This was a fantasy I’d carried with me when I went to college and I’d shot hundreds of loads, recreating my memory in a variety of ways.
-She turns around, sees me, walks over, drops to her knees, fishes out my cock and sucks me.
-I walk up behind her, cup her big breasts from behind as she moans, ‘Ready for seconds already, Eric?’ (Eric is my father’s name). and I respond, ‘Sloppy seconds’ and slide my cock in her from behind and she gasps, ‘Oh yes, Wade,’ as I penetrate her
-I walk over to her, spin her around, guide her to her knees and shove my cock in her shocked open mouth and hold her head in place as I face fuck her.
-I walk up behind her and surprise her by simply sliding my cock in her pussy. This fantasy goes either of two ways: 1) where she discovers it’s me and joins in eagerly liking the idea, or 2) where she is shocked and tries to stop me until I dominate her and then she still joins in eagerly but this time calling me Master… this version coming to mind because I’ve heard her get dominated by Dad many times when I eavesdropped.
Of course, in all of these versions of the fantasy I magically begin with pants and underwear or not, whichever works best in the scenario.
And that was what I was fantasizing about a few months later during reading break before finals when I came home for the week, imagining fucking my naked Mom in the kitchen one way or another, when my real live Mom walked in on me.
I was on my bed, jerking off while watching porn on the laptop, an incest scene where a son fucks his mother, when she walked into my room.
She froze and stammered, even as she stared at the eight-inch cock I was pumping, “S-s-sorry.”
To my surprise she didn’t turn and leave immediately, lingering for a few seconds before scurrying out.
Mom walking in on me was all it took as I came like a racehorse, envisioning a new fantasy where Mom hurries over to me and finishes me off, today with me coming all over her face but tomorrow who knows… as I now had two fantasies I could create variations on in my head.
I cleaned myself up and went to the kitchen to grab a snack, jerking off making me hungry for some reason, and she apologized, “I’m so sorry, Wade.”
I joked, “Well, now we’re even.”
She blushed as she said, “I should have knocked, I was just coming to get your laundry.”
Yep, I was eighteen and Mommy still did my laundry. Pathetic, but it had just always been that way.
I couldn’t help it, as I joked like Dad would (Dad often teasing Mom about me seeing her naked, as he thought it was hilarious), “And I was just coming, too.”
“Wade!” she gasped, even as I noticed, or I thought I noticed, her glancing down at my crotch.
“What? I’m eighteen. I masturbate,” I defended, and then added, “A lot.”
She shook her head as she repeated, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no big deal,” I shrugged.
She responded, “Au contraire, it is indeed a big deal.”
Although her words implied she was still mortified by walking in on me, her tone implied something else entirely.
She was talking about the generous size of my cock being a big deal… at least I was pretty sure she was talking about my cock.