‘You want me in you?’ I asked. She nodded, begged like a starved nympho.
‘I’ve been dreaming of the way you used to fuck me, obsessed with the feel of you, the look of you,’ she gushed hopelessly. ‘Please, God, I want it and I want you!’
Lust took over, pure and relentless, like a force of nature. Like a shot I was halfway down the bed, forcing her thighs apart, where I dove like a duck to water. Her pussy juices, the lubrication of my mother’s own sexual arousal, were delicious; both salty and sweet. I had to have her wetness all over my face. I had to have her see and feel me as I drove my hot tongue along the rut of her vulva and labia and paddled teasingly at her bulging clit.
Soon my chin was dripping with those juices, mingled with my own saliva, which I drove into her with deep licking strokes, before blissfully licking her out, and sucking her dry. She writhed, bucked, nervously twitched against my mouth as I kissed the very lips that separated to bear me twenty-five years ago, and all she could do was completely lose her shit, go giddily and delightfully mad, as I did that and then delicately sucked her off to intense climax.
‘Let me do something,’ she begged as I pinned her down by her plentiful hips. So I stood up, stroking my thick hard pole before her, and then shot to the mattress beside her, lying back.
‘Ride me,’ I demanded. ‘Feel how slick and smooth it’ll be now.’ Id’ had a lot of practice eating pussy since we used to have sex. Back then we were more or less practicing on each other, or slamming out quickies to get over the inevitable frustration. Now she said she wanted me to fuck her like I used to, but she was in for a surprise. I was going to fuck her like she’d never been fucked before.
Mum straddled my hips, her thick thighs wrapping me up, and coddling me. My size meant there was thankfully never any fumbling, and almost in one smooth motion, she positioned herself over the head of my cock, and then sunk down to the hilt with a satisfied gasp.
‘Jesus Christ, you weren’t kidding,’ she said, wide-eyed and pleasantly overwhelmed. ‘That feels so good…’
‘Mother,’ I said with a smirk, ‘you are hotter and wetter than a summer thunderstorm right now.’
‘Does son approve?’ she winked, adjusting herself and beginning to slide against me. I held her hips, my hands soon roaming up to her soft breasts to squeeze, and gently pinched at her nipples. And between my mother and I, the mother of all scenic views, her slippery silken sex canal dripped incessantly, coating my long glistening shaft, as she swallowed me up and spat me out in glorious repetitive plunging movements.
And she rode me to bliss for endless minutes upon endless minutes, talking about how the imagination is usually supposed to romanticise and make the memory better than it was, but how fucking her own son was now too good to be true. So I rolled her over, still between her thighs, and voiced my opinion on how the feeling, and the sensations, was mutual.
We got lost in each other, deeply, hotly, wetly, and gratuitously, once like a couple made out of convenience, and now like seasoned lovers, slick with perspiration and ragged in breathing. And I’d never kissed my own mother as much – I don’t even think I did my fiancée either – as I had by this point, as we rode her to more orgasms, and more.
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