Magic Hands

A trip down mammary lane.

You ever see an ass in sweatpants that is so perfectly proportioned, ass cheeks filled out wide at the bottom, narrow waist above high hips. Not fat, not skinny, but that dramatic hourglass shape that only a woman in her thirties can have, and on top of that, an ass that only one out of a thousand women, would have. That highly seductive ass, that in today's world would put her on the same level as the girls of Miami Swim Week, strutting their big asses on the runway, with videos on the internet for the whole world to see. She's not trying to show off, she is my mother, her name is Anita.

My name is Liam, I was nineteen, I was a senior in high school. I was a year late graduating, because in my junior year, I was very sick and missed a lot of school. But, I recovered and had to repeat a grade, which I honestly did not mind. My mother and I lived alone, in a small mountain town in the northeast. My dad was around and I had a good relationship with him but they divorced when I was two. She had a fiancé for a while, they broke up three years before and she stayed single since. Maybe a few dates here and there, she tried to keep those dates secret from me, but I knew when she went on dates because we lived in a small town.

I was obsessed with her ass in those sweats. Specifically the white ones. She wore them around the house quite often. When she bent over at the fridge, I was staring at that beautiful ass. When she walked by me, her ass cheeks jiggling, I was staring. I masturbated to her ass so many times, I thought something was wrong with me.

She got stared at everywhere we went--especially at the grocery store. I'd seen guys stop in the middle of an aisle just to get a second look. One time, I watched a teenager walk straight into a shelf while she reached for almond milk, her ass grabbing his full attention.

THE DAY THAT CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER:

The year was 1995. My mother was 36 years old and in the prime of her life. The events that changed my life forever, happened in late May of that year, the weather had turned nice, and it was enjoyable to be outside again. I remember the morning like it was yesterday.

It was Sunday morning, I was laying on the couch, being lazy. I had plans to hang out with my friends at the mall. My mother was lacing up her cute white Reeboks by the door, one foot propped up on the entry bench. I was pretending to watch tv, but really just watching her ass.

Those jeans should've been illegal. Faded to a light blue, worn thin at the seams, High-waisted, tight through the hips. Those jeans I referred to as the hoochie jeans; because they made her as look so sexy, she almost looked like a prostitute

She stood up, adjusted her purse strap, and stepped over to me. Leaned down and kissed me on the cheek--quick, soft, her lips warm and familiar.

"I'll be back later this afternoon," she said. "Please vacuum before I get back."

"Okay, Mom, I will." I said pretending to ignore her nagging.

Then she walked out the door. I sat there for maybe thirty seconds, blood rushing to my cock, already hard just from watching that ass sway out the door.

Then I moved quickly to her bedroom hamper. I knew the timing by now--she always peeled out of her comfy clothes before going out. I opened the lid and there they were: the white sweatpants. Twisted, damp-looking, still clinging to her warmth. I grabbed them like a fucking animal and ducked into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I opened them up and went straight for the crotch. The gusset was stained--still moist with her juices. I touched it and almost moaned. My fingers shook. I brought it to my face and inhaled deep.

It smelled like her pussy. Strong. Sweet. Musky. Faintly sour in that way that gets into your teeth. Raw sex. Not soap or body spray--just her. It was all over the fabric, soaked in, clinging like it wanted to be tasted. My knees nearly gave out.

I ripped my cock out and started jerking fast, squeezing the tip until it throbbed. With my other hand, I shoved the crotch of her sweats against my mouth--rubbed that stiff, crusted gusset over my lips, my tongue, tasting the mess from her pussy. I licked it like it was her clit, sucked on the seam like I was trying to pull the flavor out, filthy and desperate, mouthing her scent like it was the only thing that could keep me alive.

"Fuck, Mom..." I groaned.

I pictured her bent over, ass arched, those fat cheeks spreading as she pulled her jeans down slow--like she knew I was watching. No panties. Just smooth, bare skin. Thick, soft flesh that bounced with every step. Her crack deep and dark, her asshole moist and pink, glistening like it had been sweating just for me. And beneath that, her pussy--wet, swollen, lips peeking out like they wanted to be touched.

I buried my nose in the crotch, but in my head it wasn't fabric--it was her. My face wedged between her cheeks, mouth open, breathing her in. I dragged the stiff gusset over my upper lip, rubbed it across my nose, huffing the scent of her cunt and asshole like it was oxygen. Faintly sour, musky, sweet--it hit me so deep it made my stomach clench.

I imagined spreading her ass open with both hands, staring into that perfect little hole, my tongue out, ready to rim her until she moaned my name. Just bury my face there, sniff her hole, lick up her sweat, taste the salt of her skin. I groaned, jerking fast, hips twitching, cock slick with precum.

And then I lost it.

"Fuck--Mom--fuck--" I gasped, eyes rolling back, pressing the crotch of her pants right to my nose, sniffing her hole through the cotton like a fucking addict. My balls pulled tight, and I exploded--hot cum shooting into the sink, rope after rope as I moaned like an animal. I didn't stop stroking until I was drained, the last drops dribbling out while her smell still filled my head.

I stood there, sweating, panting, shaking--her scent still on my face. I rinsed the sink. Smoothed out her pants. Put them back exactly the way I found them.

And then I vacuumed the fucking carpet like a good boy.

LATER THAT MORNING:

I showered and threw on jeans, tshirt and sneaks and decided to go visit my next-door neighbor, Rodney. He had a big garage with the big doors always open. He was always in there, welding on something or fixing something. At seventy-one years old, he had a lot of energy and was the funniest guy I knew.

Growing up, I had spent a lot of time with him, helping him tinker with things, fix lawn mowers, tractors and even industrial equipment. He was pretty smart and had the reputation for being sort of a genius with mechanical things.

I heard the sound of his welder as I approached the garage. When it stopped, I yelled out, "Rod-Neee!" I always greeted him that way, breaking his name into two syllables.

I could not see him, but I heard him laugh.

"Peckerhead!" I heard him yell back affectionately, that was his nickname for me, and I didn't mind since he was very much like a grandfather to me.

I walked into the garage. He was working on some fancy car trailer, welding something onto it.

He looked up and lifted his welding helmet. He was missing a few teeth, but it only made him look sweet and harmless. He always wore navy blue Dickies with suspenders over an old T-shirt.

He laughed and got up off his little stool he was sitting on and we walked over to a kitchen table that he had in his garage, next to it was a sink, fridge, and coffee pot; everything you need to stay in the garage all day.

"let's chat!" he said and we sat at the table.

"So you got any girlfriends yet?" He asked, sipping his coffee.

"Naw... this town is too small, not enough women." I said sheepishly. Plus it didn't help that I had to repeat my final year of high school and the other kids thought I was a loser because of it, even though I was very sick and had no control over it.

He grinned, "I keep telling ya, you're a handsome guy, over six foot tall, girls love that. When I was your age, I was fucking them left and right. They used to call me Ram-Rod!" His face contorted and he laughed at his own joke. I laughed too.

It was true, they did call him Ram-Rod when he was younger, he used to be very handsome, had all of his teeth and had a reputation of being a lady's man. It was also rumored he was hung, and women would seek him out, yearning to get stretched out by his big cock.

"You know what your problem is?" he said, his face serious now. "You're too nice. You treat girls too nice. You need to treat them like whores--because they are. All of them."

I rolled my eyes, not buying it.

"It's true! I'm telling you."

"What about your wife, or your daughter?" I asked, thinking I had him cornered.

He smiled. "Fuck yeah! They're whores too. I love 'em to death, but in one way or another, they're all whores. Some more whorey than others."

"Is that a word? Whorey?" I asked, grinning and giggling.

He laughed. "It is now."

"So even if I believe that, it doesn't help me! What am I supposed to do--just go around saying, 'Hi, whore, wanna go on a date?'" I said, half-frustrated, half-laughing.

"Kiddo, you believe they're whores and then act accordingly. Act accordingly!" he emphasized.

"What do you mean?" I asked, furrowing my brow.

"If you knew a girl was a whore and wanted to fuck you, would you beat around the bush or ask her to go parking?" he asked.

"I don't think anybody asks that anymore!" I said. "If I asked a girl something like that, she'd think I was a creeper. It's different today."

"Nope! Whores will be whores!" he said. "Put them in a situation where they can be a whore--and they will be a whore. I remember when I was in the Army, I had a lot of buddies who were married, and as soon as they went overseas, their wives were fucking someone else. Whores, I tell ya! All of 'em. Even the nicest, sweetest woman you'd think was an angel--those were the worst whores, fucking guys two or three at a time."

I grabbed a Coke out of his fridge, and he continued on.

"I know first-hand too--because I fucked a lot of them. Especially officers' wives. Back then, if you were enlisted and managed to fuck an officer's wife, you were a stud. That's why they called me Ram-Rod. I probably fucked over a hundred wives. And once word got out about what I was packing, they were beating down my door."

"What the heck! Are there any honest women?" I asked.

"Nope. There isn't," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh... yeah. I guess I gotta try. I'm just nervous they'll say no."

"If they say no, then you know it's you, Peckerhead--'cause they're still whores!" he said, holding his mug.

I looked up and saw the sparkle of humor in his eyes. I knew his insult wasn't meant to be an insult--just a playful jab. We both laughed.

We spent the afternoon together, and I helped him tinker with that trailer. His wife brought us out sandwiches later in the day. I was having such a good time with him, I decided not to go to the mall with my friends.

Around three, I saw my mother pull into the driveway, so I went out to help her bring in the groceries. Rodney stood at the edge of his garage, cup in hand. Watching me and... staring at her ass. At one point I was behind her and I looked over to see him gazing at her ass as she brought the last of the bags into the house. I grinned and shook my head. He grinned back with his toothless smile.

Later, while she was making dinner, I found myself thinking about Rodney's advice.

'What did he mean, act accordingly?'

I wanted to fuck my own mother and I did not care. I could not resist that ass walking around me all the time, keeping me half hard.

Then I started thinking--how could I act accordingly? How could I put my own mother in a position where she could act like a whore if she wanted to?

Rodney made it sound easy. But girls didn't just drop to their knees. They needed a window. An excuse. A way to be filthy and get away with it. I understood it, but couldn't figure out how to make it happen.

Then I figure I would brainstorm, come up with a list of situations I could put my mother in.

Idea one: Say it. Just say it. Next time she walks by in those tight white sweatpants, no panties underneath, ass jiggling with every step--I look her right in the eye and let it rip.

"Your ass looks fucking insane in those pants." Or maybe, "If you keep walking around like that, I'm gonna pin you to the counter and eat your ass."

Say it calm. Low. Like it's just a fact. Let her sit with it. Let her decide how to respond. Maybe she laughs, maybe she blushes, maybe she pretends she didn't hear it--but if she doesn't tell me to fuck off? That's the crack.

But I knew that would not work, in fact, my mother would slap me in the face.

Idea two: Walk out of the shower soaking wet, towel hanging low, cock swinging, dripping. Let her see it. Pretend I don't notice her watching. Maybe I rub my stomach, shift the towel, let the head poke out just a little. Let her eyes lock on it. Let her imagine what it feels like. If she stares for even a second too long? That's not an accident. That's her taking the bait.

She sees I'm hard--because of her. And if she feels like she can get away with looking, maybe next time she does more.

But, I did not like that idea either, the only position that would put her in is an awkward position. No, it was too much of a risk for her.

Idea three: Set the stage. Take her somewhere--anywhere--where we're not just mother and son. Dinner out of town. A bar a few cities over. Somewhere I can put my hand on her back, order drinks for her, whisper in her ear like she's mine. Let her play the role. Let her feel wanted. Watched. Like a woman on a date with a man who wants to fuck her stupid. And if she slips into that role? If she feels like no one will judge her?

She just might act the part. But, I knew getting her to even do that would require me to answer a million questions from her and she would want good reasons for seemingly going on a date with her own son.

All of my ideas sucked. How the fuck did Rodney fuck all those whores? What did he do? Maybe he was a genius, because I felt like an idiot.

I looked over at her--barefoot, cooking in those tiny shorts, ass cheeks practically hanging out. Tank top braless, nipples hard, her tits jiggling with every stir of the spoon. She had no idea the thoughts running through my head. Or maybe she did. Maybe that's why she dressed like that around me.

She's already halfway there, I thought, my cock starting to swell. All I have to do is give her the opening. Just enough space to be the little whore she already wants to be.

As I sat there, my cock still half hard in my jeans, my eyes drifted to the coffee table. Two books sat there--thick, glossy, clean white covers. Massage for Couples. The Art of Touch. I'd seen them before, but I'd never really looked.

I turned my head. On the end table--another one. Therapeutic Pressure Points. My heart picked up.

I stood, walked into the sunroom, and stopped in front of the built-in shelves.

There were books packed in tight, stacked sideways, lined up in rows. I scanned the titles.

Swedish Massage Techniques.

Sensual Healing.

Deep Tissue and Emotional Release.

Partner Massage and Intimacy.

Tantric Bodywork.

At least a dozen of them. All different. All intentional. These weren't impulse buys--these were books she had studied. Loved. I remember her always gushing over massages from her last boyfriend, before they broke up.

Then it hit me--hard. My pulse thudded in my ears. This was it. This was the perfect setup. This was how I get her in the position. This is where she could act like a whore and never have to admit it to herself.

A massage.

It was physical. Intimate. Touching. But safe. And if I learned how to do it right--if I came off professional, confident, in control--she'd let me touch her. She'd ask for it.

Then, I suddenly remembered all the times she would ask me for a massage, her shoulders, her feet, whatever, and I hated it. I said no so many times, that she eventually quit asking. It never occurred to me that it could lead to anything sexual.

Then I came up with a plan of pure genius. I would pretend that I was getting certified in therapeutic massage, that I suddenly had an interest in it and I wanted to pursue it as a career potential career. Maybe I would use the school's computers to create a fake certificate and print it out for her, as proof that I was a Bonafide masseuse.

I figured I could fool her into believing I was taking a week-long certificate program at the community college a town over. A week was perfect! Afterall, I did not want to drag this out, I wanted to get my hands on her bare ass, maybe get a glimpse of her pussy and see if Rodney's advice could actually work.

Before I fell asleep that night, I thought, maybe the college actually offered a real class. I decided the next day I would go and investigate.

MONDAY, MAY 22, 1995

Monday after school I drove down to the college to pick up their catalog, it was 1995, internet was not a big thing back then, so I had to go there in person. I got their adult learning catalog, and... nothing. Shit! I thought.

I was in luck in one respect, that adult learning classes actually started the following week, but nothing for massage.

Back to plan A. I would fake the class and print out a certificate at the end of the week.

I decided I would pretend the classes started that day, and I would come home after six. This was not unusual, since I was nineteen, had my own car, and had a pretty active social life.

She would be proud of me, she would be excited, she would be asking me if she could be my first patient, heck she would probly offer to let me practice on her. I thought back to the numerous times I turned her down for a massage, remembering the look of disappointment on her face.

The lie had to feel real. I killed time downtown--drove around, grabbed a slice, then sat in the park for a while just replaying the plan in my head. The warm May weather was bringing the park back to life and I could smell the scent of fresh grass and budding flowers.

At 6:25, I pulled into the driveway. The sun was going down. Lights were on in the house. I took a breath, walked in, and smelled pasta. She was already in the kitchen, barefoot, hair up in a loose bun, wearing those soft, faded pajama shorts and an old tee that hugged her tits just enough to drive me fucking crazy.

She glanced up and smiled. "Hey, you're late. Where you been?"

I dropped my keys on the counter, kept my voice easy. "Yeah, just had my first massage class."

She paused--looked right at me. "Wait, what?"

I shrugged like it was nothing. "Yeah. Signed up for this adult education thing down at the college. Week-long course. One hour each night. After I finish, I get a certificate. Like, real massage stuff--therapeutic, Swedish, deep tissue."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." I walked to the fridge, grabbed a Coke, cracked it, then leaned on the counter. "Figured it'd be a cool skill to have. I am nineteen and I need to figure out what I am going to do with my life."

She stared at me for a second, blinking like she was trying to process it. Then she smiled.

"Wow! I am actually miffed!" she said, half joking. "Do you know how many times I asked you for a massage for my aching muscles and you wouldn't help your poor mother out?"

"I know!" I said, pretending to feel sheepish. But inside I was giddy because my plan was working and I knew it.

She turned back to the stove, but I could see the smile still on her face.

"That's actually... really cool," she said. "I am glad you are thinking about your future, young man."

"Yeah," I said, sipping my Coke, playing it chill. "I need to practice too. So if you ever want a free massage..."

I let it hang in the air. A little bait. Not too much.

"No... I don't think I want a massage from you!" she said teasingly.

"You are too old and crusty anyways!" I jabbed, even though she was the hottest woman I had ever seen.

She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. "You might regret offering that. I've got knots in places you wouldn't believe."

Fuck. My cock twitched.

"Oh, I believe it, the older you get the more your body breaks down." I said. "After this week, I'll know exactly what to do with them."

"Ha Haaah!" She said mockingly.

"I am kidding Mom! You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Seriously!"

"Well, thank you, hon!" she said, then she giggled--giggled--then went back to stirring her sauce. I caught the way her hips swayed while she moved, the way her thighs looked in those tiny shorts, and the deep, dark curve of her ass underneath that paper-thin cotton.

She had no idea what she'd just agreed to.

And I had five days to learn exactly how to make her come apart under my hands.

She turned off the burner, then turned to face me fully, leaning back against the counter. "So wait--tell me everything. What was it like? What did you learn?"

I gave her a small shrug, casual like I wasn't already rock hard under the surface. "Tonight was mostly theory. Just the basics--types of massage, history, terminology. That kind of stuff."

"Ugh," she said, grinning, "boring first day?"

"Kinda," I said. "But interesting too. The instructor's this older guy, ex-physical therapist. He's super intense about form and pressure points. Kept talking about how ninety percent of massage is mental connection--intentional touch, learning to listen with your hands."

She let out this soft mmm sound and crossed her arms under her chest, pushing her tits up slightly under the fabric of her tee. "That actually sounds amazing."

I kept going, confident now. "Yeah, he said most people don't know how badly their bodies are begging for touch. Like, we get used to tension. Stress builds up in places we forget even exist."

She nodded, serious now. "That's so true. My lower back and shoulders are always tight. Honestly, I'd kill for a real massage."

That was it. That was the opening. And she didn't even know she'd given it to me.

I smiled just a little, kept it smooth. "Well... I do need to practice. The instructor said hands-on stuff starts tomorrow, but I'm supposed to start thinking like a masseuse right away. You know--study posture, learn to read tension, get comfortable with touch."

She lit up. "Oh my God, yes. I'll totally be your practice patient!"

I blinked, playing dumb. "Yeah?"

"Of course!" she said, pushing off the counter. "You've seen all the books--I've always been into massage. I used to trade back rubs in college with my roommate. I'd lie on my bed and just melt when she hit the right spots."

I tried not to think about that. I was getting hard again.

"Plus," she added, grinning, "I trust you not to make it weird."

I swallowed. Hard. "Of course not. I'll be professional. I've already got some of the techniques in my head--like how to open the back with broad pressure before digging into muscle lines."

She gave a little shiver. "That already sounds amazing."

I nodded, trying not to show how fast my heart was beating. "I'll go easy. At first."

She turned back to her pot, stirring again, but there was a glow on her face now. Like she was genuinely looking forward to it.

After dinner, we rinsed our plates and cleaned up together. I figured that was it for the night--until she turned to me at the sink and casually said, "Hey... would you mind trying your new skills on my back tonight?"

My brain short-circuited for half a second, but I kept it cool. "Yeah, sure. Want me to set up on the couch?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I'm just gonna lie down on my bed, the couch is too low."

She walked off, and I followed her into her room. She flopped face-down onto the bed, arms above her head, long legs stretched out--fully clothed. Old pajama shorts, old tee, everything. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped in behind her.

She turned her head to the side on the pillow. "Just over the shirt is fine," she said, all relaxed and casual. "Don't worry, I'm not high maintenance."

I smiled like I didn't care. "No problem." But inside? Fuck. I wanted skin. I wanted that soft, bare back under my hands. I wanted to straddle her ass and press my thumbs along her spine, feel her shift beneath me, hear her breathing change when I hit the right spot. But she was laying too close to the edge of the bed and it would be impossible for me to straddle her.

Instead, I stood at the edge of her bed, I placed my palms on her T-shirt and started slow. Broad strokes, shoulders to mid-back. I pretended to focus, acted like it was fine. It wasn't. The fabric was in the way. I couldn't feel her heat, couldn't trace the shape of her waist or the soft rise of her hips, couldn't smell her the way I wanted to. The cotton muted everything--her scent, her softness, the line of her body.

Still, I kept going, and then something shifted. I started feeling things--subtle tension, knots, the way her shoulder blade resisted then gave in under my palm. I wasn't even sure what I was doing--just pressing, kneading, circling slow--but her body started to respond. She let out a breath, then another. Her hips softened, her legs relaxed, her arms fell limp at her sides.

I moved lower, just above the small of her back, and she let out a quiet mmm. Not loud, not performative--just real.

"Jesus," she murmured, voice muffled by the pillow. "That's... really good."

"Yeah?" I said.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Where the hell did you learn that?"

I grinned, staying in the role. "Just feeling it out. You've got some tension right around here..."

There were so many knots in her muscles. I knew enough to know that is why she was always wanting a massage, I stared to feel bad. Even though I didn't know what I was doing, I still figured the knots were either a lack of blood, or too much blood and the tissue needed to be stretched and pressed like a pizza dough. Only then would the blood flow correctly through the tissue and the knot disappear.

She had so many knots and I was lost in my thoughts trying to figure out how it all really worked, that a half hour flew by and before I knew it, I had worked every knot out of her muscles; from her shoulders to her lower back. I was actually quite proud of my work.

I was about to ask her if she wanted me to work on her legs, then I heard it--a soft little snore. She'd fallen asleep. I was actually happy that she fell asleep. After all, this was my mother and I appreciated how hard she worked to provide a roof and cook and clean. I almost got teary-eyed thinking about it.

She did a lot. Worked hard. Made sure the fridge was stocked, the bills were paid, the place stayed warm in the winter. She looked out for me, even when I was an asshole to her. And tonight, she'd asked for something--just a little comfort--and I gave it to her.

I pulled the blanket from the end of the bed and draped it over her, then stood there for a second, just watching her. Her face was soft, her lips parted slightly. One hand tucked under the pillow, the other sprawled out beside her. Her hair was a little messy. She let out another light snore.

I smiled, then turned and walked out, shutting her door quietly behind me.

TUESDAY, MAY 23, 1995

I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon--rich, warm, comforting. Light slipped in through the curtains, soft and golden, and for a second I just lay there, letting it sink in. Then I opened my eyes... and she was standing right there beside the bed.

"Liam? You awake?"

My mother was holding a tray. Two mugs, two plates--bacon, eggs, toast--but all I saw was her.

She was wearing satin shorts, deep pink, loose enough to flutter with every step, cut high and soft like they were made to be peeled off. As she moved, I caught flashes--inner thigh, bare hip, the pink swell of her pussy lips framed by nothing but air and fabric. No panties. She wasn't even pretending.

But it was the shirt that really fucked with me.

A matching top with spaghetti straps. No bra. Her tits were heavy and full under the fabric, the material thin enough to barely see through. Her nipples were huge--dark, round, hard enough to poke clean through. I could see everything. Not just the shape, but the tone of her skin, the deep brown of her areolas bleeding right through the thin material. Wide, thick, puffy circles that looked swollen with heat and softness, like they needed to be touched. My mouth actually watered.

I had never seen her wear this outfit before. Not once.

"Morning," she said, setting the tray across my lap. "I made breakfast."

She then sat on the desk chair that I had next to my bed, but she had pulled it in close to the bed, facing me. She sat on the chair, but didn't cross her legs, she actually sat there like a man, legs slightly parted. The hem of her shorts open so I could see the edge of her pussy and nicely trimmed pubic hair. Even her pubic hair, was erotic, black, with tight curls. She didn't adjust the shorts, didn't even seem to notice.

I blinked, still catching up, trying not to stare at her tits as she leaned forward. "You made all this?"

"You earned it," she said with a smile, sipping her coffee. "That massage? Liam... I slept like the dead. You've got some talent, your hands are magical!"

I swallowed hard and nodded, my cock was already pressing against the blanket, throbbing at the sight of her nipples, hard as bullets and her pussy damn near flashing me like it was on purpose.

She kept talking, bright and easy. "No joke. I don't know what you did, but I woke up feeling amazing. I haven't slept that deep in forever. My whole body feels loose, lighter. You're good, son. Like... really good."

I smirked, barely able to keep it together. "Well, four more nights and I'll be fully certified."

"I'm serious," she said, reaching up and adjusting her hair, which pulled her shirt even tighter across her chest. The light pink top rested just north of her belly button and when she lifted her arms above her head, her plump tits almost fell out the bottom. "You just knew where to go. The pressure, the timing--it wasn't just rubbing. It felt like you knew what my body wanted."

She gave me a look I couldn't quite read, like she was wondering how far she'd gone without realizing it. Then she smiled again, winking at me, and said, "I might need another session. Soon."

My cock throbbed at the thought of the next massage--her face down again, this time shirtless, tits pressed into the sheets, ass bare, thighs slick with oil. My hands on her back, then sliding lower, then lower...

But I kept it steady. "Anytime. I'm always open for returning clients."

She stood up, and did it again, stretching her arms over her head, yawning, and the shirt lifted just enough to show the swell of her tits underneath--dark areolas straining the fabric, nipples pointing straight out. She yawned like nothing was happening, then gave me a quick smile before walking out, her ass jiggling beneath the silky shorts with every step.

"Don't get cocky," she called over her shoulder. "You've still got a lot to learn."

I watched her disappear down the hall, my cock rock hard and aching, her scent still faint in the air. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

Or maybe she did. She said I had a gift. Now I just had it to show her what else I could do.

TUESDAY AFTERNOON:

After school I hung out with my friends, we drove to the next town over and hit the music store. This was still the era of cassette tapes, we had CDs. but my car did not have a CD player. We had a good time at the store, my friends bought some tapes, but I didn't as I was just passing the time.

Afterwards, I dropped them off them at their houses and I made it home by 6:30. My mother had made chicken and gravy served over biscuits and it was one of my favorite meals.

She was so sexy as she moved around the kitchen in her white sweatpants, barefoot, tank top snug, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. The sweats clung to her in all the right places--low on her hips, stretched tight across her ass, riding up just enough in the back to show the soft outline of her curves. She moved easily, humming to herself as she set the table, and I could tell she was still riding the high from last night. Her face looked softer, like something had settled in her. She seemed lighter.

I leaned against the counter, watching her. She caught my eye and smiled.

"You're in a good mood," I said.

"I am," she replied as she placed silverware beside the plates. "I've felt amazing all day. My shoulders, my neck... even my lower back. It's like I had this tension for years and didn't even know until it was gone."

"Maybe you needed a full-body reset."

She gave me a little grin. "Maybe I just needed you," she said, then turned casually back to the drawer, like she hadn't just said that.

My chest tightened, but I kept my cool. "So, I guess last night's technique passed the test?"

"With flying colors," she said, walking past me to grab the napkins. "Okay, your turn. How was class tonight?"

I set my glass down and crossed my arms. "My massage partner couldn't stop farting."

She paused, eyebrows raised. "Wait--what?"

"Yup! Every time I pushed down on him, he farted." I laughed, impressed at my improv skills.

My mother laughed, her giggle was infectious and made you want to laugh with her.

I pressed on, "Yeah, the class thought it was pretty funny, but the professor turned it into a teaching lesson. He said, this happens all the time and you just have to handle it professionally. Sometimes you have to ask them if they need to use the bathroom because they might be too scared to ask."

"Well... I promise I won't fart during my next massage." She said, winking at me, which I thought was unusual. She never winks, she did this morning and again now.

I was getting hopeful and the way she dressed that morning boosted my confidence.

LATER THAT NIGHT:

After dinner, my mother disappeared into the bathroom for her nightly soak. I cleaned up the dishes, trying to stay calm, but my brain was already spinning.

Feet and hands. That's what tonight's class would've been about. At least, that's what I'd say.

Her time in the bath was her personal time, she would spend forty-five minutes to an hour soaking in the hot water, relaxing and pampering herself.

I ran upstairs to my bedroom, changing into some loose gym shorts and a comfortable T-shirt. After changing, I went into the living room and watched tv, I caught the last half of Wheel of Fortune, and then Jeopardy.

At eight o'clock, I heard the tub drain, the bathroom door creak open, and a few minutes later, she padded into the living room in a silk robe the color of wine. Her skin still dewy, hair twisted up in a loose bun, face flushed from the heat. I wanted nothing more than to see her naked body under that robe, my cock started to harden as I watched her.

I noticed that her lips were painted a dark red. It was a sexy dark red lipstick that I had only seen her wear a few times. I thought it was odd for her to have lipstick on, especially after bathing.

She sank into the couch next to me, she turned, facing me, folding her right leg beneath her, her left leg planted on the floor and smiling at me. "So," she said, her voice soft and playful, "what did you learn tonight, Mister Masseuse?"

I turned towards her, slow and casual, trying not to let my cock give me away. My gym shorts were light, loose, and I wasn't wearing underwear. I'd planned it that way. "Hands and feet," I said, letting the words roll. "Nerve paths. Pressure points. How touch can help the body let go of what it's holding."

Her lips curved. "Sounds lovely."

"You want a demonstration?"

She didn't answer with words. She just shifted, pulling both legs up and sitting cross-legged, facing me. She extended her hands, palms up, wrists loose, and I took them gently into mine.

I crossed my legs too, facing her. I started slow with her hands. Her skin was warm, still dewy from the bath. I worked each finger, circling the pads with my thumbs, rolling the joints, dragging slowly down toward her wrist. She let out a long, quiet breath and leaned slightly forward.

"You're good at this," she murmured.

"You carry tension here," I said, pressing into the center of her palm. "And here," I added, tracing the groove where her thumb met her wrist. "Especially women. Too much cooking, cleaning, writing, typing."

She chuckled faintly, lips parted. "Sounds about right."

I moved to her forearm, sliding my thumbs slowly up toward her elbow, stroking both sides with careful pressure. Her shoulders relaxed. Her head tipped to the side. The robe slipped just a little at the collar, but not enough to give me what I wanted. Not yet.

I took her other hand, repeating the process, and she melted into it--eyes closed, breathing soft, mouth slightly open. Her knees brushed mine. Her posture shifted, less upright now, more languid. The robe loosened again.

Fifteen minutes passed in silence. Then she smiled lazily. "Alright. Your foot massage better be just as impressive."

She uncurled, letting her legs stretch toward me, and leaned back into the cushions. Her spine arched gently. Her arms rested wide, open. The robe--thin and slippery--shifted higher on her thighs.

I slid my butt closer to her ankles, planting my feet on the floor and pulled her feet into my lap. They rested warm on my lap, her right foot pressing lightly against the outline of my cock. My mother had the sexiest feet, petite, soft, her toes pedicured and painted a dark red color.

I started slow--long strokes from heel to toe, pressing into the arch, letting my thumbs drag and knead. She exhaled, eyes half-closed. Her lips moved but said nothing. I watched her melt.

Then it happened. She adjusted--casual, slow--pulling her left leg back and tucking her heel under her right thigh. It was a natural move, unthinking. But the effect?

Her legs opened. Spread-eagle.

Her left knee pointed out, off the couch, angled toward the television. And the robe parted completely between her thighs.

She didn't close it. Didn't move. And there it was.

A sheer thong. Barely there. Dark crimson mesh, so thin it looked like smoke. The fabric stretched delicately across her mound, doing nothing to hide what was beneath. I could see the folds of her pussy--crinkled, plush, parted slightly. The soft swell of her lips hugged the fabric, clinging with the faintest glisten of moisture. Above that, a neat thatch of pubic hair--trimmed, but wild enough to drive me crazy--peeked over the waistband.

She knew. She had to know. But she didn't adjust. She just let her foot stay there, tucked in. Her legs wide open. Her pussy on display. I could not believe my own mother was flashing me her pussy, my mind was racing, I could not think straight.

Then I realized she had had matched her lips to the color of her panties, and her panties to the color of her toe-nail polish.

I pressed deeper into her arch, slow and steady. Her eyes stayed on mine. She didn't speak. She didn't blush. She just breathed--and let me look. I could faintly smell her pussy, the scent wafting up in pleasant waves. Each time I caught a whiff it caused my cock to get harder and harder. I didn't realize it was possible to could get that hard.

My cock throbbed under my shorts, pushing up under the mesh. She must have seen it. Felt it. Her toes shifted slightly against me. Her gaze dipped, just for a heartbeat. Then came back.

Still--she didn't close her legs. She wasn't hiding anything. Not her body. Not her arousal. And not the fact that she wanted me to see.

She was giving me the moment. The opening. The silent permission.

Rodney was right, create the moment and act accordingly, my mother was already acting like a whore. Quietly. Elegantly. Shameless in the way only a woman who knew her power could be.

And now it was up to me to act accordingly.

I let my hand drift lower, still massaging her foot, thumb pressing into the arch with slow, rhythmic pressure. But then I did something deliberate. I took her foot--soft, warm, still damp from the bath--and guided it gently into the bulge in my gym shorts.

She didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.

Her toes pressed into the hard curve of my cock, and I let out the faintest breath. The contact was electric. I kept her foot there, pushed a little firmer, grinding into the blade of her foot. My left hand slid up her leg, slow and steady, fingertips trailing up the inside of her calf as I pretended to focus on her muscle. I didn't have to pretend for long.

Her toes flexed. Then curled. Then began to move--slow, purposeful strokes over my cock, pressing through the thin mesh of my shorts. There was no mistaking it now. She was doing it on purpose. Massaging me back with her foot. Bold. Silent. Certain.

That was it.

The shift.

We had crossed the line and we both knew it. We both knew I would be fucking her brains out and she was begging for it. She had planned to come out here in her robe, crimson colored see-through thong, with its spaghetti thin strap tucked between her bare ass cheeks.

I let her keep going a few seconds longer--so I could feel it, savor it--then lifted my hips and slid my shorts down in one motion, pushing them to the floor and kicking them off. My cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head glistening with pre-cum. She didn't stop. Her foot moved back to my lap instantly, now stroking my bare shaft, her arch sliding up and down the side of my shaft.

She watched it. Watched me.

Then she smiled, soft and breathy. "You have a beautiful cock, Liam."

I blinked. My whole body lit up.

"It looks... about seven inches," she said, eyes drifting along its length. "Maybe a little more."

Her foot stroked again--long and slow--then lifted and pulled her leg back, pressing her foot flat in the crack of the cushion. Her right knee rose and pressed deep into the back of the couch, opening herself completely. The robe fell away from her thighs, bunching at her waist, and the thong--thin, soaked, almost useless--pulled tight across her pussy.

She was spread-eagle now. Pussy fully framed. One knee bent into the couch, the other resting wide across the cushions. Her hips angled toward me like an invitation.

Her voice was soft but clear. "Do you like my pussy?"

I swallowed, eyes locked between her thighs. "I can't fully see it through the panties," I said, my voice hoarse.

She smiled and tilted her head. "Then take them off."

She drew her legs together--slow and elegant, thighs pressing, her pussy slick beneath the sheer fabric. She lifted both legs straight up in the air, pointed her toes at the ceiling.

I reached down and grabbed the waistband of her panties, I pulled and she lifted her hips slightly. I dragged them over her wide ass, pussy juice clung to the gusset as I lifted them up her thick thighs and up past her feet and finally, completely off.

I threw her panties on the floor and she spread her legs wide like a gymnast, her wet pussy fully on display, she ran her hands through the mound of her curly black pubic hair.

"Now lean in," she said, voice honeyed and low, "and smell the best smelling pussy you have ever smelled."

I didn't hesitate. I moved in until my face was just inches away.

Her scent hit me instantly--thick, warm, intoxicating. Like ripe fruit and sweat and something raw and primal. My nose hovered just above her slit, and I breathed in deep. Sweet and sour, salt and heat, a perfect mess of pheromones and flavor that made my cock twitch hard enough to hurt.

I started to move closer, ready to bury my face in her, tongue first--but she pressed her hand to my forehead.

"Not yet," she whispered. "Savor it longer."

I froze, trembling, the tip of my nose brushing the fine curls above her mound. My mouth was watering. Her juices were leaking out slowly, threading down her lips in glossy trails. She was so wet it looked like she'd already come once, and the smell was maddening--thick, wet musk, the scent of a woman wide open and waiting.

My tongue flexed in my mouth. My cock throbbed. I breathed her in again, slower this time, deeper, almost moaning into her skin. I could feel the heat radiating off her. Could see her opening twitching, tiny contractions as her pussy juice dripped and bubbled out.

"Now," she said softly, fingers brushing my hair, "kiss my inner thighs. Start with the right."

I obeyed, dragging my lips across her thigh, kissing slow, open-mouthed, tasting the skin just inches from the slick folds of her cunt. Then lower, until I could feel the edge of her outer lips ghosting against my cheek with every breath. Her thighs were warm, smooth, tasting of lavender and skin and heat. I moved to her left, kissing there too, slower this time, lingering near the crease where her leg met her pussy.

She shifted again, spreading her legs wider, and I could hear it now--her pussy. That obscene, wet sound of pussy lips opening and juices slowly working their way out, grool thick and sticky, threading down her crack. Her lips were shaped like a butterfly, soft wings glistening with arousal, quivering with each breath. I realized that was the delicate sound of her pussy gaping open.

"You can kiss around my pussy," she murmured, voice delicate, "but don't touch my pussy yet."

My mouth hovered near the top of her mound. I pressed a kiss just above her clit, then trailed slowly down one side, letting my lips skim the outer edge of her swollen lips, careful not to touch the center. Her breath hitched. Her thighs quivered. Another drop of her grool welled up and rolled down, clinging to her folds before dripping onto the couch cushion beneath her.

I kissed lower--below her pussy now, where the folds narrowed and her scent was the strongest. My lips pressed against the wet trail of pussy juice. I could see it all. Her pussy twitched again, fluttering open, juices thick and clear, slowly bubbling up from deep inside her. My tongue was aching. My cock was throbbing so hard it felt like it might burst.

And then she whispered the words I'd been dying to hear.

"Now you can put your tongue in there... and taste the best tasting pussy in the world."

I pushed my tongue deep inside her, and her pussy responded--flooding my mouth with slick, thick sweetness that coated my tongue and ran down my chin. I swallowed it greedily, groaning into her, drinking her like it was the only thing I'd ever wanted. Her thighs quivered. Her hips rocked.

"Yesss..." she moaned, soft and breathless, like the sound was being pulled out of her.

I licked her again--slow up her slit, then over her clit, swirling, tasting, teasing--every stroke earning another shaky breath, another low gasp. Her juices were everywhere now, leaking out in long, glistening threads. Her pussy lips parted for me, delicate and soaked, twitching with every flick of my tongue.

Then her hands slid down to my cheeks. She cupped my face, her touch warm and gentle, fingers trembling just a little.

"Get up here... and fuck me."

I didn't need to be told twice.

I crawled up over her, my body between her thighs, cock aching and wet with pre-cum. She looked up at me, eyes glassy and glowing, chest rising fast. And as I lined up, she reached down between us. Her fingers wrapped around my shaft, slicking it with her own juices as she guided me to her entrance.

She rubbed the head of my cock through her folds, up and down, coating me in her cunt juices--then angled it, tilted her hips, and pulled me inside.

I slid into her slowly, and it was like heaven. Hot, wet, tight--her pussy gripped me like it had been waiting. Her mouth fell open in a moan as I bottomed out, my cock buried to the hilt inside her.

"Oh God," she gasped, voice thick and high. "Your cock feels so good..."

I started to move--slow, deep strokes at first, savoring every inch. Her legs wrapped around me, her heels locking behind my back. Her pussy milked me with every thrust, wet and hungry, her juices dripping down my shaft.

Each thrust made the filthiest sound--sticky and wet, like something thick being stirred too fast. Her pussy clung to me with every stroke, then let go with a wet, sucking kiss that echoed off the walls. It was all slick slurps and slippery thrusts, like her body was trying to drink me in, coating my cock in heat and slick fluid until every movement sounded like a slow, obscene stir of mac-and-cheese. The more I fucked her, the louder it got--messy, hungry, shameless--until it was just this constant rhythm of a wet cunt and rigid cock, a noise so filthy it barely sounded human. Just a pussy so horny it was making a slurping sound with each thrust of my cock.

"I love your cock," she whispered, voice ragged. "I love your big cock... I need it..."

I picked up the pace, fucking her harder now, hips slapping against her, wet sounds echoing off the walls. She took it all, legs spread wide, body rocking under me.

"Don't stop... please don't stop..." she moaned. "It feels so good... so full..."

Her hands ran up my back, nails dragging lightly as her eyes rolled halfway back. Her body opened for me, slick and warm and soaked, and her pussy kept clenching like she was trying to pull me even deeper.

"Oh my God... you're making me crazy..." she gasped. "You feel so good inside me... don't you dare stop..."

She was cock-drunk now--moaning, gasping, whispering filth like she didn't even hear herself. Her thighs trembled. Her nipples were stiff against my chest through the satin of her robe. Her pussy was flooding with juice, making a mess of both of us.

"I need it... need your cock... deeper... fuck my cunt, Baby! Fuck your mother's dirty sexy pussy!"

I drove into her harder now, watching her face twist in ecstasy, her moans getting louder, throatier, less restrained with every stroke. Her arms wrapped around my back, legs locking tight around my waist like she didn't want to let me go.

Her pussy was soaking wet--so wet the sounds were obscene, every thrust a loud, messy slap of cock against slick, swollen lips. Her body rocked with me, hips meeting mine in frantic rhythm, her tits bouncing against my chest under the silk, her breath coming in fast, ragged bursts.

"Oh God... your cock is so good," she gasped, her voice breaking. "I want your cock every night... I want it all the time..."

I groaned, thrusting harder, feeling her grip tighten again--pussy squeezing me like a fist, warm and soaked and fluttering with every thrust.

"You're gonna make my pussy squirt," she moaned. "Oh my God... I can't hold it... I'm gonna--"

She arched her back, eyes rolling, a guttural cry bursting from her throat. Her whole body locked tight around me, squeezing, pulsing--and then I felt it.

Hot. Sudden. Powerful.

She squirted--her pussy gushing against my cock, flooding between her legs in a rush of liquid heat. It soaked the cushions, drenched my thighs, splashed against my stomach. Her moan cracked into a whimper as she clenched again, another wave building instantly.

"Oh--oh fuck--" she cried out, voice breaking into raw sounds as her body convulsed.

I felt the pressure build in her pussy, she pushed on my hips forcing me out of her spasming cunt.

She squirted again. This time a stream of hot pee shot out, spraying all over my stomach, her hot fluid dripping down my belly, it made me proud of my abilities. I made this pussy squirt, and even though it was my own mother, it made it hotter, more taboo than ever.

Once she had finished drenching my belly with her squirting fluid, I pushed my cock back into her hot wet cunt. I began thrusting again, this time causing another orgasm.

Her body was shaking with her orgasm, her thighs shook violently, toes curling, her pussy milking my cock in long, rhythmic pulses--clenching, fluttering, gripping like she was trying to pull every last inch of me deeper. Her arms trembled around my neck, nails scratching, mouth open in a silent scream as her orgasm tore through her.

I held her, still deep inside, cock rock hard, drenched in her release. I didn't move. Just stayed there--buried to the base--feeling her pussy throb and twitch and flood around me.

Her body slowly softened. Her legs loosened. Her moans faded into heavy breathing, then soft gasps. Finally, she collapsed beneath me--completely limp, flushed and wet, mouth slack, hair damp, arms falling to her sides.

She was wrecked.

And I was still inside her, hard and throbbing, soaked in her juice.

I didn't move. Didn't thrust. Just stayed there--feeling her warmth, her breath, the soft twitch of her aftershocks pulsing around my cock as she caught her breath.

She lay beneath me, still catching her breath, her body flushed and slick, thighs trembling slightly as her pussy twitched around my cock in slow, involuntary pulses. I stayed deep inside her, motionless, just breathing with her.

Then her hands slid up my back, soft again, fingertips light and slow. Her lips brushed mine--just barely--before pulling me down into a kiss.

It started gentle, but quickly deepened.

Her mouth opened under mine, her lips were full and warm. She kissed like she'd been waiting years for this, her tongue sliding against mine with perfect rhythm, little hums of pleasure vibrating in her throat. She was a great kisser--hungry but smooth, controlled but needy--and every time she sucked gently on my bottom lip, my cock throbbed inside her again.

She pulled back just enough to speak, her voice soft and breathless.

"I want to suck your cock."

I stared down at her, stunned at how simply she said it. No shame. No hesitation. Just desire.

I slowly pulled out of her--slick and soaked, my cock glistening with her juices--and got up onto my knees on the couch. She moved with me, getting up and rising onto all fours, robe still half clinging to her shoulders, the sash long forgotten.

She faced me now--on her hands and knees--gazing up at my cock like she was starving. Then she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head, slow and deliberate.

I groaned.

Her mouth was warm. Wet. Perfect. Her lips formed a tight seal as she slid down my shaft inch by inch, tongue curling beneath me, sucking slow as she pulled back with a soft slurp. She was focused, methodical, never breaking eye contact, her cheeks hollowing as she took me deeper.

She looked so beautiful like that. Eyes half-lidded, mouth stuffed full of cock, her soft moans humming against my shaft.

"I love the taste of my pussy on your cock!" she moaned as she lick the head.

I reached forward, gently sliding her robe up over her hips.

And there it was.

Her ass.

Big. Round. Ridiculously beautiful.

The cheeks were smooth, full, slightly parted as she sucked me. I ran my hands across them, caressing the curve, feeling the soft give of her flesh. She moaned around my cock as I touched her, her mouth sinking deeper down my shaft.

I traced my fingertips along the crack of her ass, then slowly across her tight, pink little asshole.

She moaned again--louder this time--and her whole body twitched as her throat flexed around my cock.

I did it again--just a featherlight stroke, circling her rim. Her hips rolled backward into my hand while her tongue worked me harder. She was moaning constantly now, muffled and desperate, pussy still dripping between her thighs.

Then I pulled back slightly.

"Turn around," I said.

She obeyed without question--slowly twisting on all fours to face away from me. She dropped her elbows to the couch cushions, arched her back, and presented her ass to me.

I froze.

Her ass was breathtaking.

Big. Full. Perfectly round. This was the ass I had wanted to see for years, my own mother's ass, the ass teasing me every day in her sweats and now I was about to lick and kiss it.

I stared, stunned, my cock twitching hard again, fully coated in her spit.

I placed both hands on her cheeks, spreading them slowly apart to reveal everything--her tight little hole glistening with moisture, her pussy lips swollen and wet, the folds still leaking slow, shiny threads of her arousal.

It was almost too much to take.

As I knelt behind her, my hands jiggling her perfect ass cheeks, spreading her ass wide to take in the full view. I took the time to smell her beautiful pink asshole and pussy. This was a whole different scent than the crotch of her sweats, this was the smell of horny fucked pussy, steamy hot, and scent of moist asshole, I almost came just taking in her essence.

I leaned in and dragged my tongue up her slit from behind--slow and firm, gathering every drop of her cunt juices on the way to her taint. She was moaning, her body arching as I buried my face in her from behind.

"You like my ass, Baby!" she asked, her voice a raspy whisper.

"Fuck, Mom! I love your big ass. You have the best ass in the world!" I said enthusiastically.

I trailed my tongue up, right to her asshole. One slow circle around the rim and she gasped--loud, breathless. I did it again, then again, then flattened my tongue and licked her there properly, slow and filthy. I pushed my tongue into her asshole, it was a filthy dirty act by me and I did not care. I wanted my tongue, my cock, right in her asshole. I loved the sight of it. I loved the smell of it. I loved the taste of it.

Then I couldn't wait anymore. I rose up behind her, grabbed my cock--slick with her spit and my own precum--and lined it up with her pussy.

But before I pushed in, I paused, just for a second, to take it all in. Her ass was incredible--big, round, perfectly curved. I took in the whole scene before me. I looked up, her hair; my own mother, her beautiful hair fell out of her bun and was hanging down in sexy strands. It was surreal to be staring at the back of her head. I gazed lower, her back and shoulders; her shoulders tan almost freckled. Three tiny moles forming a triangle over her left shoulder blade. Then I looked lower, the small of her back where her waist narrowed inwards, giving her that hourglass shape. Finally the part that fried my brain, that flat area on top of her ass, below the small of her back; I placed my hands there and slid them across it, like I was smoothing it out. I traced my hands out to her wide hips, the contrast between her wide hips and narrow waist was absolutely sexy. Then I slid my hands from her hips to her cheek bones. The outline of her big ass cheeks, where her cheeks bones met my waist, made the shape of a big and wide letter W, with my cock pushing into the apex.

She pushed her sexy ass back, desperate for it. I slid in deep with one long, hard thrust.

"Ooooooh!" she cried, her voice high and shaking.

Her pussy sucked me in, as I began to thrust--slow at first, then faster, gripping her hips as I fucked her hard from behind. The slap of skin filled the room, wet and fast and raw.

"Fuck... yes... your cock... so deep..." she moaned.

I pounded into her, watching her ass bounce with every thrust, her juices splashing with every slap of my hips. She pushed back to meet me, moaning louder, losing control.

"I love your cock," she gasped. "I love it so much... I want it every day... every night... I want it in me forever..."

I drove deeper. Harder.

Her voice cracked. "Oh God--I'm gonna come again--I can't stop--please--keep going--please don't stop..."

"Uhhhh, I love that dick!" she begged, breathless, lost. "Please--Liam--cum with me--cum deep inside me--I need it--fuck my pussy--fill me--fill me your cum!"

I grabbed her hips tight, slammed into her hard and deep, and held myself there.

My cock throbbed so hard it almost hurt, the pressure boiling over as I slammed into her one last time--and then I exploded. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot deep inside her, flooding her pussy in hard, greedy pulses. I grunted through my teeth, hips jerking uncontrollably as the orgasm ripped through me, each spurt pouring into her like I was trying to fill her to the brim.

She came with me, screaming into the cushions, her voice raw and broken, like her body couldn't hold it in. Her pussy clamped down around me in violent spasms, milking every drop of cum out of me, sucking at my cock like it didn't want to let me go. I could feel her walls fluttering, squeezing and releasing with each wave, her whole body locked in place as another gush of fluid sprayed out from between her legs.

We stayed tangled together for a moment, both of us panting, her thighs still twitching from the aftershocks. My cock softened slowly inside her, soaked in slick and cum, and when I finally pulled out, our mess spilled down her legs in warm, wet strands.

I stood up and reached for her, helping her to her feet. The robe hung open now, one sleeve falling off her shoulder, her breasts exposed, nipples still hard and wet. She looked up at me, hair a mess, eyes soft and shining.

I pulled her in and hugged her tight, one arm wrapping low around her hips, the other curling behind her neck. Her body was warm, sticky against mine. We stood there for a long breath, heartbeats thudding together.

"I love you," I whispered into her hair.

She looked up slowly, her lips parting in a quiet smile. "I love you too."

I kissed her--long, deep, and slow. Her mouth moved with mine, lazy and wet, tasting of sweat and breath and something sweeter. Her body melted against me.

Then I bent low and scooped her into my arms, lifting her off the floor like she weighed nothing. She wrapped her arms around my neck, robe slipping further off one shoulder, her bare thigh pressing into my stomach.

As I carried her up the stairs, her breath tickled my neck. Her thighs parted just enough to let more of our cum spill from between her legs.

"Mmm... you're leaking out of me," she whispered, her voice low and satisfied.

She kissed my jaw and clung to me tighter as I carried her through the doorway to her room. Moonlight lit the bed in silver. I laid her down gently, her robe falling open completely now, baring her fully beneath me.

I slid in beside her and pulled the covers over our tangled bodies. She rolled into my chest with a sleepy hum, one leg over mine, hand on my stomach. We kissed again--slow, unhurried--until her lips softened into stillness.

She drifted off like that, wrapped around me, full of me, skin still damp with everything we'd done.

And I lay there awake for a little while longer, staring out the window at the star-lit sky.