“Ugggghhhhh!” bellowed the studly lover.
“Aaaahhhhh!”
Recovering first from the mutual groans, the cougar again held him down, her mouth and tongue once again ravaging his, while her muculent, broiling cunt ravaged his prick. Mag was like a hospital blood pressure monitor run amok: she feverishly bounced up and down on her son’s delighted hard-on. The illicit, hedonistic pleasure she was getting right now was beyond epic. She knew she’d be sore in the morning, but she didn’t get care. She especially didn’t care now that she felt the start of her oh-so-needed orgasm.
“Oh! Uggghhhh! Oh, Richie! I’m cumming! Momma’s cumming!”
Friction and feeling.
It was the tameless friction between their groins which caused the feeling, first for her. It was the carnal version of rubbing two sticks together and causing a fire. Mag was more than animated, her hot, sexy body jumping up and down on Richie’s cock like a pogo-stick. This caused the feeling of immense gratification as her climax overswept her.
The overjoyed dick, shellacked in umpteen coats of pussy juice, was fiercely gripped and squeezed by her spasming cuntal walls tighter than before. Occasionally he gave a few upward jabs, but Mag’s gully did virtually all the work.
Not long after her crescendo hit, so did his.
“Uggh! Mom, I’m also—”
His announcement was cut off by the fist salvo of extra heavy, white, and potent cream. It burst forth of out the frenzied penis hole, painting the insides of his mother’s snatch.
“You’re cumming?!” her vulgar question stated in a feverish tone. “You’re coming at the same time as Mommy?! That is so fucking hot!”
With untapped vigor, the climaxing tigress redoubled her bouncing efforts and just rammed herself down over and over again. In turn, the massive ejaculation literally belched out like artillery from a howitzer.
“Oh shit, Mom! Oh shit! Cumming! Aaahhhh!!!!”
The young lover never climaxed like this. He actually thought he was going to pass out, but the thunder from down under was discharging like a geyser and kept him conscious. Salvo after salvo of jizz was ejected upward into the wet, wanton cunt, mixing with her own sexual shower.
When the animalistic, sweaty, incestuous orgasms ended, Mag and Richie were spent. She dismounted from him, his depleted prick slipping out of her hole with a semi-loud “plop.” She curled up next to Rich and kissed him. It was an unrushed, sensual lip-lock. Then they looked deeply in each other’s eyes. It was a look of satisfaction. And a look which gave way to a long slumber for both of them.
It was almost five in the morning when Mag awoke. She found herself spooning Richie. Conscience, the loser in the mental war, seemed to be waiting for her.
You’re going to have to discuss last night with him, and about the future.
“I know.”
What you did was wrong.
“Fuck off.”
Conscience dissipated, and sleep returned to Mag.
An hour and a half later she awoke for good this time. Richie was lying on his side, his elbow bent and his head propped up by that hand. When she saw him, he smiled at her.