Insatiable

***Author's note: Any character involved in any sexual activity is over the age of eighteen.***

1

Lafayette Terrace wasn't so much a street, more than it was a cliché come to life. If you happened to have some stereotypical image in your mind of what suburban America looked like -- and we're talking real archetypal, Leave it to Beaver, fantasy-world kind of stuff -- this was that image made real in brick and wood and glass. Round here, Eisenhower might as well still have been president, the Dodgers might as well still have been playing at Ebbets Field. There were even white picket fences, for Christ's sake. In so many ways, time seemed to have passed this place by.

Although in some ways, for at least for two of its residents, the mores of the modern world had intruded in the most visceral and unimaginable way possible.

It was a street that positively reeked of wealth. They were practically shitting money in this part of town. Everyone who lived here -- or at least everyone who was paying the bills -- was either handsomely well remunerated, or at the very least was coping admirably with extraordinarily high levels of personal debt.

Technically, every single family on this street could be classified as millionaires. Not necessarily cash millionaires, few of them had that level of savings in the bank; but the value of their property alone put them in what would once have been the most exclusive bracket of society. By any standards, most people here could be called rich. They might not use that word themselves -- most would prefer to self identify as being part of that almost mythic cohort -- the great American middle class -- but there was no doubt they were all pretty comfortable.

That was certainly true of Margaret Molloy. Margaret -- known by most folks as Maggie -- lived at number 12. It was a big house -- not necessarily the biggest, but big enough. Detached, with five bedrooms, it occupied a particularly pleasant corner of this eminently pleasant cul-de-sac. The Molloy family had lived there for more than a decade, moving in not long after Maggie's husband Elliott was given a big promotion at work.

"We've hit the big time, baby." He had told her, when he first got the news.

"Oh god, it's just amazing!" Maggie had replied, as excited as it was possible to be.

She let him have her in the ass that night. As a thank you. As a reward. Anal was something she doled out to her husband on special occasions, in the days when Elliott was feeling a little more frisky. Actually, he could've fucked her in the butt a lot more regularly, if he'd only had the gumption to ask. Maggie would've been more than up for it, but Elliott had never been too pushy when it came to matters between the sheets. A fact that had been a source of sustained irritation to his rather more libidinous wife. Nowadays, he rarely even asked for conventional sex, let alone any backdoor action. Work and advancing age had taken their toll on his ardour. Not that Maggie cared all that much. Not now. She had other opportunities available to her, as we're all about to discover.

Maggie was sat in her comfortable home, living her comfortable life. It was a Saturday morning and she was watching television. If the road she lived on seemed stuck in the 1950s, Maggie herself looked every bit the modern woman. She may have been a wife and mother, with a strapping college-age son and a beautiful daughter rapidly approaching graduation, but she didn't look it. She was 45, very nearly 46, but she could easily pass for at least ten or fifteen years younger.

She was, to put it simply, a breathtaking sight. Tall, statuesque, with long dark hair. She had big brown eyes, full lips and a delicate nose. And what word would you choose to describe her figure?

Voluptuous? Curvaceous? Buxom?

All of the above. But why not add sumptuous? Luxurious? Decadent?

She wasn't as lean or as toned as she had been in her twenties, but she still looked magnificent. Actually, in many ways, she looked even better now. She had matured into her body in quite the most spectacular way. The extra pounds she now carried had settled in all the right places; her breasts, her hips, her bottom. What was the word they used online? One of those words you had to look up on Urban Dictionary? Thicc? That was it. Maggie was thicc. Thicc as fucc.

She was, to put it simply, hot. And she knew it. She had always known it. She had long been aware of her visual impact; the effect she had on the men -- and even some of the women -- who saw her. She knew the kind of attention she got. The furtive glances, the not-so-furtive glances. Mail carriers, pizza delivery boys, her friends' husbands, her friends' teenage sons. They all liked to look.

And she liked them looking. She got a buzz out of it. A real thrill. She liked having attention. Her husband was a sweet, sweet man, who she still sort of loved; but she loved him the same way you loved an old sheep dog you had owned since it was a puppy. An ageing pet who slept most of the time and hardly moved at all. Elliott didn't spend much time with her, sexually or otherwise. And if someone else made a slightly racy comment, or gave her a lingering stare; what was the harm?

Not that it went any further than that. Maggie was a married woman. Not an especially happily married woman, as we've ascertained, but married nonetheless. And she had been faithful. Okay, there was that one time at a Christmas party, where she got really, really drunk and ended up blowing one of Elliott's co-workers in an office stationery cupboard. Thinking about it, she might have let the guy finger her pussy and suck on her tits for a while. But she didn't fuck him! Not properly. That she was almost certain of. Yes, she did take the morning after pill the next day, just to be on the safe side, but she was pretty sure his cock had not gone anywhere near her twat. Anyway, that was a one off and she felt so guilty, and it had all happened years ago. Ever since then, she had been faithful.

Well, up until eighteen months ago, that is. Things had taken a somewhat unusual turn round about then. Which brings us to this particular Saturday morning.

Maggie was sat on the couch, watching crappy daytime talk shows, and playing solitaire on her iPad. She was wearing a long, black and white striped maxi-dress. She loved maxi-dresses. They were ostensibly pretty modest, most of the entire body was covered up, but she knew how to carry a maxi-dress off with aplomb. The clingy, elasticated material draped itself all over her killer curves. Maggie was quite the sight, walking down the sidewalk, her hips swaying, her butt cheeks jiggling, her boobs bouncing. The trick was, she almost never wore a bra or panties underneath. She almost never wore panties at all these days, whatever she was wearing; she was under strict instructions not to. But going without a bra seemed particularly brazen. Maggie had big, big, BIG boobs. Meaty, luscious tits, with giant fat nipples. So, you'd imagine they would need some heavy-duty support. Gravity and time could be cruel mistresses, but in fact her breasts were still fairly pert, despite their gargantuan size. Sure, they sagged a little -- they had sagged a little even when she was a teenager -- but not inordinately so. Her tits was sort of miraculous, if you thought about it.

Not that she was thinking about such things, not at that specific moment in time; not when she heard the front door opening.

'Oh fuck, he's back early. Or he's forgotten something. He's getting so forgetful these days.' She thought to herself. He being her husband. But it was a different voice that called out...

"Mom? Dad? Anyone home?"

"Terry?!" She squealed. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Mom."

Maggie practically leapt up and ran to the hall, where she found her son walking through the door, a rucksack and a bag of laundry in his hands. He promptly dropped them and mother and son embraced, slamming their bodies into each other with almost indecent force, arms wrapping tightly around shoulders and waist.

They kissed, and this would be your first clue that this was a somewhat unusual family relationship. There was no tongue involved, but their lips were clamped together for a good ten seconds or more. There was an intensity to this kiss that told you all you needed to know. There was nothing familial or innocent about what they were doing. Their intent, their desire was obvious. She ran her hands through his hair, then cupped the cheeks of his face. He just contented himself with cupping the cheeks of her ass.

"Oh darling! This is such a wonderful surprise." She said, her words interspersed with little pecks on his face. Dozens of little kisses on his forehead, his nose, his chin. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?"

"I thought I'd surprise you." He said, his hands squeezing and caressing her obscene butt flesh.

"Well, you certainly did that." She replied, practically nuzzling at his neck as she talked.

He looked around, conspiratorially. "Where's Dad?"

"He's gone to play golf. He'll be out all day."

"And where's the 'Little Terror'?"

Maggie rolled her eyes, but smiled as she did so. "Your sister is at a friend's house. She won't be back until tomorrow."

"So, it's just you and me then? All day?" He said softly. "What will we do to pass the time, I wonder?"

Maggie stifled a giggle, then shook her head slowly.

"Terrence Elliott Molloy, you are insatiable."

Both of them smiled at one another.

Ten minutes later and Maggie was naked, on her hands and knees in the bedroom she shared with her husband. Her son was kneeling behind her, also naked, and he was fucking her doggy style. If you happened to have been in the room at that time, you would've heard the slap, slap, slap of flesh against flesh, as he pounded away at his mother's cunt. His hands gripped her tightly at the waist as he fucked her with ferocious gusto. You might have seen the muscles in his legs and buttocks flex and strain as he moved back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Maybe you would have caught a glimpse of his impressive, beefy cock sawing in and out of her tight, wet gash. You couldn't have avoided hearing her panting and squealing and moaning, as she received his glistening prick, her wet juices dripping down the back of her legs as he defiled his mother's matronly but impossibly sexy body. Yet again.

Ten minutes earlier and they had gotten as far as the foot of the stairs, before collapsing into a heap. She had frantically unzipped his pants and fished out his dick. Then she sucked on it for a minute or two. Licking it like a popsicle. They disengaged, both of them trying to climb the stairs. She paused, pulling up her skirt, revealing her naked gash.

"You see I'm not wearing any panties, just like you ordered me to?"

"I didn't order you to, Mom. I just suggested it."

"No, you ordered me to do it. And I did it willingly. You're my man now, and I'm your woman. I belong to you. And I have a very old fashioned view on these matters. I love and obey my man."

"You'll do whatever I tell you to do?"

"Always. Like I said, baby, when this all started; you can have me whenever you want. I'll let you have anything, anytime. Anytime at all."

Terry practically growled, and Maggie felt a fresh flush of sexual excitement at hearing his arousal.

"And look," She said, spreading her legs and softly caressing her enflamed twat. "I got myself freshly waxed just yesterday. Some part of me must've just known my baby boy was coming home this weekend. A silky smooth cunt...another one of your orders?"

"You bet it is, you little slut." Terry said, before burying his face in her snatch. Maggie came the moment his tongue touched her clit.

The journey from staircase to bedroom was punctuated by kisses and caresses, fondlings and fingerings. Although mother and son had fucked in practically every room of this house, on multiple occasions; if they could, they always ended up in the master bedroom. There was more space, of course, and an en suite bathroom where they could clean up afterwards; but Maggie strongly suspected Terry just preferred fucking her in the bed she shared with his father. He had become terribly possessive about her, something she found so adorable, and he was still hugely jealous of his dad, even though she had fucked Terry a million more times than Elliott in the last eighteen months. Probably the last eighteen years.

Not that Terry had anything to worry about on that score. She had meant every word when she told him he was her man; that wasn't just titillating sex talk to get him aroused. (Of course, Terry didn't need all that much to get him aroused; he was practically a walking erection with a body attached to it.) She genuinely looked on her son as the number one person in her life, sexually or otherwise. All that stuff about doing anything for him, anytime he wanted, was the absolute gospel truth. As far as she was concerned, she belonged to her son, body and soul.

What that meant when Terry graduated university and got a job; or, God forbid, met someone else he wanted to settled down with, Maggie didn't know. She didn't want to know. Sometimes, more often than she cared to admit, when she was alone, and she contemplated a life without Terry as her lover, she would weep like a widow in the depths of grief. She loved her son. Obviously. She had loved him from the moment he had come howling and yelping and screaming out of her body twenty years ago. From the moment he had been placed in her arms. From the moment he had suckled at her breast for the first time. But now she had fallen in love with him. Hopelessly. Completely. Madly.

Sure, whenever they were together, she played the fun-loving slut, the dirty whore who was just out to have a good time. But when he left to go back to college, on every single occasion, the tears she shed were real and profound. Elliott, or her daughter Katy, sometimes tried to console her, a wry smile on their face, trying not to snigger too much at a foolish, overly emotional mother who has gotten too attached to her eldest, and favourite, child. But they didn't know the truth. How could they? The truth was too shocking. Too big to comprehend. Terry wasn't just her son. He was her soulmate.

And at this precise moment in time, her soulmate was exactly where he belonged...buried balls deep inside her pussy. She did, occasionally, feel the tiniest sliver of guilt at what they were doing. Only very rarely, and only for a fleeting moment, but it was there. This was incest after all. As a general rule, mothers shouldn't fuck their sons, Maggie knew that...

Intellectually...

Rationally...

But emotionally she couldn't accept that fact. The sex was too amazing. Her love for her boy was too profound. And she certainly had no qualms or regrets when they were actually doing the deed. When they were actually fucking; skin against skin, cock inside cunt. That was paradise. That was nirvana. That was heaven on earth.

As he continued to pound away at her from behind, Maggie writhed and shook before him, overwhelmed by sexual energy, almost in a fog of permanent orgasmic pleasure. Sometimes she would feel her body collapse on to the mattress, her face buried in the finest cotton sheets. Then sometimes she would rise up. Or, more often, Terry would pull her up, grabbing hold of her thick mane of dark brown hair and using it like a bridle. He would reach round and grab hold of her breasts, squeezing and roughly fondling her.

He was so big, so dominant, so forceful. He was an Adonis. He was a god. Terry had been rather a small boy, but puberty had worked something of a miracle. Over the course of eighteen months or so, in his mid teens, his body had become transformed. He shot up in size, eventually reaching a strapping six-foot-two. And his love of sports, meant he had developed a physique of toned muscle and firm flesh. Maggie had clearly noticed and admired her son's transformation, long before she took him as her lover, but could she tell herself that her thoughts towards him had been entirely pure, when he had been a younger teenager? She wasn't sure she could.

Either way, he now towered over her and had total physical control. He was never rough with her, unless she specifically told him that's what she wanted, and there were plenty of times she did exactly that; but he had such strength and power, he could man handle her with ease. Often she would find herself lifted up or manoeuvred, his big muscular arms shifting her around like she weighed almost nothing at all. She loved it. She adored it. She had always had a submissive side to her, sexually. Elliott's timorous nature in the bedroom had been one of the many sources of her frustration. But Terry? Her son? He was in charge. And that always made her so wet.

Yes, he was still her little boy. The sweet child who had sat on her lap and had explained earnestly about the different types of dinosaur there were in his favourite reading book. The youngster who ran around outside their house, rolling in mud or riding his bike. The little man who had cried on the first day of school, partly because he was scared and partly because he didn't want to be separated from his mother.

Now, he was all grown up. His dick inside her. A beast of a man. A giant. She felt so safe in his arms. So turned on.

"My baby boy, my baby boy, my baby boy." She kept saying. "Mommy's little prince."

"Oh fuck, Mom. Your cunt is so hot and so tight. I want to be inside you all the goddamn time."

"Me too, sweetie, me too. You're where you belong, baby. Inside Mommy. Inside Mommy's cunt. Keep fucking me, baby. Keep fucking Mommy."

This kind of verbal interplay was fairly common whenever they had sex. Both of them loved to hear the other talk dirty. And that dirty talk almost always focussed on the totally illicit and forbidden nature of their relationship. They positively revelled in the fact they were mother and son. A mother and son who were naked and sweaty and having hot, hot sex. Maggie was a gorgeous, voluptuous woman. Terry was a stone cold stud. Both of them had an almost superhuman sexual appetite. If they had been two strangers who had hooked up together in a bar or club one night, the sex would have been incredible. But the fact it was incest, the fact it was a mother and her child getting it on, in the dirtiest and most depraved way possible, only made the sex a million times hotter for the both of them. It added an extra spice, an extra dimension to their lovemaking, and they both knew it.

"Jesus fuck, Mom, I'm so close to cumming. I'm going to squirt all my cream inside you."

"Yes, baby, do it. Do it. Cum inside me. Cum inside your mommy's cunt. Give me every single drop of your spunk. I want all of it."

Terry continued hammering away at her, his unprotected cock hitting home with every stroke. They never used condoms. They never had. The subject had never even come up. From the very first time they had made love, eighteen months ago, he had always taken her bareback. Maggie had gone back onto the pill a few weeks earlier. That had been one of the first clues that this strange fixation she had developed around her not so little boy, was going to advance beyond the occasional flirting they had been enjoying at the time. She hadn't really ever explicitly said to herself why she had done it, although a certain incident we'll soon learn about had prompted her to make an appointment with her doctor. Yet, on some deeper, subconscious level she had just known. She had just known that she had to be ready. Ready for when she fucked her son for the first time.