Outercourse with Mommy

The following is a work of fiction. All characters are 18+

I swear, it all started with innocent intentions. But they quickly went out of the window.

Ron, my husband, had gone out of town for the weekend on business. And Jason - our son - was back home for the first time since he flew the nest for university. At first, it felt incredible to have my little guy back around the house; I missed having him more than I realized. But I was about to discover something else: he wasn't so little anymore. He was a man -- with a man's needs.

The first incident occurred the Saturday night he came home. It involved snuggling under blankets and drinking too much box wine. It featured a needy son and his doting mommy who didn't know when to say no. It ended with a satisfied son and a sticky mommy in an even stickier situation.

Now, my new normal involves helping my son get off!

My New Normal

It was a beautiful summer evening. The sun was setting outside. The scent of my house-renowned meatloaf thickened the air. Oh, and Jason - my only son - had me bent over the kitchen table with his cock hot-dogged between my ass cheeks.

My pretty summer dress had been frantically hiked up in bunches around my waist, revealing thigh-high stockings, creamy legs and a silk-clad butt I had worked into bubbly perfection at the gym. Jason certainly seemed to like it, at least.

"Ugh, f- honey," I seethed through gritted teeth, trying to keep my voice level, even as my son heaved me back and forth along the table's oak surface, buffing me against his manhood like a sex toy. "You think you could maybe... speed this up... just a li'l bit? Your dad is going to be home soon!"

"T-trying," Jason panted in response and renewed his virile efforts to set my butt on fire via horny friction. It must have been a frustrating day for him or something. He was giving it to me like an animal. Like a mongrel mounting his bitch!

"I'd cum faster if you let me lose my boxers!" He said.

"Absolutely... not," I groaned. My words were stilted as I gouged my fingernails into the tabletop for some purchase.

"Oh, come on," he whined. "You could keep your panties on!"

Ha! By then, the silky red material of my panties had been totally swallowed between my cushiony ass cheeks. It was almost as if I weren't wearing them at all!

"You know the rule," I shot back, trying to adopt a motherly tone of finality -- and failing miserably.

Our 'rule' was simple: when we were alone, and he needed a little friction, I didn't mind 'helping him out' every now and then. That was fine, I rationalized, so long as there wasn't any genital-to-skin contact. Because that would totally be full-blown incest -- whereas a bit of dry-humping was just a loving mother helping out her son, right?

"Fine," Jason grunted his dubious assent and ripped me from my reverie by urgently surging forward and grinding his needy bulge into my ass. I felt it dig into me with every pass, a pulsing mass of flesh straining against the coarse grit of its cotton prison.

His hands came to grasp at my shoulders for leverage. Fuck. He had strong hands -- not rough, but not exactly gentle either. Insistent was the word. He was very much a man taking what he needed. He was using me, and I was letting him. Actually, it was worse than that. I was encouraging him!

"Good boy," I purred; it was surprising to hear my tone laced with more 'sultry MILF' energy than I had intended. "Just relax... close your eyes... and focus on... finishing. How about that?"

I stirred my thicc rump in little circles against his cock to punctuate the suggestion. And, y'know, also to speed the entire process along. It had nothing to do with the fact that his hot man meat felt fucking amazing, nestled between my mommy-thick ass cheeks. No way.

Who the fuck are you fooling, Mary?!

My motherly instincts demanded. They had lived in a constant state of shameful disbelief at my handling of the entire situation since it began. I mostly tried to avoid confronting that part of myself whenever I let Jason use me like this. The self-loathing could come later, when I was all alone. At least, I thought it could.

You're such a fucking slut!

I told myself as Jason continued to set a furious pace.

You like the way his cock feels, throbbing against your ass, don't you? At night, when you rub your slutty cunt, you imagine what it might look like, how it would feel inside you, and even what it would taste like in your mouth.

I would have given anything to be able to honestly deny it all. But frankly, I guess I really must have been a terrible mother because my panties were fucking flooded. And all I could do was pray Jason wouldn't notice before he had finished with me.

I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder to look at him. My baby boy -- a big strong man. All grown up. He looked like an adorable, nerdy, 19-year-old version of his father -- square-framed glasses, a strong jawline, intensely-blue eyes and dirty-blonde hair that fell shaggily over his face. Thankfully, he was in a world of his own. And going by the semi-vacant look on his face, it was a blessedly simple world of euphoria. His head tipped back. His mouth hung open. His eyes pinched shut. He was giving it to his mommy good. He wanted this.

"M-mom?" He moaned desperately. "I'm -- so fuckin' close..."

"C'mon, baby," I mewled thoughtlessly in response and drove myself back to meet his frantic cadence. "Cum all over mommy's panties!" All the while, I was rhythmically swirling my ass into his cock and insistently meeting his uncoordinated thrusts.

"Give it to me!" I wailed. That did it! Jason gave a throaty growl, clumsily surged forwards and collapsed on top of me. His weight felt immense on my tiny frame. He squished me against the table, buried his face in my golden locks and let go. Even through his boxers, I could feel him pulsing powerfully. He growled like a bear when he came; no mother should know that about her own son.

"Oh f-fuck, fuck... fuck," he whispered as the last warm embers of his orgasm washed over him. And I just lay there and took it.

Silence followed. Jason's choppy breath was hot and wet against my neck. My own breath was ragged and shallow, as well; I could feel sweat evaporating on my face. I felt dirty. I felt ashamed. Still, my pussy ached for some attention.

After another minute or two, I spoke up. "Let me up, baby," I said, reassuming my motherly mask, crooked as it now felt to wear. "I have to check on the meatloaf."

Jason clumsily withdrew. Then, he tenderly finger-combed my dishevelled hair back into some semblance of order, delicately flipped my dress back down, and promptly retreated upstairs to clean himself up. Before he vanished from earshot, I heard him say, "Thanks, Mom!"

When Ron came home, we ate together as a family. Sat around the same kitchen table Jason had bent me over not even an hour earlier. Ron didn't seem to notice or care that I was uncharacteristically quiet. That was typical of him lately. He and Jason happily discussed sports, work, and university. Meanwhile, I pushed meatloaf around my plate and wondered when Jason might need me to 'help out' again. I already knew I would.

Sitting idle, I lazily pondered the notion of having reserved a spot in hell for myself. If such a place existed, it was undoubtedly my ultimate destination, right? And when I arrived down there to sizzle away eternity, this story is what I would tell Adolf Hitler when he asked me, "So, Mary, vhat are you down here for?"

That night, when we were in bed, I begged Ron to fuck me. It had been so long, I whined. Weeks. Months, even!

He gave me all the usual excuses endemic to a dead bedroom: he was too tired. He had a long week. He wasn't in the mood, etc. But I coaxed him to life by slipping under the covers and putting my once-talented mouth to work.

I pressed my pretty face into his manhood and lapped at his ball sack with my warm, soft tongue. I knew how much he enjoyed that. I suckled on the wrinkly flesh, deftly moving between his sweaty testicles until they were shiny from my spit.

When I took his cock into my hand and stroked it into a familiar six inches, it throbbed in my palm. Having achieved my goal, I surfaced from beneath the covers and insisted that he mount me from behind, like a mongrel breeding his bitch in heat. I used those exact words. The look on my husband's face was priceless; that was probably the last thing he had expected me to say. He couldn't believe his luck! Nevertheless, he obliged.

He seized a clump of my hair and wound it around his palm like a length of blonde rope. Using these makeshift reins for leverage, he shoved my face into the mattress and gave it to me. I let him use me -- the same way I allowed our own son to use me: hard. I literally screamed as he reamed my tight, slick, grippy, drippy cunt.

"Yeah," I yelped encouragingly over the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. "Fuck my whore cunt, baby... p-put my fucking pussy to work!"

The whole time, I had my eyes shut tight. And God help me because I was thinking about Jason. Thinking about him taking me with all the energy of a younger man with a far more impressive cock.

"Breed me!" I mewled, surprising myself with how pathetic and desperate I sounded. "Breed me... bree-" My words disintegrated into a strangled sob as the orgasm building inside me finally erupted. I blubbered incoherently as pleasure tore through my body, radiating like warm electricity from my stretched pussy outwards.

I trembled, tensed and clamped down around Ron's cock like a vice. And before I knew it, he was cumming, too! He sprayed his load as deep as he could, pumping out one thick rope after another before collapsing to one side, exhausted.

"Where did that come from?" he asked after his sense returned.

"I've been needing that all day," I responded casually. "Hold me?"

He did. He wrapped an arm around me, sealing our sweaty bodies together, blanketing me in warmth and guilt. And as I drifted away to sleep, I wondered if Jason had heard any of that -- and if he was stroking his big cock just one room over? Somehow, a small part of me hoped that wasn't the case -- not without me being there to help him.

So, if anyone has anything to say to Hitler, just let me know. I might pass on the message for you sometime.