At first, she’d leave the bathroom door ajar when showering when Matt was at home, or she would serve breakfast to us wearing a thin nightgown without a robe. She would lean over to serve Matt at the table, showing off her phenomenal tits in a low-cut blouse. She’d wear those cut-off jeans, so scandalously low that they barely covered her mons. And see-through or ridiculously tight tops. She’d play with her food, sucking in a baby carrot or licking a penne pasta tube, teasing him with an air of innocence. Phallic-shaped bottles of lotions littered her bathroom counter.
One Saturday, she opened her laundry hamper and noticed an aroma. She rooted around and found a pair of her tiny satin panties, weighted with a huge load of her son’s thick, creamy cum. The discovery thrilled her. Every couple of days, she’d find a different pair heavily loaded with Matt’s spunk.
One night I went to bed before her, but woke up an hour later and walked barefoot to the dimly lit kitchen, where I saw her standing nude at the table in profile to my vantage point, her smooth dark skin glistening from the hot, humid summer night, leaning over with her legs spread wide, her hands clasped behind her back as if bound at the wrists, like a bondage cum slut, lapping up Matt’s cold cum from her slutty panties, her long agile tongue slurping it up, savoring the taste and swishing it around her big mouth before swallowing, her nose and cheeks blotched with the thick spunge. Once she’s slurped it all up, she straightened up and heavy gobs of jism dripped off her nose and chin to splatter over her tits. It was a disgustingly lurid, depraved sight. And it got me hard.
She moved her hands from behind her back, circled one hand around the base of a tit and squeezed outward, pushing the cum toward her nipple till the white goo fell off and dropped into her other hand, cupped and waiting beneath her breast. Then she’d raise that hand to her mouth, greedily lick up the residue and repeat the motions on her other breast, leaving both tits and nipples completely coated with a sheen of cum. All this in plain view in the middle of the kitchen, where her son could silently walk in, barefoot, to see the shameless spectacle. Only then did it occur to me that she might be hoping to be discovered by Matt, followed by an immediate and strict chastisement. She imagined that after her discipline, he would tit fuck her, since her mounds were already greased with his spunk, and shoot a fresh load of hut cream onto her face and chest.
Several days later, her sordid cum-slut craving became even more outrageous. Around midnight, the beep of the kitchen microwave woke me. I padded silently to the dim kitchen, peering from behind a doorframe. No more cold cum for the slut mother. She took a steaming bowl out of the microwave, sat at the table, and lifted a pair of panties from the bowl and up above her head, sucking her son’s hot cum as it slid down the fabric, dipping three fingers into the sodden underwear and shoving all three fingers into her mouth, slurping and sucking shamelessly, uncaring about how the thick jism dripped off her lips and chin onto her bare tits and thighs.