He had a decent six-inch cock that could get me revved up, but his lack of stamina usually meant he was done long before I was.
On the other hand, although maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, Jason’s cock seemed bigger than his dad’s.
A lot bigger.
Longer.
Thicker.
And man, did he shoot buckets.
Although I looked pretty prim and proper, I loved sucking cock… and unlike many girls… I loved cum.
I loved its salty taste.
I loved its sticky, slippery texture.
I loved the feeling as it glided down my throat.
I loved its warmth as it splattered on my face.
I loved rubbing cum all over my face, having read somewhere that cum helped a woman’s complexion, and for years I’d lived by that theory. Upon reflection, my complexion hadn’t been as pure recently, and although I thought it was from stress and lack of sleep from all my double shifts, maybe my face was just missing its homemade whipped cream.
I shook my head after slamming on the brakes at the last moment for a red light. What was happening to me? I see just one cock, and suddenly I’m horny as fuck. Worse… the cock I’m focussing on is my son’s.
Shit.
I managed to concentrate on the road for the last couple of minutes driving home and pulled into the driveway.
I went inside and declared a little louder than usual, “I’m home.”
“So I hear,” he called back, mocking my volume.
“Sorry,” I laughed, walking into the kitchen. “I’m a little off today.”
“Not feeling well?” he asked.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, as for some involuntary reason I glanced down at his crotch and just as quickly looked away.
“Your cheeks are flushed,” he pointed out.
“Oh,” I said, now feeling guilty, even though he should’ve been the one feeling guilty.
“You okay?” he still wanted to know, looking at me concernedly.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving him off. “What did you do this afternoon?” I asked, changing the topic to see what he’d say.
“Just surfed on the net,” he answered, as again I felt my gaze go lower. How could he hide that big tool of his in those shorts?
“Is that lingo for porn?” I joked, something I’d never remotely implied before. Sexual teasing was completely out of character for me, and I noticed him staring at the floor, or rather directly at my feet.
“What? No,” he replied too quickly.
“It’s okay, you must watch porn,” I generalised. “You’re almost nineteen.”
“I wasn’t, really I wasn’t,” he repeated, his eyes trying to remain on me but repeatedly detouring to my feet, just like my eyes were continually drawn to the impressive package hiding in his shorts. A package that seemed forever burned in my brain.
“It’s okay,” I said, wiggling my toes, wondering if a stocking-clad foot fetish could be hereditary. His father had loved me in them… of course he’d also liked his secretary in them. Asshole. “You’re eighteen, you can look at porn. Watch videos, read hot stories…”
“Mom!” he gasped, surprised by what I was saying, and I saw his cock flinch in his shorts.
“I’d be concerned if you didn’t,” I added playfully.
“I can’t believe we’re talking about porn,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.