The house had become a minefield of scent and memory.
Every surface carried the ghost of their fucking: the faint musk of Alex's cum dried into the couch cushions, the sweet-salt tang of Elena's squirt on the kitchen floorboards, the lingering heat where her tits had pressed against the hallway mirror while he took her standing, her leg hooked over his hip, pussy clenching as she came with his hand over her mouth.
Mark sniffed once—Tuesday evening, nose wrinkling at the air freshener Elena had sprayed like a criminal covering tracks—and said nothing. He was too busy complaining about a client to notice the way his wife's nipples stayed hard beneath her blouse, or how Alex's jaw ticked every time their eyes met across the dinner table.
Elena had stopped wearing panties entirely.
The risk made her wetter.
She'd sit at the table, thighs parted just enough that cool air kissed her slick folds, her pussy lips puffy and glistening under the hem of her skirt. Alex would slide his bare foot up her calf, toes brushing the damp heat between her legs. She'd clench, a bead of arousal slipping free to trickle down her thigh. Mark would drone on about quarterly reports while mother and son played footsie with sin.
**Wednesday night – the closest call yet.**
Mark came home early.
Elena was in the garage, bent over the hood of Alex's car—skirt flipped up, ass high, pussy stretched wide around his cock as he fucked her in slow, grinding strokes. The car rocked gently. Her tits were out, swaying with each thrust, nipples dragging across the warm metal. Alex had one hand fisted in her hair, the other rubbing tight circles over her clit. She was close—so close—her breath fogging the hood, moans muffled against her own forearm.
Headlights swept the driveway.
"Fuck," Alex hissed, pulling out in one slick slide. His cock glistened with her cream, angry and red. Elena whimpered at the loss, pussy clenching emptily, a thick string of her arousal stretching from her cunt to his tip before breaking.
They moved fast.
She yanked her skirt down, tits still out, nipples diamond-hard. Alex shoved his cock into his sweatpants—impossible to hide the bulge, but the shadows helped. Elena grabbed a rag, pretending to polish the fender as Mark's key turned in the door.
He stepped in, blinking. "What are you two doing?"
"Car wouldn't start," Alex said, voice steady. "Mom was helping me look under the hood."
Elena turned, smiling, tits barely contained now that she'd tugged her blouse closed. A bead of sweat—or was it Alex's pre-cum?—glistened at her collarbone. "Battery cable's loose. Alex fixed it."
Mark grunted, distracted by his phone. "Dinner ready?"
"Ten minutes," she said sweetly, thighs trembling.
The second he turned toward the kitchen, Alex's hand shot out, fingers sliding under her skirt to cup her dripping pussy. Two fingers pushed inside, curling. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, hips rocking subtly as he finger-fucked her right there in the garage, Mark's footsteps fading down the hall.
He pulled out just as suddenly, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. "Later," he mouthed.
She nearly came from the promise alone.
**Thursday – the breaking point.**
Mark left for a two-day conference in the city.
The moment his car vanished, Elena texted Alex from the master bathroom:
**Shower. Now. Bring the toy.**
The toy was new—a thick, veined dildo she'd ordered online, molded to match Alex's exact size. She'd used it when he was at class, fucking herself on the bathroom counter, imagining it was him. Now she wanted the real thing *and* the replica.
Alex found her naked in the steamy shower, water cascading over her curves. The dildo was suctioned to the tile wall at hip height. She was already riding it—back arched, ass out, pussy stretched wide around the silicone cock as she fucked herself with slow, deliberate strokes. Her tits bounced, water sluicing between them.
"Mom," he groaned, stripping fast.
She didn't stop. Just looked over her shoulder, eyes glazed with lust. "Watch me take your cock while I wait for the real one."
He stepped in, water plastering his hair to his forehead. His real cock jutted up, thicker than the toy, veins pulsing. He gripped her hips, pulled the dildo out with a wet pop, and replaced it with himself in one brutal thrust.
Elena screamed—raw, filthy, echoing off the tiles.
He fucked her against the wall, the dildo forgotten on the floor. Water pounded their joined bodies. Her pussy gushed around him, squirting with every deep stroke. He reached around, pinched her clit, and she came hard—legs shaking, walls clamping, a flood of slick coating his balls.
Then he pulled out, spun her, and pushed her to her knees. She took him deep—no hesitation, throat opening as she swallowed him to the root. Water streamed down her face, mixing with tears and drool. He fucked her mouth slow, then fast, hands tangled in her wet hair.
"Gonna come," he warned.
She pulled off just enough to gasp, "On my tits."
He did—ropes of thick cum painting her heaving breasts, dripping from her nipples as she rubbed it in like lotion, moaning.
They didn't stop.
**All day. All night.**
- On the stairs—she rode him reverse, ass bouncing, pussy creaming down his shaft.
- In Mark's office chair—she bent over the desk, tits flattening on the leather blotter as he took her from behind, the photo of their family wedding watching from the shelf.
- On the backyard patio at 2 a.m.—moonlight silver on her skin as she lay back on the lounger, legs spread wide, guiding his cock into her while crickets chirped and the neighbor's dog barked once, then fell silent.
By dawn, they were wrecked.
Elena's pussy was swollen, red, gaping slightly from hours of use. Alex's cock was raw, but still half-hard, glistening with her juices. They lay tangled in the marital bed—sheets ruined, pillows on the floor, the air thick with sex.
She traced a finger through the cum drying on her inner thigh. "He'll be home tomorrow night."
Alex kissed her slow, tongue sliding against hers. "Then we take the weekend trip."
She'd already planned it. A "mother-son bonding getaway" to a cabin two hours away. Mark had grumbled but agreed—work was light, and Elena had sold it as Alex needing a break before finals.
Two full days.
No hiding.
No interruptions.
Just her dripping, obsessed pussy and his thick, endless cock.
She smiled against his mouth, already wet again.
"Let the escalation burn."
They left at dawn, Mark still snoring in the guest room after a late-night flight delay.
Elena kissed his forehead, whispered *love you*, and felt nothing.
Her overnight bag held three sundresses, zero underwear, and a bottle of lube she wouldn't need.
Alex drove. One hand on the wheel, the other sliding up her bare thigh beneath the hem of her dress, fingers tracing the slick seam of her pussy the entire two-hour drive.
She came twice before they hit the highway—quiet, shuddering orgasms that left her thighs trembling and the passenger seat damp.
The cabin sat on a private lake, no neighbors for a mile.
Pine trees pressed close, needles whispering against the roof.
Inside: one room, one bed, one couch, one shower.
Perfect.
They didn't unpack.
The second the door shut, Elena dropped to her knees on the rough wood floor.
Alex's jeans were around his thighs in seconds, cock springing free—thick, flushed, already leaking.
She took him deep, throat relaxing, nose pressed to his pelvis.
He groaned, hands fisting her hair, hips rocking gently as she sucked him like she was starving.
Drool spilled down her chin, onto her tits.
She pulled off with a wet pop, looked up.
"Fuck my face, baby. Use Mommy's throat."
He did.
Long, slow thrusts at first—then faster, deeper.
Her eyes watered, mascara running, but she moaned around him, pussy clenching with every gag.
When he came, she swallowed most, let the rest drip onto her tongue and spill over her lips.
She rubbed it into her skin like worship.
They christened every surface.
**The kitchen counter**
She sat on the edge, legs spread wide, dress rucked to her waist.
Alex ate her like a man possessed—tongue lashing her clit, three fingers curled inside her, stroking that spot that made her squirt.
She came with a scream, flooding his mouth, thighs clamped around his head.
He stood, slid into her still-spasming pussy, and fucked her slow—watching her tits bounce, her eyes roll back.
"Tell me," he growled.
"You're my everything," she gasped. "My son. My lover. My *cock*."
**The couch**
Reverse cowgirl—her fat ass bouncing, pussy creaming down his shaft in thick rings.
He reached around, pinched her nipples, rubbed her clit.
She rode him until her legs gave out, then he flipped her, folded her in half, and pounded her into the cushions.
The wet slap of skin echoed.
She squirted again—hard, soaking his abs, the fabric beneath them.
He pulled out, came across her belly and tits, watching it pool in her navel.
**The shower**
Steam, water, her back against the tile.
He lifted her—hands under her thighs, cock spearing up into her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Gravity did the work.
Every thrust drove him deeper, her pussy stretched wide, clit grinding against his pelvis.
She came twice—once silently, mouth open in a soundless scream, once loud enough to rattle the glass door.
He stayed inside her after, cock softening, cum and water swirling down the drain.
**The bed**
All night.
Slow, then fast.
Missionary—her ankles on his shoulders, pussy folded open, taking every inch.
Sideways—his chest to her back, one hand cupping her tit, the other rubbing her clit as he thrust lazily.
69—she sucked him while he tongue-fucked her, both of them moaning into each other's flesh.
When the sun rose, they were still tangled—her pussy full of his cum, his cock half-hard inside her, their breaths synced.
Saturday bled into Sunday.
They swam naked in the lake at noon.
She floated on her back, tits above water, pussy bare to the sun.
He swam beneath her, licked her underwater until she came with a gasp, legs kicking.
On the dock, he bent her over the railing—ass in the air, pussy dripping lake water and arousal.
He took her slow, watching the forest, listening for boats that never came.
She pushed back, meeting every thrust, moaning his name like a prayer.
Sunday afternoon, they lay on a blanket in the grass.
She rode him reverse, sun warming her back, breeze cooling the sweat on her skin.
Her ass bounced, tits swaying.
He reached around, rubbed her clit in tight circles.
She came hard—squirting in an arc that splashed the blanket, her pussy clamping down so tight he followed instantly, flooding her again.
They showered one last time—slow, soapy, her tits pressed to the glass as he took her from behind, hands cupping her belly like he was claiming more than just her body.
On the drive home, she wore one of his T-shirts and nothing else.
His cum dried on her thighs.
Her pussy ached—swollen, satisfied, *marked*.
She rested her head on his shoulder, fingers tracing the outline of his cock through his jeans.
Mark would be home in three hours.
They smiled at each other—secret, filthy, *in love*.
The cabin had been a release.
Now?
Now they were addicted.
And the hunger had only grown.