06-11-2019, 08:47 AM
Mom’s hands were on my thighs, sliding up toward my hips. I was off-balance, only my knees pressing against the mattress kept me from falling onto Mom. I was startled again when my cock brushed by the side of Mom’s face, scbanging by her ear and nestling in her hair. Christ, I didn’t have any clothes on. I’d forgotten. About to apologize, ready to spring back onto my feet, I was blocked by Mom’s hands grasping my hips. Her face pulled away but returned immediately. I could feel my tip bumping against her cheek, her chin and lips, and then it was wet, sliding into Mom’s mouth. Her fingers gripped my ass, pulling my cheeks, holding me inside.
Slowly, her head started moving back and forth and in no time I could the sound of her wet, sloppy cocksucking. I put my hand onto the bed to brace myself, a minute later leaning further forward onto my elbows, my hips moving slightly as I began fucking Mom’s face. It wasn’t gently. We were both too eager. Her teeth scbangd my cock but I didn’t care. I shoved faster and faster into her face. I was too hepped up, I needed release. Too long a day, too much thinking, not enough fucking. Until now that is. My hips were bucking. How could that loud slurping not wake my father? Oh shit, my cockhead was vibrating, it was coming, bolting up my shaft, into her, gush, gush, gush. I could hear her, swallowing, then gurgling like she was drowing, then swallowing again, gulping. I tensed all my muscles, urging my sticky seed out, needing to fill her.
I was done. I slipped back, now finding it so easy to fall to the floor, straddling her thighs, collapsing against her, feeling her tits poke into my chest. She was naked. There was no robe. She had been sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, waiting, naked.
My wet cock pressed into her stomach, and I involuntarily hunched into her, fucking her torso for several thrusts. I leaned down and pressed my face to hers, feeling her wet cheeks. It was tears, not my cum.
“Mom?” I whispered.
“Michael … oh, Michael,” she mumbled.
I stood up, finding and pulling her hands with me.
“Come on,” I urged, tugging her toward the door.
“No, I can’t,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I whispered, more urgently. I pulled harder but her hands pulled out of mine.
I bent down but couldn’t retrieve her hand. Instead, I found her foot and curled my hand around her ankle. Lifting her leg, I pulled her across the carpet, through the door and into the hallway where the dim light from my open bedroom door highlighting her curves and casting shadows in her feminine valleys. Her eyes watched me as I dragged her like a caveman toward my room, luscious brown hair trailing on the carpet behind her. She made no protest, not by sound or struggle.
Slowly, her head started moving back and forth and in no time I could the sound of her wet, sloppy cocksucking. I put my hand onto the bed to brace myself, a minute later leaning further forward onto my elbows, my hips moving slightly as I began fucking Mom’s face. It wasn’t gently. We were both too eager. Her teeth scbangd my cock but I didn’t care. I shoved faster and faster into her face. I was too hepped up, I needed release. Too long a day, too much thinking, not enough fucking. Until now that is. My hips were bucking. How could that loud slurping not wake my father? Oh shit, my cockhead was vibrating, it was coming, bolting up my shaft, into her, gush, gush, gush. I could hear her, swallowing, then gurgling like she was drowing, then swallowing again, gulping. I tensed all my muscles, urging my sticky seed out, needing to fill her.
I was done. I slipped back, now finding it so easy to fall to the floor, straddling her thighs, collapsing against her, feeling her tits poke into my chest. She was naked. There was no robe. She had been sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, waiting, naked.
My wet cock pressed into her stomach, and I involuntarily hunched into her, fucking her torso for several thrusts. I leaned down and pressed my face to hers, feeling her wet cheeks. It was tears, not my cum.
“Mom?” I whispered.
“Michael … oh, Michael,” she mumbled.
I stood up, finding and pulling her hands with me.
“Come on,” I urged, tugging her toward the door.
“No, I can’t,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I whispered, more urgently. I pulled harder but her hands pulled out of mine.
I bent down but couldn’t retrieve her hand. Instead, I found her foot and curled my hand around her ankle. Lifting her leg, I pulled her across the carpet, through the door and into the hallway where the dim light from my open bedroom door highlighting her curves and casting shadows in her feminine valleys. Her eyes watched me as I dragged her like a caveman toward my room, luscious brown hair trailing on the carpet behind her. She made no protest, not by sound or struggle.
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