The house felt different the morning Mark's car crunched up the gravel drive.
Elena stood at the stove, spatula in hand, the scent of bacon curling through the air like a lie. Her body still hummed—every muscle tender, every fold of her pussy swollen and sensitive from seven straight days of being stretched, filled, and worshipped by her son's relentless cock. She wore a modest robe now, cinched tight, but beneath it she was bare. No panties. No bra. Just the faint ache between her thighs and the slow, steady drip of Alex's last load still leaking from her.
Alex sat at the table, hair damp from a shower, pretending to scroll through his phone. His knuckles were white around the device. When the front door clicked open, he didn't look up, but Elena felt the jolt run through him—the same jolt that tightened her nipples and made her clit throb with guilty heat.
"Hey, hon," Mark called, voice thin and cheerful. He dropped his suitcase with a thud. "Missed you guys."
Elena turned, smile practiced and bright. "Welcome home." She crossed the kitchen, arms open for the obligatory hug. Mark's body was soft, unfamiliar. His cologne—cheap and sharp—made her stomach twist. When he kissed her cheek, she tasted nothing. No hunger. No spark. Just the ghost of Alex's mouth still lingering on her tongue from the frantic, whispered blowjob she'd given him in the laundry room an hour ago, swallowing every drop so there'd be no evidence.
Mark clapped Alex on the shoulder. "How's my boy? Keep your mom company?"
Alex's jaw flexed. "Yeah. We… hung out."
Elena's pulse raced. *Hung out.* If only Mark knew how her son had bent her over the kitchen island at 2 a.m., her massive tits pressed flat to the cold granite, ass in the air as Alex drove into her from behind—slow, deep strokes that made her bite her forearm to keep from screaming. How she'd come so hard her knees buckled, pussy gushing down her thighs while Alex held her up by the hips and kept fucking her through it.
Dinner was agony. Mark talked about spreadsheets and hotel Wi-Fi. Elena nodded, legs crossed under the table, her bare foot brushing Alex's ankle. A secret. A promise. Every time their eyes met, heat flared—hers dark with memory, his stormy with restraint.
Later, in the marital bed, Mark reached for her. His hand fumbled under the sheets, finding her breast. She let him. Let him paw at her like a teenager, his tiny cock already straining against his boxers. When he pushed inside her—barely a stretch, barely a presence—she closed her eyes and thought of Alex. Thought of the way her son's thick head had nudged her cervix, the way his balls had slapped her clit with every thrust. Mark lasted forty-three seconds. She counted. He rolled off, snoring within minutes.
Elena lay awake, pussy clenching around nothing, slick with her own arousal and the faint trace of Alex's cum still nestled deep. She slipped from bed, robe whispering against her skin, and padded down the hall.
Alex's door was cracked open. Moonlight striped his bed. He was awake—sitting up, sheet pooled at his waist, cock already hard and jutting against his stomach. The sight stole her breath. Nine inches of rigid, veined perfection, glistening at the tip. He didn't speak. Just watched her with that same hungry stare he'd worn when she'd ridden him slow in the bathtub, water sloshing over the edges as she rolled her hips and milked him dry.
She closed the door behind her. Locked it.
"Mom," he rasped, voice rough. "He's right down the hall."
"I know." She let the robe fall. Her body glowed in the dim light—heavy tits swaying, nipples dark and peaked, the soft curve of her belly leading to the slick, puffy lips of her pussy. She was dripping again. Had been since Mark's pathetic attempt at sex. "I need you."
Alex groaned, fisting his cock. "You're still full of me."
"And I want more." She crawled onto the bed, straddling his thighs. Her wetness smeared across his skin as she dragged her cunt along his shaft, coating him. "I want to feel you while he sleeps. Want to know I'm yours."
He gripped her hips, guiding her down. No foreplay. No teasing. She sank onto him in one slow, filthy glide—her pussy swallowing every inch, walls fluttering as they stretched around his girth. A soft, broken moan escaped her. She clamped a hand over her mouth.
Alex's head fell back. "Fuck… so wet. So tight."
She rode him in silence—agonizingly slow rolls of her hips, her ass bouncing softly against his thighs. Each downward thrust seated him deeper, the head of his cock kissing her womb. Her clit ground against his pubic bone, sparks shooting up her spine. She leaned forward, tits smothering his face. He latched onto a nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing. The pull shot straight to her core.
Minutes bled together. The house creaked around them—Mark's snores faint through the walls. Elena's breath hitched. She was close. So close. Alex sensed it—slid a hand between them, thumb circling her swollen clit. That was all it took.
She came with a shudder, pussy clamping down, milking him in rhythmic pulses. Her juices flooded out, soaking his balls, the sheets. Alex followed seconds later—hips jerking as he flooded her again, thick ropes of cum painting her insides. She stayed impaled on him, trembling, until the last spasm faded.
When she finally lifted off, a trickle of their mixed release followed, dripping down her thigh. Alex caught it with his fingers, pushed it back inside her. Marked her.
"Tomorrow," he whispered against her lips. "After he leaves for work."
She nodded, throat tight. "I'll be waiting."
Back in her own bed, Mark slept on, oblivious. Elena curled into the damp spot where Alex's cum still leaked from her, one hand cupping her pussy like a secret. The hunger hadn't faded. If anything, it burned hotter.
This wasn't the end.
It was only the beginning of the lie they'd live—side by side, under the same roof, stealing moments, hours, nights.
A mother's obsession.
A son's devotion.
And a marriage built on sand.