In the quiet suburbs of our spacious family home, where polished hardwood floors creaked underfoot and afternoon sunlight filtered through heavy drapes, I—Ivy—found myself trapped in a storm of envy that refused to subside. At 42, with curves softened by time yet still commanding attention in my fitted blouses and pencil skirts, I had raised Enzo since he was a teenager. Now 24, tall and broad-shouldered with that cocky grin and messy dark hair, he treated the house like his personal playground. All Enzo did was fuck. Night after night, different girls—young, tight-bodied college types—filled the air with their shameless moans. The walls vibrated with the slap of skin, the wet sounds of thrusting, and cries of "Oh god, Enzo, yes—harder!" It drove me mad.
I stormed through the kitchen that first evening, slamming cabinets as I prepared dinner, my cheeks flushed not just from anger but from the slick heat pooling between my legs. How good those little sluts must feel, I seethed inwardly, picturing his powerful hips driving forward. His girlfriends were so loud, their ecstasy echoing down the hallway like a taunt. More than mad, I was jealous—green-eyed, pussy-throbbing jealous. My husband, Enzo's father, traveled constantly for work, leaving me alone with this virile young man whose sexual appetite seemed insatiable. I knew what I could do to get his attention. I would do what these younger women wouldn't. If Enzo was obsessed with sex, why not let him fuck me in the ass? He had probably never been with a girl who offered that tight, forbidden channel. But his stepmom was ready to change that.
The slow burn started subtly. The next morning, I lingered in the hallway in a silk robe that gaped just enough at the chest, "accidentally" brushing past him as he emerged from his room, hair tousled from another conquest. His eyes flicked downward, lingering on the swell of my breasts, and a spark jumped between us—brief, electric, gone in a heartbeat when his phone buzzed with another girl's text. I pined in silence, retreating to my bedroom to finger myself furiously while replaying the imagined girth of his cock stretching those girls open. It must be so big, I thought, two fingers plunging deep, my juices coating my hand. The jealousy twisted into fantasy: me on all fours, offering my ass, feeling him claim what no one else had.
Days blurred into heightened awareness. I overheard another session—her screams peaking as he growled low commands—and afterward, caught him in the kitchen shirtless, sweat glistening on his muscled chest. "Rough night?" I teased, voice husky, stepping closer than necessary to pour coffee. Our fingers brushed; the contact sent warmth radiating up my arm. He smirked, but said nothing, eyes darkening with unspoken curiosity. That night, alone, I researched discreetly in my mind the sensations I craved—stretching tautness giving way to deep, resonant fullness. I wanted the burn, the pressure, the whole-body surrender.
Tension built through stolen moments: a lingering hug after "helping" with laundry, my breasts pressing softly against his back; whispered goodnights where my breath ghosted his ear. My internal pining consumed me—Those girls won't give you everything. I will. Let Mommy show you true pleasure. Obstacles loomed in the form of his girlfriends' visits and my own lingering guilt, but the pull grew irresistible. By the fourth night, with the house empty and rain pattering against the windows, I made my move.
Enzo lounged on the living room couch in loose sweatpants, scrolling his phone. I approached in a short satin slip, nipples hard against the fabric, heart hammering. "Enzo," I said softly, voice trembling with need, "I hear them every night. Those girls screaming for you. It makes me... so jealous." He looked up, surprised but intrigued. I knelt beside him, hand tracing his thigh. "Your cock must be incredible to make them so loud. I know what they won't do for you." My fingers grazed the growing bulge. "Fuck me in the ass, baby. Let your stepmom give you what they've never offered."
He groaned, pulling me onto his lap. The kiss was hungry, tongues tangling with months of pent-up tension. His hands roamed my body—squeezing my full ass cheeks, spreading them teasingly. We moved to his bedroom, where I prepared with trembling anticipation: generous lube, warm and slick, coating my tight ring and his massive cock. God, it was huge—thick, veined, throbbing in my palm, the musky scent of his arousal filling the air like a drug.
From my perspective, the buildup was exquisite torture. I positioned myself face-down on the bed, ass raised, cheeks spread. "Slow at first," I whispered, breath hitching. The tip pressed against my hole—hot, blunt, insistent. There was that initial taut stretch, my sphincter flexing against the girth, a burning pressure that made me grip the sheets, teeth grinding into the pillow. "Oh fuck," I gasped as he pushed forward, inch by slick inch. The sensation wasn't just local; it radiated everywhere. Each nerve ending fired like plucked guitar strings, thrumming electric pathways up my spine, tingling my scalp, making my limbs go limp and kitten-weak. Fullness overwhelmed me—deep, possessive fullness that stretched my inner walls, pressing against sensitive spots I never knew existed. The lube made it glide, wet and obscene, a slick squelch accompanying every millimeter.
Enzo murmured "Good girl, Mommy," his voice gravelly, hands gripping my hips as he sank deeper. My body surrendered, becoming docile, vulnerable, pinned by his cock. The pressure built to a resonant hum throughout my core, my pussy dripping untouched onto the sheets, clit pulsing in sympathy. He held still, letting me adjust, the heat of his shaft searing inside my ass like a brand. Scents mingled—his sweat, my arousal, the faint coconut of lube. Sounds amplified: my whimpers, his low grunts, the rain outside mirroring the storm within.
Then the thrusting began—slow at first, deliberate slides that made my whole body fizz. "Deeper," I begged, pushing back, craving the punishment of his hips slapping my ass. Faster now, punishing yet worshipful. Each thrust sent waves: stretching burn fading to profound pleasure, nerves singing, a full-body tingle that left me floppy and incapacitated. I felt every ridge, every vein dragging along my tight channel, the taboo fullness making me sob with ecstasy. "No one's ever had this," I moaned, clenching around him. "Fuck Mommy's ass—fill it." My mind detached in bliss, limbs twitching, mouth open in silent cries, utterly trusting as he dominated the one place that was purely his.
The climax hit like lightning—his cock swelling, pulsing hot jets of cum deep inside me, triggering my own orgasm from the intense pressure alone, my pussy contracting emptily while my ass milked him dry. Aftershocks left me zinging, weak, craving his gentle release and the lingering vulnerability. We collapsed together, his arms around me, the slow burn finally consummated in raw, sensory overload.
This forbidden union didn't end there; whispers of more nights followed, jealousy transformed into possessive hunger. Ivy had claimed her stepson in the most intimate way possible.