I have to get my butt upstairs and go to work."
Mom turned her chair to the right, the left side of the backrest connecting with the table. She brought her knees back and feet up and slid her butt to the edge of her seat, her asshole hung above empty space. That little pucker between the bottoms of her cheeks caught my attention, and again, I knew, deep down, that my mother was an anal virgin. There was no way Dad had ever touched his queen down there.
My tongue found Mom's asshole the moment I had my head between her legs. I pushed into her little crinkle, tasting her vanilla lotion and hints of her pussy juices that had slid down her perineum and between her cheeks.
"Ooh," Mom hissed, adding a throaty moan as her body tensed. "Ooh, that's something your father would never do to me."
"Good," I whispered, licking upward from her pristine backdoor and swirling my tongue around her outer labia, pushing against the edges of her swollen pussy lips. Even with a night's worth of sleep, I could tell my cock had given her pussy a beating.
"That's right," Mom said, her voice filled with the tight strain of pleasure. "Lick the soreness out of me."
I placed my hands on the backs of her thighs, and Mom slid her arms inside her legs and pushed her elbows against the backs of her knees, holding herself up and open for me. Her pussy petals came apart with a slow, methodical beauty. Sticky strands of her cooze juice stretched between her lips, snapping apart as I pushed my tongue through their silky webbing and into my mother's pussyhole. It was as though I had slipped my tongue into a honeypot, the delicious taste of her nectar sizzling across the surface of my tongue, making my mouth water.
"Oh, baby," Mom whispered, "you stretched me out last night. Mmm, am I still tight for you?" She squeezed her pussy muscles, kissing the sides of my tongues with her walls. "Is Momma's pussy still tight for her son?"
"Mmm," I moaned into her snatch. "As tight a pussy as I've ever tasted."
Mom laughed.
"The other one is only eighteen-years-old," I whispered.
"Ooh," Mom said, narrowing her eyes and puckering her lips. "I'm as tight as an eighteen-year-old. That's naughty, baby."
I smiled and tongue-fucked my mother's opening, licking the edges of her lips and then beyond her hole. Mom held her legs up, her body twitching and quivering whenever I wet her cunny lips or dipped beyond her pink rim and painted the insides of her clam with my spit. After I had bathed my face in her nectar, I brought my hands down her thighs, using my fingers to collect her juices in turns. My left hand dipped below my waistband, grabbed my cock, and lubed my thickness with her fuck-juices while I lowered my right forefinger to her asshole and pushed against the tight pucker of her backdoor.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone