Ariadne's Dreams Ch. 02


"Oh, fuck . . .!" Barry shouted, stumbling onto his back, kicking the door wide open as he fell.

Ariadne reached for a pillow to cover herself with, her heart pounding fiercely and her face flush with embarrassment. "Goddammit, Barry! What are you doing here?!"

"I n-needed some money and I was . . . I . . . I—" He stopped, attempting to cover his exposed, stiff cock with his hands. "What am I doing!? What are you doing?! Is this why you wanted me out of the house . . .?!"

She found her eyes unable to leave the stiff cock bursting through his fly. "Oh God, Barry . . . that . . . what I did turned you on!?"

Barry finally got to his feet again and tried to fix his exposure. "No, I . . . I was just . . . surprised and . . ."

Ariadne leaned closer, her voice falling to an awed whisper. "Were you masturbating to me?!"

Barry continued stammering. "Look, Ma, it's not what . . ."

She wasn't listening. She couldn't hear anything else, or see anything else for that matter, except the growth between his legs.

Ariadne was no longer here. The 'slut' had taken full control.

Slowly, she crawled off the bed on all fours, her naked body inching toward him. "Oh God, Barry . . . I did that to you . . .?"

"Don't look, Mom! Please don't l—"

Before he knew it, she had pounced. In one fell swoop, she had placed almost her entire mouth around his cock, bobbing her head up and down while her hands and knees were pressed to the floor. A momentous shock paralyzed Barry in his tracks, preventing him from backing away, preventing him from doing anything from watching with his mouth agape.

"M-Mom . . . ungh . . . w-what are you doing?!"

She didn't bother answering. Her mind was completely gone, just like the first night after he'd left home. She wasn't consciously controlling any actions; nothing she did or wanted could be justified by reason anymore. Everything was fueled by lust—just pure animal lust, and she was powerless to stop it. No, even if she hadn't been powerless, she would have wanted to.

And it wasn't long before Barry's resistance drained away, the pleasure from his mother's mouth becoming too potent to fight.

She sensed his rising eagerness and lifted her mouth from his tasty shaft, giving one last lick to sample his pre-cum. She gazed upward at him as her hand enveloped his manhood, adding a few strokes to incubate it her warmth.

Then she stood, looking him the eyes as she did so . . . his confused, but eager eyes.

"Take this off," she breathed, pulling his t-shirt upward.

He didn't hesistate. In less than a second, that shirt was away, leaving only his toned, hairless body for her to touch.

The shape . . . the build . . . so much like his father. The comparison only tipped the scales of her desire.

Her fingers went to work on his belt, and he didn't need an invitation this time. He undid the buckle immediately, unfastened his pants, and slid them and his shorts down at the same time.

Now, she could fully admire her son's naked body . . . study it in a different light. Not as a mother looking over her child, but as a woman with needs looking over a man who could fill them.

She wanted this. She needed this.

"Come here," she said, grabbing his hand and yanking him to her bed. She sat back on it and pulled him closer, forcing his body to arc over hers as she laid back on the sheets.

"I need you, Barry," she growled. "I need you."

Unlike her, Barry still had a sliver of reason somewhere. It was that part of him that manifested at this moment. "Mom, are you sure about this? What we're about to do, it's—"

She responded by pulling his head close and kissing him, forcing her tongue into his mouth. When she pulled away, she only swallowed hard and said, "Do it. Fuck your mommy."

That broke every last bit of resistance he could manage. Barry descended on her like a beast, placing his mouth at her breasts and sucking hard on her nipples. She gasped and moaned as she watched him, urging him on with an arching posture. Her hands explored his naked shoulders, absorbing the chiseled texture of his broad shoulders. It had been so long since she had touched a man's flesh . . . and she was not disappointed with the belated result.

Barry pushed her down onto the mattress and sat up straight. Her eagerness only rising, she spread her thighs as wide as she could for him. Her breath held. Her eyes pleaded. He gave her only one short look before he took hold of his shaft and guided it to her sheath.

She sucked air, lost to the grandeur of feeling a man's cock, made of real, hard flesh rather than dead plastic and steel, touch her pussy. On their own, her hips writhed, hoping to convey her readiness. She wanted this to happen. She needed this to happen. Every second they delayed tore her apart inside.

Then, it finally happened. His hips pushed forward; her son's helmet entered her.

She threw back and panted, having anticipated for this moment for the past ten years. Somehow, this felt meant to be . . . like the past decade had built to this exact moment. She had waited so long, and now finally, she could enjoy it.

"Take me," she demanded. "Take me and make me yours."

That flipped something inside the teenager. Barry's entire body thrust forward, the fully length of his cock became buried into her mound. Ariadne yelped in pain, digging her nails into her son's back. He leaned his full weight onto his hands as his hips began to piston back and forth into her pussy. She had told him to make her his, and he seemed eager to do just that. He pumped her pussy like a farmer pumped a cow, like a contractor pounded a nail. He pumped hard and pounded fast—he showed it who was boss. It made her delirious . . . drove her crazy. The pain faded into dull memory, replaced only by wild, unbridled pleasure.

"Oh god, faster! Faster! Fuck me, honey! Fuck me!"

He moaned his satisfaction and did just what she asked. His dick slid faster and faster in and out of her pussy. She watched as the glistening shaft appeared and disappeared inside her wet hole time and time again. Her nails dug into his trunk-like arms, and her legs were dangling high above, flailing wildly with the pounding between her thighs.

God, how he fucked her. He jackhammered like a relentless machine, using his youth energy to piston the length of his cock in and out of his mother's defenseless pussy. She orgasmed right away and then orgasmed again when that one receded. She glanced up into her sons face, taking a moment to absorb the intensity of his lust, before remembering that he was her firstborn. Her one and only. She was letting her own child use her pussy for his pleasure.

She couldn't describe the feeling. Pride? Was it pride? Did she feel proud that her son was the one to lay claim to her pussy? To make her feel this good? Her body shivered from every impact, from each thrust he pushed into her. Something so powerful, so magnificent. She had created it. Raised it. And now, she was enjoying the fruits of it.

"Give it to me, my son . . . my lover. Oh, God . . . that feels so good."

"God, Ma . . . I'm gonna cum."

"Yes, yes!" She shouted immediately. "Cum inside me! Fill me!"

"But . . . but . . ." He tried to raise an objection, but it was difficult for him to talk and fuck intently at the same time.

"Please, do it. I need it, Barry. I need to feel it inside me."

Barry moaned at her words. "Tell me again, mom. Tell me again."

She reached up and clasped his head with both hands, pulling his body down onto hers.

"Fuck your mommy and cum inside her. Fuck your slut. Cum deep inside her pussy. Fill it up. Fill my pussy with your thick seed. Fuck it all into me!"

His mind snapped. Barry grunted and lurched forward, collapsing onto her as he released. She gripped him tightly, holding his body against hers as she felt his potent seed bursting from his cock and flooding her pussy. She felt it deep in her womb, splashing against the cervix, coating her insides with liquid heat. It made her scream with an orgasm, enjoying the pleasure of surrender.

After the plateau, the slow descent to earth began. Exhausted, their naked bodies still intertwined, mother and son simply stayed in post-coitus embrace. Neither one wanting to move . . . neither one want to acknowledge that it had ended.

To Be Continued

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