You saw my mom in the bar and smirked.
Mid-thirties with legs longer than yours and D-cups like soft cantaloupes. Timid, with a brand new tan line where her ring used to be. You ordered her a drink and pressed your muscular thigh against hers as you pushed in next to her.
You smiled your best college boy smile and force your dick to stay soft.
“I’m… way too old for this place,” she laughs.
You shrug. “Yes you are,” you say.
She looks up, surprised. A cranberry blush of embarrassment creeps onto her face.
“So am I, honestly,” you say. “Why don’t we get out of here?”
You walked through the park with one powerful arm around her shoulders and carried her over the puddles.
The first time you tossed her, effortlessly, into your arms, she gasped like a schoolgirl and you saw the first little quiver of excitement shiver up her thighs.
By the time she was in your BMW — gotta spend those loans on something — she’s so wet you can see a thin trickle of it running onto your leather.
Twenty minutes later her heels are spread wide on your king-sized bed as you shove an expert tongue all the way to her cervix.
She has her first real orgasm in years, and you’re afraid her legs will break your neck as she rides your face.
You grin, stand, toss the crisp white shirt off your body, exposing the kind of muscle she hasn’t seen this close since before I was born, and let her see your dick for the first time.
Her eyes turn into saucers of disbelief.
“Don’t worry,” you growl. “The pain won’t last very long.”
You reach down and rip — fucking rip — her blouse off those huge cantaloupe tits. She’s braless, her child-nursing nipples as thick and stiff as the tip of a pinkie. Blue veins make lines under her skin like polished marble. You’re sucking and biting before you know it.
“Oh god…” she says… “oh god…” and you push the massive, uncut cobra of your manhood up into her pussy “oh***GOD!!***”
You know she’s a virgin up where your cockhead is rapidly drumming on her cervix. She’s too tight, too sensitive. The only person whose ever been this far inside her is me, her gorgeous and nearly identical daughter. She cums so hard her eyes roll back into her head and don’t come back for a minute and a half. You spend that time savagingher massive, child-rearing breasts, leaving bite marks like tattoos she’d have to explain to any and every man that follows you for months. Marking your territory like an animal. Her pussy loosens fractionally, accommodating your fist-like girth and letting her cum before she’s recovered from her last orgasm.
There’s a long gopher-hole trail under the skin, leading up from her pussy and deep into her stomach where your cockhead continues to pound on her womb until finally, shuddering, it lets you inside. The impenetrable sphincter spreads like the petals of a flower — like her legs spread for you — and you lodge your huge, college-aged pricked in the center of her womanhood. You could cum and give me a little sister. Or little brother, more likely, with your huge, swollen balls that haven’t been drained since the pre-season. Or you could pull out and ruin her ass while she screamed and gnawed on your headboard, putting her delicate toothmarks next to a dozen others all along the wood.
Her perfect toes stretch for the ceiling and her heels fall off. You wrap her panties tighter around your wrist — another trophy for the drawer — and take her huge, fat tits into your enormous, masculine hands. You squeeze them until the nipples swell even more, like one of those stress toys your dad has on his desk.
At the final moment, you twist your hips and pull out of her womb with an audible Champaign pop. You slide your big dick over her soft, yielding stomach and start to cum the moment your tongue slides into her mouth.
You cum all over her chest, in between her bruised, wobbling breasts, all over her stomach. It lubricates the friction between you and you can feel your own god-like erection like a lead pipe, still hard, an elephant’s trunk of boyish endurance, slipping up between the two of you and it kind of gets you off, how big you are, even though you watched it flop out of your childhood pjs and never stop getting bigger. You look down into the blank whites of her inward-facing eyes and feel a rush of self-love and power that actually makes your balls grow as the hormones surge through you like a drug, better than the orgasm, better than showing your frat another secret video of another conquest.
One of, frankly, dozens.
You slide out of her shivering body, piss like a racehorse and wonder — not for the first time — if you’d enjoy pissing in a woman’s face. You imagine you’re doing it then and your dick hardens as you do it.
“Shit,” you say, sigh, and lumber back to my mother, whose legs are still frozen, up in their air.
You slide your dripping penis back into her, and she groans in pain as if it were the first time.
“I’m going to fucking destroy these tits,” you say, as your bite down on them like a vampire.
It’s two weeks later and you’re in my mom’s bed. You like how it smells like her, how her bed is so tiny compared to yours, how you can see that even her vibrator is half the size of your massive, athletic prick.
But what you really enjoy, as you nail my mom to her own bouncing mattress, is the kpop poster and backpack that tells you there’s a daughter here, me, Converse kicks in the foyer, AP Calculus on the coffee table. I threw a leather miniskirt and a tanktop into the hamper and it tells you everything you want to know: fit, with tits like mom. Red hair in the bathroom brush and the smell of pussy on the handle tells you the rest: horny redhead, but still too innocent for a vibrator.
You make sure mom screams all afternoon. You slap her tits like bongos. You tear up her ass like a jackhammer. And when you catch a reflection of my beautiful face in the darkness of the hallway, tiny mouth open, bright eyes wide, you pull your big dick out and cum so hard in my mom’s mouth it comes out of her nose.
You pad out to the bathroom in the hall, piss, and then step into the shower. You can smell my strawberry shampoo and it gets you off. You turn the water all the way hot and scorch yourself washing with my soap, rubbing the bar right into your dick and balls. You don’t even have to look to see that I’m peering through a crack in the door. You show off your body as you wash it. Your dick hangs like a sleeping animal as you dry yourself off. The towel you use smells like testosterone for a week.
You look me straight in the eye as you pass me on the way back to mom.
“Hey,” you say, dick tapping against your thigh.
“Hey,” I say, in a voice as small as my pussy.
You kick the door “closed” behind your but it doesn’t latch and swings open a crack. You flip my mom like a griddle cake, spit in her ass with an explosive, casual brutality that makes me tear up and dampen between the legs at the same time, and work your manhood into her while she carves a dental exam into her headboard.
The next morning you’ve got a towel wrapped around you at the breakfast table.
You made yourself a pound of bacon and half a dozen eggs.
I’m drinking coffee and taking two secret caffeine pills before school.
Mom’s still in bed, recovering.
You spear a piece of bacon and smile your college boy smile.
“Senior?” you ask.
I nod, embarrassed.
“Going to college?”
“Good,” you say. You adjust yourself gently.
I’m in short shorts and a tank top because I’m running to school, like always. I’m taller than my mom and she’s tall. I’m almost taller than you.
“I’m dating your mom,” you say.
“I heard,” I say. And then blush, horrified.
You laugh, a big laugh from your big, smooth chest.
“Yeah, I guess you did. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say, even though it isn’t. Not really.
You drink what looks like half a gallon of milk in one swallow.
“Did you like staring at my dick last night?” you ask.
I choke on my coffee and end up spitting it all over myself.
“I didn’t… I mean… I have to change.”
I pop up and dash for my room like a gazelle. I toss off my tank top rummage in a drawer for another one.
“Why are you wearing that bandage over a sports bra?” you ask.
You’re standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
I look down. I’m binding with an ace bandage. It’s the only way to keep my nipples from hurting when I run. My breasts are… not small.
I’m so embarrassed, so pissed off that you just walked right in that I unravel the bandage like a mummy. My nipples stand out hard and thick through the material of the bra.
“I’m too big to run but I like it, okay?”
You walk right up to me. You’re so warm that I can feel your body heat. Especially from the towel, where it’s like a furnace.
You poke my abs, which are almost as prominent as yours.
“You don’t look big.”
At the word big I can’t help but glance at the bulge beneath your towel.
“You’re not looking in the right place,” I mumble.
You reach down and grab my chin, pulling my eyes away from the towel.
“Neither are you,” you say.
“My breasts are…”
I trail off. You’re still holding my chin so I can’t look down. Your other hand is on my shoulder.
But I can feel something hard and towel-covered pressing against my legs.
“Show me,” you demand.
I shake my head.
Very casually, you slap me.
“Do what Daddy says,” you say.
I stare into your eyes — you’re… very good looking — and I can’t help but nod.
I help you slide the bands of the bra off my shoulders and peal them down over my breasts like a banana.
My breasts spill out, fresh and tight and as perky as they will ever be. Perfect cannonballs of smooth white flesh, with perfect halfmoon tanlines on the top.
“Holy Christ,” you whisper.
Your words, and the look on your face make my nipples harden so much I hiss because it hurts.
“Ow…” I wince.
You reach down and take a nipple into your fingers, and pinch.
I gasp, and immediately my face turns beat red. Like a digital effect.
Between my legs, pearls of excitement slip out of me and run… everywhere. Like sweat.
“This will help,” you say, because you are, after all, an expert on the things that you love.
You close your lips over my nipple, the first person to ever do so in my whole life. Something you and you alone will always have. And you suckle the way I shouldn’t have known until I had a child.
My nipple relaxes into your mouth, and the pleasure spreads as easily as my legs do.
“Your legs are freakishly long,” you say, as you carry me over to my bed, in between suckling nibbles of pert, flawless breast.
“Mom says I’ll grow into them,” I say, my voice shrill and quavering, as you toss me down between piles of clothes on my bed and kiss my chest between my breasts.
“Are you a virgin, little girl?” you ask.
“I’m not little,” I say. “I’m-”
You slap me. Harder than the last time.
“Answer Daddy, kitten.”
I’m so ashamed I can’t meet your eyes.
I shake my head.
Growling, annoyed, you grab my chin again.
“Who fucked you, little girl?” you ask, disappointed to be robbed of a treasure.
My lips shake but I don’t say anything. Your hand swings back to slap me, but I blurt out: “I wasn’t fucked, I’m not a whore.”
You smile. “Of course you aren’t baby. What did you do?”
I look away. “My boyfriend fingered me,” I say.
“And I had him in my mouth once too!” I say, defiant, annoyed at your smirk.
You slap me again, hard enough to bring tears.
“Did he look like this?” you ask, and carefully open the towel.
Your dick is so big and hard it’s like a weapon springing out between us.
My eyes tell you everything.
I shake my head.
“What was he like?” you ask.
I shake my head.
You raise your hand.
“Smaller!” I squeak. I illustrate with my fingers.
“And…” I gesture at your cockhead, which is wet with precum and as hooded as a monk.
“Uncircumsized?” you ask.
Confusion, the a nod. “I guess,” I say.
“Kiss it,” you say.
I don’t even have time to be shocked before you slap me again. A red handprint stands out on my beautiful teenage cheek.
“Yes, Daddy,” I mumble, and you feel that powerful rush at getting someone else’s gorgeous daughter to call you ‘Daddy,’ one year into your twenties.
I bend down and I can smell the hormones and salt on your big, throbbing dick. My pink, glossy lips are the same bubblegum color as my pussy, and my tongue is as light and small as a child’s.
I reach out with a little blade of tongue and touch it to your cockhead.
The masculine taste reaches out and strangles my brainstem. My pussy waters and you can smell it with incredible satisfaction. You know, even though I’m a little would-be slut who sucks her tiny boyfriend’s dick and fucks herself with a hairbrush, that I’ve never been that wet before. That I’ve never tasted manhood before.
“Now, kitten,” you demand.
I look up at you and our eyes stay connected as I draw your foreskin between my lips…
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