The summer sun hung low, painting the suburban house in hues of gold and amber. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of jasmine from the garden and the faint hum of a ceiling fan struggling against the heat. Elena Harper stood at the kitchen counter, her fingers absently tracing the edge of a glass of iced tea. Her sundress clung to her curves, the thin fabric doing little to hide the swell of her heavy breasts or the generous curve of her hips. At forty-two, Elena was a vision of ripe, mature beauty—her dark hair cascading in loose waves, her skin flushed from the warmth, and her body a constant, aching reminder of desires she dared not name.
Across the room, her son, Ethan, sprawled on the couch, his long legs stretched out, a textbook open but ignored on his lap. At twenty, he was the spitting image of his late father—broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, and a quiet intensity that made Elena's pulse quicken. But it wasn't just his looks that haunted her. It was the way his T-shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned abdomen. The way his shorts hugged the thick bulge she'd accidentally glimpsed one too many times. The way his presence filled the house, her thoughts, her *dreams*.
Elena's thighs pressed together instinctively, a familiar ache blooming between them. Her pussy was already wet, the slick heat soaking into her panties as she stole another glance at him. *God, what's wrong with me?* she thought, biting her lip. He was her son. Her *boy*. But the forbidden thoughts had taken root years ago, growing wilder with every passing day. She couldn't stop noticing him—the way his hands moved, strong and sure, or the low timbre of his voice when he said her name. "Mom."
"Ethan, honey," she called, her voice softer than she intended, laced with a huskiness she hoped he wouldn't notice. "Dinner's almost ready. Why don't you wash up?"
He looked up, his green eyes catching hers for a moment too long. "Sure, Mom," he said, closing the book and standing. As he stretched, his shirt lifted higher, and Elena's breath hitched. The outline of his cock was unmistakable through his shorts, thick and heavy even at rest. Her mouth went dry, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her dress. She turned away quickly, pretending to focus on the stove, but her mind was elsewhere—imagining that cock, hard and pulsing, stretching her, filling her until she screamed.
Ethan disappeared down the hall, and Elena gripped the counter, her knuckles white. Her pussy throbbed, dripping now, the wetness trickling down her inner thigh. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the images away, but they only grew vivid. His hands on her breasts, kneading the soft, heavy flesh. His mouth on her neck, her nipples, her clit. His cock—*fuck*, that cock—sliding into her, slow and deep, making her come again and again.
She didn't hear him return until his voice was closer, warmer. "Smells good," he said, leaning against the counter beside her. Too close. His arm brushed hers, and a jolt of electricity shot through her. She glanced at him, her eyes betraying her for a split second before she forced a smile.
"Thanks, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice trembling. Her gaze dipped to his crotch again, unbidden, and she saw it—the subtle twitch of his cock, thickening under her stare. *Did he notice?* Her heart pounded, her pussy clenching with need. She wanted to drop to her knees right there, to pull those shorts down and worship that magnificent cock with her mouth, her tongue, her throat. But she couldn't. She *wouldn't*.
Or would she?
Dinner was torture. They sat across from each other, the small table forcing their knees to brush occasionally. Every touch was a spark, every glance a flame. Elena's dress rode up her thighs, and she didn't bother to adjust it, secretly thrilled when Ethan's eyes flickered downward. Her breasts strained against the fabric, her nipples visible through the thin material, and she saw his jaw tighten, his hand gripping his fork a little too hard.
"You okay, Mom?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. "You seem… distracted."
She swallowed, her lips parting. "Just the heat," she lied, her voice breathy. "It's… intense tonight."
His eyes darkened, holding hers. "Yeah," he said slowly. "It really is."
The air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken want. Elena's pussy was a flood now, her panties ruined, her thighs slick. She imagined him pushing the plates aside, bending her over the table, and fucking her senseless with that thick, endless cock. She'd come so hard she'd see stars, her body shaking as he filled her with his cum.
But the moment passed. Ethan cleared his plate and stood, his shorts tented unmistakably now. "I'm gonna shower," he said, his voice rough. "Cool off."
Elena nodded, unable to speak. As he walked away, she watched the flex of his ass, the power in his stride, and her hand slipped between her thighs, pressing against her aching clit through her dress. She bit back a moan, her eyes fluttering shut.
This was only the beginning. The heat was rising, and neither of them could fight it forever.
The shower hissed down the hall, a steady rhythm that matched the pulse between Elena's thighs. She stood at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water, but her mind was elsewhere—inside that bathroom, picturing Ethan under the spray. Water sluicing over the hard planes of his chest, down the V of his hips, over the thick length of his cock. She imagined it heavy in his hand, growing harder as he thought of… *her*. The thought made her clit throb, a fresh gush of wetness coating her already-soaked panties.
She shouldn't. She *knew* she shouldn't. But her feet moved on their own, carrying her down the hallway, past the hum of the shower. The bathroom door was cracked open—just an inch, but enough. Steam curled out like an invitation. Elena's breath caught as she peered through the gap.
There he was.
Ethan stood under the spray, eyes closed, head tipped back. Water streamed over his broad shoulders, down the ridges of his abs, and lower—*God, lower*. His cock was fully hard now, jutting proud and thick from his body, the head flushed dark, a bead of precum mixing with the water. His hand gripped the base, stroking slowly, deliberately. The sight stole Elena's breath. It was bigger than she'd imagined—long, girthy, veins pulsing along the shaft. He could go for *hours* with that, she thought, her pussy clenching so hard she nearly whimpered.
His lips parted, a low groan escaping as his hand moved faster. "Fuck…" he muttered, voice rough. Elena froze. Was he—? Did he—?
"*Mom*," he growled, the word barely audible over the water, but it hit her like a lightning bolt.
Her knees buckled. She gripped the doorframe, her nipples so hard they ached, her pussy dripping down her thighs in a slow, shameful trickle. He was jerking off to *her*. Her son, her beautiful boy, was stroking that massive cock while moaning her name.
She should leave. She should *run*. But she couldn't. Her hand slipped under her dress, fingers finding her slick folds, circling her swollen clit. She bit her lip to stay silent, watching as Ethan's strokes grew rougher, his hips thrusting into his fist. His balls were heavy, drawn tight, and she imagined them slapping against her as he fucked her—deep, relentless, claiming.
"Elena," he rasped again, louder this time, and her orgasm crashed over her without warning. She came hard, thighs trembling, pussy spasming around nothing as she stifled a cry against her arm. Her juices soaked her fingers, dripping onto the hardwood floor.
Ethan's head snapped toward the door.
She stumbled back, heart hammering, just as the shower cut off. Panic surged. She fled to the kitchen, smoothing her dress, trying to look normal—*impossible*. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen from biting them, her thighs slick with her own cum.
He emerged minutes later, towel slung low on his hips, water still clinging to his skin. The bulge beneath the towel was obscene, barely contained. His eyes found hers immediately, dark and knowing.
"Mom," he said, voice low, "you dropped something."
He held out her lacy black panties—*her panties*—damp and crumpled. She'd lost them in her haste, and he'd *found* them.
Elena's mouth opened, but no sound came. The air between them was molten. Ethan stepped closer, the towel slipping lower, revealing the root of his cock, thick and flushed. He didn't stop until he was inches away, the heat of his body searing her.
"I heard you," he murmured, his breath against her ear. "Out there. Touching yourself. While I said your name."
Her pussy clenched again, empty and aching. "Ethan, we can't—"
"We already are," he cut in, voice rough with need. His hand cupped her breast through the dress, thumb brushing her nipple, and she moaned, arching into him. "Tell me to stop, and I will. But I've wanted this for years. Wanted *you*."
His other hand slid between her thighs, finding her bare, dripping pussy. Two fingers pushed inside easily, curling, and Elena's head fell back, a broken cry escaping. He pumped slowly, his cock pressing against her hip through the towel, hot and impossibly hard.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he groaned. "This what you think about when you look at me? My cock stretching this tight little pussy?"
"Yes," she whimpered, shame and lust twisting together. "God, yes. I want it. I want *you*."
The towel dropped. His cock sprang free, slapping against her thigh—thick, veined, the head glistening. Elena's hand wrapped around it instinctively, barely able to close her fingers. He was *huge*. She stroked him, slow and reverent, feeling him throb in her grip.
Ethan growled, lifting her onto the counter. Plates clattered to the floor. He shoved her dress up, spreading her thighs wide. Her pussy glistened, pink and swollen, dripping onto the granite. He rubbed the head of his cock through her folds, coating himself in her wetness, teasing her clit until she sobbed.
"Please," she begged, nails digging into his shoulders. "Inside me. Now."
He pushed in—slow, relentless, inch by thick inch. Elena's walls stretched around him, burning and perfect. He didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt, his balls pressed against her ass. She was so full she could barely breathe.
"Fuck, Mom," he hissed, pulling back and thrusting deep. "You're so tight. Taking me so good."
She came again instantly, pussy clamping down on his cock, milking him as she screamed his name. He didn't stop—couldn't. His hips snapped forward, slow and punishing, each thrust dragging against her G-spot. Her tits bounced with every stroke, nipples rubbing against his chest. He sucked one into his mouth, teeth grazing, and she shattered a third time, squirting around his cock.
Hours blurred. He fucked her on the counter, then bent her over it, then carried her to the couch. Her pussy never stopped dripping, her orgasms rolling one into another. Ethan's stamina was endless—his thick cock pistoning into her, never softening, never slowing. He filled her again and again, cum leaking down her thighs, mixing with her own juices.
By the time they collapsed, spent and trembling, the moon hung high outside. Elena's body was marked with his bites, her pussy swollen and gaping, stuffed full of his seed. Ethan's cock, still half-hard, rested against her thigh.
"This isn't over," he whispered, kissing her sweat-slick forehead. "Not even close."
The first pale light of morning slipped through the curtains, painting silver stripes across the tangled sheets. Elena woke slowly, every muscle aching in the sweetest way. Her thighs were sticky, her pussy tender and swollen, the memory of Ethan's relentless cock still pulsing inside her like an aftershock. She turned her head on the pillow.
He was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching her. His green eyes were dark with the same hunger that had consumed them both last night. The sheet lay low on his hips, barely hiding the thick ridge of his morning erection. A single bead of precum glistened at the tip, catching the light.
"Morning, Mom," he murmured, voice gravel and smoke. His hand slid under the sheet, cupping one heavy breast, thumb circling the nipple until it pebbled tight. "Sleep okay?"
Elena's breath hitched. "Like the dead," she whispered, but her body was already waking, arching into his touch. Her pussy gave a greedy clench, fresh wetness seeping onto the sheets. "You?"
"Didn't sleep much." His grin was slow, wicked. "Kept thinking about how you screamed when I made you squirt on the couch. How you begged for more even when you couldn't take it."
Heat flooded her cheeks—and lower. She reached for him, fingers wrapping around the velvet steel of his cock. It throbbed in her grip, impossibly thick, the head slick. "Show me again," she breathed.
Ethan rolled over her in one fluid motion, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. The sheet fell away, revealing the full length of him—veins standing out, balls heavy and drawn tight. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee, settling between them. The blunt head of his cock dragged through her folds, parting them, coating himself in the slick mess already waiting.
"Still dripping for me," he growled, eyes locked on where they almost joined. "This pussy never gets enough, does it?"
"Never," she moaned, hips lifting, trying to take him in. "Please, Ethan—*fuck me*."
He sank in with one slow, merciless thrust, bottoming out until his balls pressed flush against her. Elena's back bowed off the bed, a broken cry tearing from her throat. He filled her so completely there was no room for thought, only sensation—the stretch, the burn, the perfect drag of every ridge and vein against her walls.
Ethan set a languid rhythm, long, deep strokes that made her breasts bounce with each impact. He released her wrists to palm them, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching her nipples until she sobbed. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper.
"Look at you," he rasped, voice ragged. "Taking every inch like you were made for it. My cock's the only one that fits this tight little cunt, isn't it?"
"Yes—*God, yes*," she gasped. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red trails. "Only you. Always you."
He shifted angles, the head of his cock grinding against her G-spot with every thrust. Elena's eyes rolled back, her pussy fluttering around him. She was close already, embarrassingly fast, but he didn't let her tip over. Every time she tensed, he slowed, pulling almost all the way out until only the tip kissed her entrance, then sliding back in torturously slow.
"Ethan, please," she whimpered, thrashing beneath him. "I need—"
"I know what you need." His mouth crashed over hers, swallowing her cries. He sped up, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Her tits jiggled wildly; he buried his face between them, sucking bruises into the soft flesh.
The orgasm hit her like a freight train. Elena screamed into his shoulder, pussy clamping down so hard he groaned, her walls milking him in rhythmic pulses. Clear fluid gushed around his cock, soaking his balls, the sheets, dripping onto the mattress. He didn't stop—couldn't—fucking her through it, drawing it out until she was shaking, oversensitive, begging in broken sobs.
Only then did he let himself go.
"Fuck—*Mom*—" His thrusts turned erratic, cock swelling inside her. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt and came, thick ropes of cum flooding her pussy, painting her walls white. There was so much it leaked out around his shaft, mixing with her own juices, running down her ass crack in a warm, obscene trail.
They stayed locked together, panting, his cock still twitching inside her. Elena's legs trembled around him; her pussy fluttered with aftershocks, squeezing every drop from him. When he finally pulled out, a gush of their combined release followed, pooling beneath her.
Ethan collapsed beside her, dragging her into his arms. His cock, still half-hard, nestled against her thigh, smearing cum across her skin. "We're gonna need new sheets," he muttered, lips brushing her temple.
Elena laughed breathlessly, fingers tracing the sweat-slick planes of his chest. "We're gonna need a new *bed*."
He grinned, rolling her beneath him again. "Good thing it's Saturday. We've got all day."
Outside, birds chirped. Inside, the sheets grew wetter, the air thicker with the scent of sex and sin. By noon, Elena had come so many times she lost count—on her knees with his cock down her throat, riding him reverse until her thighs burned, bent over the dresser while he watched them in the mirror. Each time, he lasted longer, fucking her until she was a sobbing, dripping mess, her pussy gaping and creamy with his cum.
And still, he wasn't done.
The sun had dipped low, bleeding orange and violet across the sky, when Ethan finally coaxed Elena outside. The backyard pool shimmered like liquid glass, ringed by tall privacy hedges that whispered in the evening breeze. Still, the neighbors' windows glowed faintly in the distance—close enough to see shadows, far enough to pretend they couldn't.
"Swim with me," he'd said, voice low, tugging her by the hand. She'd resisted for half a heartbeat, then let him lead her out in nothing but one of his old T-shirts, the hem skimming her thighs, her nipples stiff against the worn cotton. No panties. No bra. Just the lingering ache between her legs and the slick memory of his cum still leaking from her pussy.
They slipped into the water silently, the cool shock making her gasp. Ethan's hands found her waist immediately, pulling her back against his chest. The T-shirt floated up, bunching under her breasts, exposing her ass to the water—and to him. His cock was already hard, thick and insistent against the cleft of her cheeks.
"Thought we could cool off," he murmured into her ear, teeth grazing the lobe. "But you're burning up."
Elena shivered, leaning into him. "Your fault," she breathed. Her hand reached back, fingers curling around his shaft beneath the water. He was velvet over steel, pulsing in her grip. "Always your fault."
He turned her to face the pool's edge, pressing her belly to the smooth tile. The T-shirt clung transparent now, her heavy breasts spilling over the neckline, nipples dark and peaked. Ethan's hands slid up her sides, cupping them, rolling the sensitive tips until she whimpered. Water lapped at her hips as he kicked her legs wider.
"Hold the edge," he ordered, voice rough. "Don't let go."
She obeyed, knuckles white on the coping. Behind her, the blunt head of his cock nudged her entrance, sliding through the slick mess he'd left inside her hours ago. He pushed in slow—one long, deliberate stroke that stretched her open, filled her until her breath fogged the tile. The water buoyed her, weightless, making every inch feel deeper, heavier.
"Fuck," she hissed, head dropping between her arms. "So deep…"
Ethan's hands gripped her hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her ass. He pulled back until only the tip remained, then thrust forward hard enough to send ripples across the pool. Again. Again. The slap of his hips against her ass was muffled by water, but the wet sounds of her pussy taking him were obscene—loud, filthy, *perfect*.
Her breasts swayed with every thrust, water splashing up to soak the T-shirt further. One of Ethan's hands left her hip to fist the fabric, yanking it higher until her tits spilled free. He palmed one roughly, pinching the nipple, then slid down to circle her clit with slick fingers.
"Come for me," he growled, hips snapping faster. "Let the whole fucking neighborhood hear how good your son's cock feels."
The words unraveled her. Elena's cry echoed off the water as her orgasm crashed through her, pussy clamping down on him like a fist. She squirted hard, the stream mixing with the pool, her body shaking so violently she nearly lost her grip. Ethan didn't stop—couldn't—fucking her through it, drawing it out until she was sobbing, oversensitive, begging in broken gasps.
Only when she sagged, boneless, did he pull out. He spun her around, lifting her onto the pool's edge. Her legs dangled in the water, thighs trembling. The T-shirt was ruined, plastered to her skin, her breasts heaving with every breath. Ethan stood between her knees.fin
"Open," he said, voice hoarse.
She did, mouth watering at the sight of his cock—glistening with her juices, veins throbbing. He fed it to her slowly, letting her taste herself on him, the salt and musk and *them*. Elena took him deep, cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling around the head. His hands tangled in her wet hair, guiding her, fucking her mouth with shallow thrusts.
Her pussy throbbed, empty and aching. She reached down, fingers slipping through her folds, rubbing her clit in frantic circles. Ethan's eyes darkened, watching her touch herself while she sucked him.
"That's it," he rasped. "Show me how much you love this cock."
She came again, smaller but sharp, her moan muffled around his shaft. Ethan pulled out with a wet pop, fisting himself once, twice—then painted her tits with thick ropes of cum. It dripped down her cleavage, mixing with pool water, sliding over her nipples in warm, obscene trails.
He hauled her back into the water, kissing her slow and deep, tasting himself on her tongue. His cock, still half-hard, pressed against her belly.
"Inside," he murmured against her lips. "I'm not done with you."
They stumbled through the sliding door, leaving wet footprints and the ruined T-shirt on the deck. By the time they reached the living room, Elena was on her knees again, Ethan's cock down her throat, his hands in her hair, her pussy dripping onto the rug.
The night stretched on—couch, stairs, hallway mirror. He fucked her until she couldn't walk, until her voice was hoarse from screaming, until every hole in the house smelled like sex and them.
And still, dawn found them tangled in the sheets again, her pussy full of his cum, his cock twitching inside her like it had never left.
Rain hammered the roof like a thousand impatient fingers, turning the afternoon gray and restless. The power flickered once, twice, then steadied. Elena had come down to the basement laundry room to escape the storm's static—and the way Ethan's gaze kept tracking her around the house all morning, dark with promises neither of them had voiced yet today.
She wore only a thin cotton camisole and a pair of his old gym shorts, the drawstring loose, the fabric riding low on her hips. Her breasts swayed free beneath the top, nipples already stiff from the chill seeping through the concrete walls. The washer thumped in its spin cycle, a low, steady *thump-thump-thump* that vibrated through the floor and up her bare legs.
Ethan followed five minutes later, towel slung over his shoulder, basketball shorts tented obscenely. He didn't speak—just shut the door behind him and turned the deadbolt with a soft *click* that made Elena's pulse spike.
"Storm's getting worse," he said, voice rough. Water dripped from his hair; he must have been caught in the downpour on his way back from the garage. "Figured I'd keep you company."
Elena leaned against the humming washer, arms folding under her breasts, lifting them until the camisole strained. "Company, huh?" Her tone was teasing, but her thighs were already slick. "That why you locked the door?"
He stepped closer, crowding her against the machine. The vibrations traveled through the metal into her spine, buzzing against her clit through the thin shorts. Ethan's hands settled on her hips, thumbs hooking under the waistband.
"Mom," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear, "I've been hard since breakfast. You bent over the table in that little robe, tits spilling out… I almost took you right there."
A soft moan escaped her. The washer kicked into its final rinse, the rhythm faster now, *thump-thump-thump*, matching the frantic beat of her heart. Ethan's mouth found her throat, sucking a bruise just above her collarbone. His cock pressed hot and rigid against her belly through their clothes.
"Take them off," he ordered, voice low. "Everything."
Elena obeyed, peeling the camisole over her head. Her breasts bounced free—heavy, flushed, nipples begging. The shorts followed, pooling at her feet. She stood naked, goosebumps racing over her skin, pussy glistening in the dim fluorescent light.
Ethan dropped to his knees without hesitation. He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, spreading her wide. The cool air hit her dripping folds a second before his tongue did—long, slow licks from entrance to clit, savoring her like she was the last meal he'd ever have.
"Fuck, you taste better every time," he groaned, voice muffled against her. Two fingers slid inside easily, curling, pumping in time with the washer's spin. Elena's hands flew to his hair, hips rocking, chasing the pressure.
The machine rattled harder, the vibrations intensifying. Ethan pressed his mouth tighter, sucking her clit in pulsing pulls. Her orgasm built fast and brutal—when it hit, she screamed, thighs clamping around his head, pussy gushing over his tongue and chin. He drank her down, fingers still fucking her through the spasms until she sagged, trembling.
He rose, mouth shiny with her, and kissed her deep. She tasted herself on him—salty, sweet, *them*. Her hands shoved his shorts down; his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, a bead of precum trembling at the slit.
"Turn around," he rasped.
Elena spun, bracing her palms on the washer lid. The metal was warm now, slick with condensation. Ethan kicked her feet wider, the head of his cock nudging her entrance. He didn't tease—he *slammed* in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
The washer rocked beneath them, *thump-thump-thump*, amplifying every stroke. Ethan's hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, pulling her back onto his cock with each snap of his hips. Her tits bounced wildly, slapping against the lid, nipples dragging over the wet surface.
"Harder," she begged, voice breaking. "Fuck me like you own me."
He did. The angle was perfect—every thrust dragged the thick ridge of his cockhead over her G-spot, relentless. Her pussy fluttered, clenching, another orgasm coiling tight. Ethan reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight, filthy circles.
"Come on my cock, Mom," he growled. "Milk me dry."
She shattered—screaming, squirting, pussy spasming so hard he had to hold her up. The washer hit its final spin, the vibrations peaking in a wild crescendo that tore another climax from her before the first had even faded.
Ethan followed with a guttural roar, cock swelling, pulsing. He flooded her—hot, thick ropes of cum painting her walls, spilling out around his shaft, dripping down her thighs in creamy rivulets. He kept thrusting, slow and deep, pushing every drop inside until she was overflowing, marked, *claimed*.
The washer beeped—cycle complete. Silence fell, broken only by their ragged breathing and the soft *drip-drip* of their mixed release hitting the concrete.
Ethan pulled out slowly, watching his cum leak from her gaping pussy. He caught it on his fingers, pushed it back inside, then brought them to her lips. Elena sucked them clean, eyes locked on his, tasting them both.
"Laundry's done," he said, voice hoarse but amused. "But we're just getting started."
He lifted her onto the warm dryer next, spreading her thighs wide. The storm raged outside, lightning flashing through the small window, illuminating her swollen pussy, his cum still oozing out. Ethan's cock was already hardening again—impossibly fast, impossibly thick.
Round two began with her riding his face on the folding table, his tongue buried deep while she ground against him. Round three had her bent over the ironing board, his cock splitting her open from behind while the rain drummed applause on the roof.
By the time the storm cleared, the laundry room smelled of sex and detergent, the floor slick with their mess. Elena's legs wouldn't hold her; Ethan carried her upstairs, her pussy still fluttering around nothing, already aching for more.