Brad and his mother, Lilith, have sex for the second time. Robert, out of town for a business meeting gets a terrible shock.
* * * Chapter 5 * * *
Lilith:
After such rollicking good sex, I roll off Brad’s bed and say, “Come on. Let's take advantage of your father being out of town tonight to use our big shower together. You smell like pussy!” I tease, gathering my clothes scattered around the room.
“I can hardly wait to catch you frolicking in your tub again.” Brad teases. “Next time I will toss that ridiculous dildo in the trash, jump into the tub with you, and do all the dirty things that I've wanted to do to you for such a long time.”
“Hey,” I say, half joking. “That's not just a dildo. He's always up for a good time and has fucked me more times than you could know.” I look over at Brad and we both have a laugh.
We pad down the hallway to the master bathroom, my hand trailing along his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. The air already hums with anticipation as I twist the faucet; steam rises in lazy curls from the wide glass enclosure. I step under the spray first, letting the hot water cascade over my blonde hair, turning it into a golden veil that clings to my shoulders. My blue eyes meet his through the mist, and I smile and crook a finger, an invitation for him to follow. His dark brown hair darkens further under the deluge.
I reach for the body wash, squirting a generous dollop into my palm, and start with his shoulders, my fingers gliding in slow, deliberate circles. The silky soap froths between us, and I lean in, pressing my breasts against his chest, feeling his heart thud against mine. “Let me clean you,” I murmur, my voice low and husky, as my hands slide lower, tracing the ridges of his abs, then wrapping around his cock— still semi-soft from our earlier frenzy, but twitching at my touch. I stroke him languidly, base to tip, the water rinsing the suds away, revealing the thick veins.
He groans softly, his hands finding my hips, thumbs digging in. “Mom,” he breathes, and the forbidden word sends a shiver through me. He pulls me closer, our bodies aligning, his cock nestling against my smooth-shaven mound. I tilt my head back, exposing my throat, and he takes the invitation, lips brushing my collarbone, kissing as rivulets of water flow down. Tracing lower, to the swell of my breast. Kissing all over my soft globes. His tongue flicks out, circling my nipple making it pebble instantly, hard and aching. I arch into him, one hand tangling in his wet hair, aching for more. Guiding him as he pulls a hardened nipple into the warmth of his mouth, he sucks, pulling a gasp from my lips. Moving between the left, then the right, kissing then sucking.
Time passes languidly, we are in no hurry for the night to end, though it's mere minutes. I turn him under the spray, washing his back with long, sweeping strokes, my nails grazing his spine, dipping to cup his ass and squeeze. Then I press my chest into his back, grinding against him, the soap acting as a lubricant. He retaliates by soaping my thighs, his fingers inching upward, parting my folds. He doesn't plunge in; instead, he traces the outer lips, feather-light, circling my clit until my breath hitches. “Brad,” I whisper, rocking against his hand, the water amplifying every slick slide. He slips one finger inside me, then two, curling them just so, stroking that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I cling to him, my other hand reaching around to grasp his cock, pumping, finding him now fully erect, thick and heavy in my grip. His pre-cum mixing with the soap and water.
He turns to face me and we kiss, tenderly, looking into each other's eyes. Our kisses deepen, tongues tangling slow and deep, tasting salt and desire. He presses me against the cool tile, the contrast to the hot water making me moan into his mouth. His free hand kneads my breast, pinching the nipple until I whimper, while his fingers thrust lazily, building that coil in my belly without rushing it. I return the favor, dropping to my knees, water pounding my back as I take him into my mouth— just the head at first, swirling my tongue around the ridge, savoring his girth stretching my lips. Brad emits a choked “Mom… fuck… what you do to me.”
He threads his fingers through my hair, not pushing, just holding, as I take him deeper, the water making everything glide smooth. His hips buck gently, and I hum around him, the vibration drawing a ragged curse from his throat.
Trading places, Brad drops to his knees before me in the tiled sanctuary of the shower. Looking up, his eyes lock onto mine with a hunger that mirrors the darkness I've unleashed in us both. Taking one of my legs in his massive hands, he lifts it up, resting my thigh across his shoulder. My legs open to him, unbidden. His strong hands grip my hips, thumbs tracing the curve of my ass, moving in closer until my swollen folds brush his eager lips, the scent of my arousal cutting through the soapy mist. With a low, hungry growl that vibrates against my core, Brad's tongue delves in, flat and broad at first, lapping greedily from my dripping entrance, up to the throbbing pearl of my clit, savoring the tangy essence of his mother's desire as if it is the sweetest nectar he has ever craved. My fingers tangle in his wet hair, my back arching against the cool tile as waves of illicit pleasure crash through me, unraveling the fragile thread of my sanity. His mouth is a relentless worship— sucking, flicking, circling with sinful precision— drawing out my gasps and moans that echo off the walls, my body trembling on the edge of surrender to my own son, who is devouring me with the fervor of a man possessed.
The foreplay is a savage burn that leaves us both aching, on the edge but not tipping over. I rinse us both one last time, our touches lingering— a brush of knuckles against inner thigh, a nip at earlobe— before shutting off the water. The steam lingers as I towel him dry, part of our foreplay. His eyes close, basking in the intimate touch of a warm, fluffy towel. I'm not sure if the contact is more arousing to him or me; I'm barely able to stand it until he is dried. My pussy aches to have him inside of me again. Throwing my terry robe over my damp skin, I push him through the door into the bedroom, quickly follow behind.
Back in the bedroom— tonight it's mine and Brad's— I see that he is getting excited again. His dick is semi-erect and not lying down flat on his lower abdomen like it was a minute ago. “Are you going to be up to round two?” I ask. I have my robe around me, though it is untied and open in the front, knowing that men are visual creatures and that Brad enjoys seeing my goodies. My breasts rise and fall with my breathing. My nipples are hard in anticipation of what is to come. Instead of answering, he only stares, mute. I feel great pleasure in being the seductress. It is a tremendous turn-on to have a man desire to have me like this.
Heat pools low in my belly as Brad’s eyes devour my body. All of the forbidden pleasures that he has long desired are exposed before him, within easy reach. Every inch of bare skin is an invitation. Every curve is a promise of what I hope to do with him. “Brad, my sweet boy, I want you so badly it aches— every inch of you, filling me, claiming me like no one else.” My voice trembles. “I crave your touch, your heat inside me again; you're the fire I've denied myself for too long, and now I need you to claim me, make me yours completely.”
Removing my robe, I fling it from me; it hits the wall beside the bed and slides to the floor. Teasing, I lightly trace my finger down his length, making it jump with each stroke. I hear Brad let out a deep breath, trying to relax. Grasping his member between thumb and forefinger, I can tell that he is noticeably harder. He is ready.
“Come fuck me, Brad. Come stick that fat dick into your mother's hungry pussy.” I move up the bed on my knees, turning my rear towards him. I lower my head and upper body to the bed, keeping my rear up in the air and open my legs. If that is not enough of an invitation to jump my bones, doggy style, I reach my hand down between my legs to my sodden pussy and rub the lips in a circular fashion. Then I plunge, first one then add a second finger, deep inside of me and thrust vigorously in and out. Brad needs no further encouragement. I feel him moving around on the bed, coming up behind me. I brace myself for him to enter from behind. I know that this position offers extreme penetration depth and thrusting leverage.
But Brad surprises me. Instead of burying himself balls deep in one mighty thrust, he uses the soft tip to run around my slit. After rubbing a pass, top to bottom within my labia, he teases my opening gently with his knob. Withdrawing, he resumes sliding up and down my slit. Using light pressure, he circles my clit in a tight circular motion. “Okay, mom. Are you ready for your boy's big dick?”
Returning to my opening, he inserts just his knob into my pussy, holding there to savor the sensation and allow me to adjust. I gasp at the pressure of being opened, the delicious burn, and liking it. I am proud of being able to take such a fat dick inside of me, but I am burning to feel him fill me completely, knowing that a more satisfying fullness is to come. Instead he withdraws and rubs my delicate petals with the tip of his cock. My arousal is building and it won't be long until he makes me cum. Pushing back against him, I signal that I want him inside of me. Notching his dick within my opening, he gradually buries himself deeply, completely sheathed within my depths. He takes slow, unhurried strokes, going just a little deeper with each plunge until his hips push into my buttocks and I feel his balls slap against my clit. “Fuck me, Brad. Fuck me harder!” I say, encouraging him.
Robert:
After dinner with my colleagues, we head for the bar to relax and chat. As I sit at the bar with Darryl, a colleague from the Concord branch, we nurse drinks and talk shop. Eventually talk turns to personal matters, and we talk about our kids. As we sit visiting, a young woman who obviously knows Darryl comes up to him and says something in his ear. He looks at her with a big smile, then gives her a nod. She kisses him briefly on the lips, and says, “See you in fifteen minutes, then.” He gives her a playful swat on the ass as she turns and walks away.
Several things are apparent from the exchange that just happened. This young woman is someone Darryl knows well. Second, their relationship reaches well beyond being platonic. Third, he has cheated on his wife with her in the past, and he plans to do it again tonight. I don’t know Darryl very well, but this brings up some real questions for me. As I ponder these things, he gets to his feet and lays a twenty on the bar. “It’s been nice seeing you again, Robert.”
“I have to ask, are you still married, Darryl?”
He stops in his tracks, looks at me like he was afraid I might ask something like that, and lets out a long sigh.
“Since you ask a very personal question, I will have to give you a very personal answer. When my wife and I were first together, we had sex at least three times a week, sometimes more. Life was good. Now we have been married 14 years, have three children, and do well to have sex twice a month, and that is grudgingly. That’s not what I signed up for. So who is cheating on whom? My needs are not being met, yet I provide the bulk of the living, I provide security to my wife and family, and I am a pretty doggone good dad. I am available to my wife for her intimacy needs whenever she wants it. She is terrified that I will leave her, and I realize that if I did, the kids would be devastated.”
“So the way I see it, I have two choices: I can do the best I can in my present situation and stay with my wife and get my needs met by other willing, consenting women. Or I could leave her and give her half of my assets and abandon my kids. Then I could try to start over, financially and romantically, and find someone who is willing to meet my needs.”
“So tell me, Robert, after you pack away all your moralizing and look at the situation from my perspective, what would you do?”
I am speechless. When you look at it like that, what should he do? He’s right. I had judged him harshly, not having considered what his life must be like.
Before I can formulate the words to express my apology and sympathy, he says, “That’s what I thought.” With that, he spins on his heel and leaves me sitting there without a word.
I sit at the bar, nursing my drink, trying to process what Darryl just told me, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out and glance at the screen; it’s Lilith. I slide off my stool, answer the call, and step toward the door for some quiet.
“Hello,” I say. — “Hello? Hello?”— Nothing. Just muffled noises in the background. She must have butt-dialed me by accident. What I didn't know is that, back at home, when Lilith shrugs off her robe in our bedroom and flings it against the wall, her phone tumbles out of the pocket. It landed just right to initiate the call to me.
The sounds filtering through are a jumble: grunts, groans, heavy breathing. Male and female voices tangle together. Is she hurt? Under attack? My thumb hovers over the end button; maybe I should hang up and dial 911. But I pause, straining to make sense of it. Deep down, a nagging thought bubbles up: this could be sex. Real, raw fucking. I’m still piecing it together when Lilith’s voice cuts through, sharp and unmistakable: “Come fuck me, Brad. Come stick that fat dick into your mother’s hungry pussy.”
The phone slips from my numb fingers and thuds onto the floor. My heart hammers. Did I really hear that? It can’t be real. The room begins to spin around me. All the color is gone from my surroundings and I feel like I might lose my dinner. My mind races as I attempt to process what I heard.
That’s Lilith’s voice, no doubt, blasting from her own line. And Brad— our son. Maybe it’s someone else named Brad? But no, she said something about “your mother’s pussy.” The truth slams home like a gut punch: my boy is balls-deep in his own mom, my wife! There can be no other conclusion!
I stare at the phone, still sprawled on the grimy bar floor, faint moans leaking out. I snatch it up, confirm the caller ID— yep, Lilith. Pressing it to my ear, I catch rhythmic slaps of skin on skin, guttural grunts that scream frantic fucking. Doubt creeps in— this isn’t the Lilith I know, the Brad I raised. Should I yell into the void, force them to hear me? Or disconnect and redial? Then her voice again, husky and desperate: “Fuck me, Brad. Fuck me harder!” Every last shred of denial evaporates.
Lilith:
Earlier tonight at Mark’s house, I was thrilled to be in control and dominating a big powerful man. Now I am pleased to have Brad dominate me. It’s ironic since it seems like just a short time has passed since he was my cuddly little boy.
Mark wanted to take my tits into his mouth so badly he almost couldn’t stand it, and I would not let him. Now I remember when I used to nurse Brad. Back then we called him Bradley, a name which he hates now. It used to give me a thrill knowing that he took his nutrition from my body— from my beautiful breasts, no less. I can still feel his little mouth latch onto my nipples and suck eagerly. Now he fondles, kisses and sucks on my tits with such love and tenderness.
Feelings of nostalgia flood over me as I think about this man who I know has his giant penis inside of me right now and was once my sweet little boy. Could it really be his balls slapping against me and his sweaty body above mine?
I really love this rear-entry position, but I wish I could look into Brad’s eyes as he comes. I wish I could wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tightly against my body. Kiss him greedily as he plumbs my depths, connected to him in this most intimate dance. Instead I give myself up to him completely and grip his shaft with my kegel muscles as he plunges in and out faster and faster. The urgency builds like a storm; his thrusts turn raw and relentless— hips slamming into my ass with wet, visceral smacks that echo off the walls, his girth splitting me open with every brutal drive, stretching my walls until they burn in the best way. Sweat slicks our skin, mixing with the remnants of shower dampness, and I claw at the sheets, my blonde hair whipping across my back as I buck back to meet him. His grunts turn animalistic, fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise, pulling me onto him like he can’t get deep enough. The friction ignites every nerve, my clit throbbing from the rhythmic slap of his heavy balls, and I feel the pressure coiling tighter, feral and unstoppable. He angles just right, pounding that spot inside me that makes my vision blur, my pussy clenching around his pistoning cock like a vise, milking him as my juices trickle down my thighs.
The emotional and physical sensations conspire to push me over the edge, and my body convulses under Brad in the most intense orgasm I have ever had— waves crashing through me, my walls spasming wildly around his thickness, squirting a hot gush that soaks his shaft and the sheets below. I scream into the pillow, every muscle seizing, toes curling as ecstasy rips me apart. Unable now to support my own body, I collapse onto the bed with Brad still impaled within me. He cries out, “Holy shit, mom. Here it comes… awww, awww, awww.”
I feel my pussy being flooded with a second helping of his sperm— thick ropes pulsing deep, painting my insides with his heat, his cock jerking erratically as he empties himself. He collapses, and his weight above me is somehow a great comfort, like icing on the cake.
We lie like that for a couple of minutes, catching our breath. I'm in no hurry, loving the sensation of Brad's cum in my pussy. Knowing that, even now, it is seeping into my womb. All his little spermies, swimming around in vain, looking for a date. Sorry little fellas I think to myself. None of you are going to get laid tonight.
I feel his shaft turn to rubber within me; he pulls out and flops onto his back beside me. “Wow!” he proclaims loudly.
Laughing, I repeat, “Yeah, wow!”
“Was it good for you, then?”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “It was better than good.” At that, he lets out a long, contented sigh.
I know that the next few minutes are crucial for Brad, and I hope that he does not regret what we have done today and maybe even despise me for it. Turning on my side toward him, I take his hand and squeeze. He returns my squeeze and turns to smile at me. I reach over and kiss him tenderly on the cheek and whisper, “I love you, Brad. No regrets?” The words hang between us, heavier now, laced with the raw vulnerability of what we’ve shared— not just bodies, but souls tangled in a way that defies the world outside this bed.
“I know that you do, Mom. Tonight was amazing,” he says. “Thank you. No regrets. I have wanted to do this for a long time.” His voice cracks just a little, and in that fracture I see the boy he was, the man he is, all laid bare.
I shift closer; our sweat-damp skin sticks and releases with a soft, intimate sound. I drape my leg over his, pulling him into the curve of my body like I did when he was small and the storms outside rattled the windows. His arm partially circles my waist, heavy and sure, fingers splaying across the small of my back where the heat of him still lingers from our frenzy.
We lie side by side on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying in our minds what just happened. Feeling his gaze upon me, I turn my face to his, our foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the quiet space between us. What does he mean that he has wanted to do that for a long time? “Just how long?” I ask, my voice a whisper against his lips.
“Since middle school. Since puberty. Every time I get a peek at your underwear. When I see you in a bikini. When I watch your boobs jiggle in your pajamas… Oh, and when I catch you in the bathtub,” he says, and we both laugh. There’s a sheepish warmth in his eyes now, not shame, but a shared secret blooming into something tender. His free hand traces lazy circles on my hip, not with lust, but with the reverence of rediscovery— like he’s mapping the geography of home.
I’m overcome with longing for Brad. Climbing atop him, I spread my body along his, my head propped on an elbow, looking down into his eyes. “Wow. I had no idea,” I say, pensively; a lump rises in my throat as memories flood in unbidden: the way he’d cling to my hand crossing the street, the proud tilt of his chin at his first soccer goal, the quiet ache of watching him pull away into manhood. A tear slips from the corner of my eye, unbidden, and I don’t wipe it away; instead I let it fall onto his chest, where it glistens like a pearl against his skin.
“Look,” I continue, my fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging gently to anchor us both, “we must keep this thing totally between you and me. Other people would not understand. Heck, I would hate to see how your father would react if he ever found out. And I don’t want our relationship to get between you and other young ladies that you might date. But any time you want to get together and, you know, fool around, I am totally up for it. Like right now I don’t think either one of us is getting our needs met. We can take care of that right here at home between us two. What do you say?”
A look of relief comes over Brad as he says, “Are you kidding me right now? I am definitely down for it. This takes a lot of pressure off me, you know. I can relax and not worry so much about Linda or other girls if I have you to fall back on. We just have to make sure that we don’t make any babies. You know what I mean?” He pulls me closer then; his lips brush mine in a kiss that’s soft, lingering— not the hungry clash of before, but a communion, tongues barely touching as if to savor the taste of trust rebuilt.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. Your father and I decided early on that we wanted two children. So I had my tubes tied. End of story! Sorry, no little brothers for you.” We share a chuckle over my lame attempt at humor. Turning serious, I roll off Brad and lay beside him again. Absently tracing my finger across his chest, I feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palm, syncing with mine in a rhythm that’s older than desire— the lullaby of mother and child, now woven with the fierce pulse of lovers. “You and Sarah and Robert have always been my everything, you know that?” I murmur, my voice thick with the weight of it all, pressing my cheek to his shoulder, inhaling the clean salt of his skin. He nods against my hair, his breath warm on my temple, and in this moment the world shrinks to a tiny speck.
We lay together, side by side, utterly content. Time drifts with us like that, our feet entwined intimately, his hand stroking the curve of my spine, down over my buttocks, as if to soothe every hidden fracture in my heart, his lips grazing my collarbone. The afterglow isn’t just warmth; it’s a balm, sealing us together in vulnerability and grace, where lust fades into something eternal— a love that defies names, fierce and fragile all at once. After cuddling nude, comfortable in our own skin, we both drop off to sleep like the dead. We lay wrapped in each other’s arms, the rise and fall of our breaths the only story left to tell.
Robert:
Emotions crash through me like waves as I stumble back to my hotel room in a fog, barely registering the lobby lights or the hum of the elevator. Rage first— fury at Lilith for betraying me, spreading her legs for someone else. What really gets my goat is the herculean effort that I have put forth to resist advances from other women along the way, most recently Susan. Then my anger turns toward Brad for seducing his own mother. I fantasize confronting them, screaming until my throat is raw, or flooring it home right now to burst in and catch them mid-thrust, sheets tangled and sweat-slick. I can almost see it: they'd quickly try to cover their naked bodies, surprise and terror written on their faces.
I fumble my keycard into the lock of my hotel room just as a memory hits: this morning Lilith’s hands roaming my chest, her body pressing hot and insistent against mine, begging for it. I avoided her, pushed her away— damn it, why does she always pick the worst times? In hindsight, work could have waited; All the times I have stayed late to finish a project, or attend a meeting, or go out of town outside of normal work hours. I have earned the right to be a few minutes late once in a while. The meeting I was so concerned about this morning vaporized anyway. I could’ve spared twenty minutes to be with my wife, to bury myself in her, make her come undone before I left. If I had, none of this would have happened. Of that I am sure.
She looked so crestfallen when I brushed her off. And when I called to let her know that I had to go to Concord and wouldn’t be home tonight, she could not hide her disappointment.
I collapse across the bed, and despite myself images flood my mind, unbidden. Brad pinning her down, his hips snapping against hers, the cock she craved stretching her wide. Skin slapping, her moans turning to shouts: “Fuck your mommy’s pussy, baby!” What if I were there, crouched in the closet shadows, stroking myself to the sight? I can almost smell her perfume mixed with his sweat. My slacks tighten; my cock throbs against the fabric.
Reaching down, I palm the hard ridge through my pants, a low groan escaping me. Truth is, I’ve jerked off to the fantasy plenty— some stranger railing my wife, her cries echoing as I watch. But Brad? That’s my son fucking my wife. Still, he’s no kid anymore; he’s built solid, bigger than I am. And judging from his pants, he’s packing. He’s young and his hormones are raging; I remember what that was like. But he’s got that girl— Linda, right?— but clearly that’s not stopping him from claiming his mother.
My phone’s a company-issued brick loaded with that tran***********ion app that logs every call and turns audio from calls into text files. I pull it up, spot the fresh entry from Lilith, and tap it open. There it is, cold text: “Come fuck me, Brad. Come stick that fat dick into your mother’s hungry pussy.” I flinch; the words hit harder in print, so raw and incriminating. No way the suits at the office catch wind of this. I forward it to my personal email, encrypt the hell out of it with a password, then nuke it from the device. But the app holds audio for thirty days— I cue it up, blast it over the speaker. The rutting starts immediately: wet smacks, heavy breaths, my own confused “Hello!” cutting through. Then her pleas, his growls, the bed creaking under their frenzy. I loop it once, twice, my free hand squeezing my shaft as heat coils low in my gut. Again I send the audio file securely to my personal email, then wipe the phone clean.
Restless, I pace the room— what now? Bolting home’s impossible; missing that presentation tomorrow could tank my shot at a promotion. Tit for tat, then— Lilith strayed, so why not me? Susan’s down the hall. She’s been flirting shamelessly with me for the past three weeks.
I picture rapping on her hotel door, her eyes widening in that silk robe— surprise melting to hunger as I shove inside, haul her close, crush my mouth to hers. She’d melt into it, tongue dueling mine, hands yanking at my belt like she’s starved. I’d throw her down on the bed, hike up that robe, spread her thighs wide, and slam into her dripping cunt without preamble— no foreplay, no tenderness, just raw claiming. Every brutal thrust would echo Lilith’s moans in my head, Brad’s cock owning her pussy while I own Susan’s. I’d pin her wrists above her head, growl into her ear, “Scream my name louder than she screamed his,” and fuck her until her nails rake my back and her walls clench like she’s trying to milk the betrayal right out of me. When I come, it’d be deep, flooding her, marking territory that isn’t mine; just to prove I still can.
My fingers dip into my waistband, wrapping around my leaking cock, stroking slow and firm. But reason kicks in, dousing the fire. Fuck her, and tomorrow’s a minefield— stolen glances, awkward silences dragging on for weeks. Worse, she could twist it, cry harassment. I’d be done— fired, sued, my life in ruins.
What would Linda, Brad's little flame, say if she knew that he is screwing his own mother senseless right now? If I had her number, I'd give her a call. She's a cute little brunette. I recall seeing them together not so long ago. How would Brad feel if he found out that his dad had brutal sex with her? That might be good, if I could pull it off.
I could hit the streets and find a pro. I picture driving downtown, businesses all closed this time of evening. Girls dressed in outfits that are insane: a blond leaning against a street light, a redhead with her high heel propped up on a fire hydrant, a goth girl lighting a cigarette from a dark alley. They'd be smiling at me, flashing tits and cunts as I drive slowly by. I've always wanted to have a girl suck my dick as I drove, then screw her brains out on the seat of my car in a dark parking lot. As I unload my hot spunk deep into her twat, I might scream: “Take it, you bitch—I'm balls-deep in your mother's starving cunt!”
Nah, that’s too hollow, not my scene. I could end up catching a nasty bug, or get caught by the cops. I better not do anything rash until I sleep on it. Screw it. I strip down, open my laptop to cue up some porn, and fist my cock harder. I could chase release to the echo of Lilith’s moans in my head— her son’s dick owning her, just like I should’ve this morning.
At my laptop, I'm unsure where to start, so I search ‘mom son creampie’. The video loads: a blonde woman like Lilith. Same full tits. On her knees, moaning “Yes, baby boy, fill Mommy up” as her son rails her from behind. The camera catches the slick glide, the way her cunt grips him, the obscene wet sounds. My cock throbs so hard it hurts. I hate it. I hate her. I hate that I’m leaking pre-cum imagining it’s Lilith’s voice, Brad’s hips snapping, and me watching hidden in the closet. I stroke faster, picturing me coming out from the closet to surprise the two of them. The three of us tangled in revenge and filth, everyone getting what they deserve.
One brutal orgasm later, I lay panting on the bed, sticky semen dripping down my clenched fist, clinging to my chest and belly. Surveying the mess, I say out loud “This isn’t over.” I hate myself for watching mother and son porn. And I hate myself even more for enjoying it. I’ll hit the shower, crash hard, and sort out this mess when dawn clears the haze.