I never planned for it to happen. One minute I was helping Mom with the leaky showerhead in her bathroom, the next she was on her knees with my cock in her mouth like she'd been waiting years for the chance.
It started after Dad left. Mom had been running the house alone for months, and I moved back in to help with the bills. She was only forty-two, still tight from yoga and long runs, with heavy tits that swung under her thin tank tops and an ass that filled out every pair of shorts she owned. I tried not to stare, but she caught me more than once. She never said anything. Just smiled that slow, knowing smile.
That night the water pressure was shit. She called me into the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel that barely covered her nipples and rode high on her thighs. "Fix this for me, baby," she said, voice low. I got on the ladder, tool in hand, trying to ignore how the steam made the towel cling to her curves. When I looked down she had dropped the towel completely. Her body was right there, smooth skin, shaved pussy lips already glistening.
"Fuck, Mom," I muttered.
She didn't flinch. "You've been looking at me for weeks. I know what you want." She stepped closer, reached up, and grabbed my belt. "Give it to me."
I climbed down. She sank to her knees on the tile, yanked my jeans open, and pulled my cock out. It was already rock hard. She wrapped her lips around the head and sucked hard, tongue swirling, eyes locked on mine. "That's it," she moaned around my shaft. "Mommy's good boy. Give me every inch."
She took me deep, gagging but not stopping, spit running down her chin onto her tits. I grabbed her hair and fucked her throat, hips snapping forward while she moaned like a slut. When I pulled out she stood, turned around, and bent over the counter, spreading her ass cheeks. "Fuck your mother. Right now."
I slammed into her soaked pussy in one thrust. She was tight, hot, and dripping. Her walls clenched around me as I pounded her, balls slapping her clit with every stroke. She pushed back, meeting every thrust, tits bouncing in the mirror. "Harder," she begged. "Make Mommy come on your cock."
I reached around and rubbed her swollen clit while I fucked her deep. She came fast, crying out, pussy pulsing and squirting around me. I didn't stop. I flipped her onto the bathroom rug, spread her legs wide, and drove back in. Her nails dug into my back.
"Fill me up," she gasped. "Come inside your mother."
I buried myself to the hilt and unloaded, thick ropes of cum pumping into her. She milked every drop, legs locked around me, whispering filthy praise the whole time.
We didn't stop there. After that night it became regular. She'd wake me up with her mouth, ride me in the kitchen while breakfast burned, or bend over the couch the second I got home from work. Sometimes she'd make me watch her play with her pussy first, fingers sliding in and out while she told me exactly how she wanted to be fucked. Other times she'd climb on top, sink down slow, and grind until she came, then drop to her knees to clean me with her tongue.
The dirtiest was the weekend we barely left the bedroom. She rode my face until her thighs shook, then turned around and sucked me while I ate her ass. Later she let me fuck her there too, slow and deep, lube and spit making everything slick while she begged for more. By Sunday night she was covered in my cum, marked and satisfied, already planning the next round.
We never talked about stopping. It just kept getting better, hotter, dirtier. Mom wanted it as much as I did. Every time she looked at me with that hungry smile I knew exactly what was coming next.
