Heather Brown - Mom_s boy hunger

There was another fuck in him, and I was immediately determined to get it.

Mid I had a marvelous spot in mind.

Why not my tits, I thought. How would Farraday's stiff cock feel pumping between them? I could press them together so their cleavage would resemble the tightest and softest orifice.

I had never been fucked in the tits. They were virgin territory when it came to cocks. I could have kicked myself for being so blind up until now.

Swiveling around on the desk, I presented the top half of my body to Farraday. So he would know what I had in mind, I ripped open my blouse, tore away my bra, and pried open my breasts with the same provocative symbolism that I normally spread my thighs.

He couldn't help but know what I wanted.

But I told him anyway. In fact, I took the greatest of pleasure in shrieking it at the top of my lungs.

"Fuck my tits!"

His cock pushed between, my breasts, laying vertically. For the first time I became aware of its pulsing network of veins. Throbbing against my chest, they felt more like exposed electrical wires than ducts of rushing blood.

Compressing my jugs, I transformed their cleavage into a squishy slit. The friction was there instantaneously.

Farraday began pumping. The head of his cock became a crimson blur. It Tattooed my chin, striking repeatedly until I was groggy.

I could feel his foreskin jerking back and forth. Faster. Faster.

Sparks seemed to be flying.

It was the best fuck yet.

Despite the fact that it was Farraday's third time at bat within a short space of mere minutes, he came this time with more eagerness than he had in my cunt or ass. The new wrinkle I had presented him had really turned him on.

Farraday flexed his cock to the ultimate. The head skidded under my chin and popped into my face. I began sucking it just as he came.

Sperm gushed down my throat. It was so hot. So sweet. What a man!

My pussy and ass had not been able to retain all the jizz that had been spewed into them. However, I was determined to make my mouth a different story.

I would swallow every drop. Drink it all! It was a struggle. I had to release my lover's cock to bring it off, but I did it.

My cheeks ballooned, but I would not back off from my objective. Just when my face was on the verge of exploding, my stomach turned on the power, acting like an internal vacuum cleaner.

Sucking, sucking, sucking, I pulled it all down. All the cum. Bloating my abdomen. Jesus, what goodness.

Finally it was all over. Farraday's cock deflated at last. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Most of the students would have crapped out long before this.

So now there was only one thing to do to make this meeting complete, once my clothes were back on and Farraday's cock and balls were back in his pants:

Put our heads together and figure out what to do about my son, Don.

"Shower him with love," Mr. Farraday had emphasized with reference to Don. "When there's strife in the family and a child is reacting negatively to it, the only solution is to convince the teen in the most direct way possible that he is still loved."

I left the meeting with Mr. Farraday determined to devote all my energies to my son's well-being. My secret life would just have to take a back-seat for a while to the responsibilities of motherhood.

At home I began to keep. a close eye on Don, monitoring his behavior so I could find just the right time to approach him. For one thing I wanted to catch him in his most receptive moment to reassure him of my love for him; and, for another, I wanted to make sure we were alone so there would be no interruptions.

A perfect setting for my plan occurred one evening near the end of the week. It was Ted's bowling night, and Sally was having one of her infamous double-dates with Trudy Cooper. Tonight it would be just me and my son.

I made Don his favorite dinner and permitted him to watch anything he wanted on television, no matter how violent. Turned out that Don was a big Farrah Fawcett-Majors fan. Practically drooled over her.

I hadn't realized my boy was growing up so fast. If his reaction to "Charlie's. Angels" was any indication, he had figured out that girls were good for something more than teasing.

During a commercial at the middle of the show, Don excused himself to go to the bathroom. When the show resumed and he didn't return, I began to wonder what had happened to him. The way he'd been following the action, I was surprised that he'd allow himself to miss even a minute of it.

I found myself drawn to the bathroom, wondering what he was doing in there. After all, I reasoned, he might have diarrhea, and as his mother I should know about it. Kids will never tell you anything on their own.

Halfway down the hall, I could hear Don gasping and groaning, in spite of the closed door. He sounded as though he were in some kind of pain. I started to worry.

But I didn't want to just burst in on him. Kids have a right to privacy just like everyone else.

On the other hand, I just couldn't let this pass. If something was wrong, it was my duty to do something about it.

Perhaps a peek through the keyhole would be an effective compromise.

Kneeling outside the door, I pressed my eye to the opening in the lock and looked inside. It took me a few seconds to get the correct angle on my son-but, then there he was.

He was sitting on the toilet with his pants down, all right, but there was no bowel movement involved. In fact, the lid was down and he was perched on it. Defecation was clearly not his motivation in going to the bathroom.

His dick was out, and he was stroking it. It was hard. And much longer than I ever would have guessed.

He was jacking-off!

Unsurprisingly, the source of his arousal was Farrah Fawcett-Majors. While he beat his meat, he gazed at a picture in a magazine of her. He was talking to the photograph.

"Oh, I wanna fuck you so bad," he was panting. "Put my cock in your hairy cunt. Mmmmmmmm…"

His hand was stroking faster and faster in his excitement. Then he dropped the magazine, sighed, and his prick lurched from his grip. A creamy missile shot from the tip and arched a foot and a half in the air. When it landed, it plopped noisily on the tile floor, literally splashing.

He'd come, but he still wasn't through. Retrieving the magazine, he pressed the photograph of Farrah Fawcett-Majors to the dribbling head of his cock and smeared the rest of his semen all over the glossy surface.

"Eat it!" he implored the image of the female of his fantasy. "Suck up every drop!"

I didn't know what to do, Should I leave? And if I did, should I say anything? Drop some hints, perhaps?

Or should I just hold my ground? Not beat around the bush, but rather, openly acknowledge to my son that his mother knew that he was growing up and becoming a man?

Kneeling there at the keyhole, I was forced to evaluate my feelings. Sure it was shocking to discover my teenage son masturbating. But, on the other hand, wasn't his action to be expected? Realistically, a mother should probably worry about an adolescent son who doesn't jerk-off.

And then there was something else. Something I didn't want to admit to myself at first, but which I couldn't avoid. I could not ignore it.

I was hopelessly aroused by the sight of my own son's erect penis. I'd never thought of Don in a sexual context before, but now this was all changed. When I inadvertently rubbed my thighs together, I felt a tell-tale moistness and realized that the pussy which had borne my son was absolutely sopping from the image of his maturing cock.

When he started to put his tool away, I found myself mentally urging him not to do so. I wanted to see more. And maybe even beyond that.

My ESP was working. Don stopped pulling up his pants, and began fondling his prick again. It was restored to its previous rigidity almost immediately, as he resumed beating off.