It took probably a minute for me to stop breathing as though I’d run a mile. “Oh Jesus, I’ve never cum like that before, sweetie,” I confessed.
“We’re not done yet, Mum.”
I didn’t have time to ask another stupid question like “What?” before I felt him kissing my thighs again. This time he used his hands to keep my legs open while his mouth did the work. He started licking up and down my outer labia before slowly working his way towards the middle of my opening and up to my clitoris. Just when I thought I’d recovered from one orgasm and here he was immediately wanting to give me another? I wish I’d given in to his lust years ago!
Joel moaned into my vagina as he licked my clit, his mouth open around my clit while his tongue protruded from his mouth and flicked my clit slowly but firmly side-to-side. As a mother, I don’t really want to know where he learned how to please a woman so well, or how much practice he’s had. But as a woman, holy hell am I glad he’s had so much experience so young. It almost seemed like second nature to him – he knew exactly how much pressure to apply, when to speed up, how to breathe through his mouth without losing momentum – all the things that Mark would struggle with, Joel knew without me ever saying a word.
Soon enough, my hips started moving again, and I grabbed onto his hair to keep him in place while I ground my vagina into his face. This was the son I’d given birth to, the son I’d raised, the son I loved just slightly more than his sister, and now he was pleasuring me with the same mouth his father and I had spent thousands of dollars for braces on. It was so surreal I could’ve died. Instead, I looked down past my breasts and hairless crotch to my darling, very sexy son, focused on nothing but giving me as much pleasure as he could. Even more than his amazing tongue work, that was what pushed me over the edge the second time around: where any other guy would be content to skip the foreplay in favour of pure sex, Joel loved me and wanted me to know it, to feel it. And God, feel it I did.
My hips grinding right into his face, my breath becoming shorter and faster, his tongue now tiring but not giving him up after more than six minutes, I felt how much Joel loved me for the second time that night. I squealed like a girl at a Beatles concert and almost doubled over as I rode the orgasm wave, curling my toes right up, feeling my face and chest grow red and hot, my body glistening with sweat, my hair sticking to my face and neck and back. I spasmed and squirmed and told my son that I loved him, all while his face was buried between my legs, his magnificent tongue working overtime until my orgasm finally subsided.
Neither of us spoke; we both knew what would happen now. He stood up, wiped my juices from his chin and cheeks and he stepped out of his boxer shorts, finally revealing to me his throbbing manhood. Eight hard, hot circumcised inches stood thrusting from his neatly trimmed pubic hair. I felt guilty comparing him to his father at first, but that was before I noticed the difference in father and son. Mark wanted Joel to be circumcised “so he can be like his dad and there’s no awkward questions”. But Mark wasn’t as thick as his son, and does it sound strange to say that I just liked the way Joel’s veins looked more than Mark’s? Anyway, I was certainly impressed with just how much of a man our son had become. Not wanting to spoil the moment by mentioning his father, I chose to keep that fact to myself for the time being. Instead, I simply instructed him, “Come home to Mum.”
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