Mother in the Middle Pt. 02

Well, most things except for the Lambo.

He'd fucked up big time in Colorado and got himself charged as an accessory to grand theft auto. His lawyer had succeeded in cutting him a plea deal, Unfortunately, at sentencing the judge had been dubious of Paul's insistence that he'd believed his roommate's claim that the Huracán under the tarp in the backyard was legit, a gift from a landscaping client who owned a golf course.

The judge's skepticism deeply wounded Paul. But even there he caught a break, drawing probation and being assigned Marguerite Ferrante as his probation officer. The speculative gleam in the older woman's dark eyes as she'd looked him up and down at their first meeting told him all that he needed to know.

Michael accused Paul of bragging about his success with women. It was a fair cop. But it was no mere boast that he could use his charm to get his way with all kinds of women. He'd not fully appreciated it in his younger years, but once forced to live by his wits he quickly came to rely upon it. Wherever he found himself, he could get what he needed, and a lot of what he wanted, from one chick or another.

And so it was that, halfway through his second appointment with Ms. Ferrante, he had her naked on her knees on the worn vinyl floor of her office. He spent the next hour sprawled in a metal folding chair, sinking his cock to the bottom of her throat as she hummed and slobbered contentedly around it.

After that, Maggie had paid for cheap hotel rooms where she could enjoy her newest young stud at her leisure. She had pert, small tits with deep brown nipples and a big round ass that gyrated like a bar blender while she sucked cock, and Paul was soon putting those magic hips to their proper use when plunging his prick into the creamy furnace of her cunt. In the process, he had an epiphany: older women were better fucks. Maggie combined a naturally sensual temperament with decades of sluttish experience. She was always at a low simmer, ready to seize any opportunity to sample hard young cock-meat. She knew her body and her tastes. She climaxed frequently during fucking, without shyness, shame, or hesitation. The etched lines of her face were full of character and life--to witness her in moments of orgasmic bliss was a turn-on all by itself. Fucking her was way different and so much better than screwing the girls back at school, or the young waitresses and gym bunnies and housewives that he usually hooked up with.

Maggie reminded Paul of his mother. There was little physical resemblance, but they both were frank and wise and each held power over him. He'd nursed his lust for Mom as long as he'd been getting hard-ons. He took to pretending that Maggie was Becca whenever he had his cock in her hot fuckholes. When she squealed and cussed and demanded more, harder, faster, he heard Becca's voice.

So when Michael had texted the news that Mom and Dad were splitting up, Paul's mind was set. Maggie was bent over her battered desk with his dick up her ass while she signed the permit for him to travel out of state for a family emergency. The only "emergency" was his urgency to be fucking his mother's cunt while she whined and begged him for more.

Mom's pussy was still on the menu, but he was satisfied to have her suck him off for a while. Impatient with her mouthing only his cock-head, he thrust his hips upward to push a few inches more of his fuck-rod past her lips. "Get with it, Mom. I know you can't take the whole thing, but you can do better than that."

Paul's challenge rang in Becca's ears. With fierce resolve, she stretched her jaw wide and swallowed as much of his cock as she could. She got nearly half of his fuckshaft into her mouth, purring as his enormous knob glided smoothly down her cum-lubed throat. Goddamn, his cock was a thick one.

She promised herself that she wouldn't swallow her own son's jism. That would be too much. But she would sure as hell prove that she could take anything he dished out if she only chose to.

Sweet contractions rippled along her fuck-channel as she worked her mouth down Paul's cock, gently nibbling at the taut, silky flesh of his stalk as she took more. She bobbed her head on him, swallowing a few more inches with every repetition. Her desire to cram all of his massive prick down her gullet was not just lust. She wanted to impress him, to prove that she was better than any of the spread-legged bitches he's scored in his wanderings.

And when she refused to let him cum in her mouth, then he'd be sorry that he'd mocked her.

The vision of Paul helplessly shooting semen into empty air while she watched gleefully spurred Becca's efforts. Finally, her lips brushed against the close-clipped hair of his stomach. She'd done it! She flattened her tongue against the underside of his pole and slowly raised her head, dragging her wet lips up its veined surface. With only his glans in her mouth, she took a long, deep breath through her nose before abruptly plunging downward again to capture most of his cock inside her spasming throat.

He cursed and twisted on the mattress. Her sense of mastery was like fresh fuel poured onto Becca's fiery libido. A stream of pussy-juice crawled down her inner thigh. She'd never in her life wanted fucking this much. She could have come from the slightest touch of her finger on her clit. She'd have taken on any nameless stranger who walked into the room.

Anyone, that was, other than her own sons.

Paul pistoned his hips up and down, straining to follow his mother's bobbing head. She vaguely sensed that he was close to cumming, but couldn't stop herself from obsessively plunging up and down, molding her clinging lips to his iron-hard cock. Faster, and faster, taking him balls deep on every stroke...

"Eee-ow!" Paul yelled. He thrashed violently and clutched at her hair. She batted his hand away. "I'm there! Do it, Mom! Do it!"

"Wait!" Frantically, Becca released his cock and pulled away from him. She clamped her fingers around his prick just behind the head, hoping to block his eruption. "I'm not ready!"

It was too late. The first long streamer of Paul's cum arced into the air, hanging in space for a fraction of a second before spilling down over his thighs.

The sight of her son's splattering jism triggered something in Becca. She couldn't let that fountain of treasure go to waste. Impulsively, she opened her mouth wide in time to swallow his cock and catch his second volley. Sizzling cum gushed straight down her throat. She gulped the rich, tasty fluid greedily, sealing her lips tight around his pole to prevent any from escaping.

"Attagirl," Paul chortled as he pumped semen down his mother's slavering maw. "Drink that ball juice, Mama! Get it all!" Becca sucked and swallowed, and swallowed, and still he kept cumming.

At last, the flood of jism subsided to a dribble and she let her son's softening prick slip from her mouth. "Oh, no," she murmured, struggling for breath. She laid her head on his hard belly. "Oh, Christ...that was so wrong. I didn't mean to...why did I do that?"

"Cause it's in your nature." Paul stroked Becca's hair, affectionately tickling her behind one ear as he might a pet. "Good Mom. Good girl. You know, I could tell from those pictures of you and Dad how much you loved sucking cock. And from here on out, we'll see that you get as much as you want."

"Please..."

"Yeah. Believe me, you're just gettin' started." he sat up. "You still hungry? I smell food. Downstairs."

He spoke breezily, as if they hadn't just committed a horrible, deliciously intimate sin. She lifted her head dizzily to gaze at his cheerful face.

"Um...I should get dressed, I guess?" she mumbled.

"Why would you wanna do that?" Paul laughed. He wiped a few remaining drops of cum from the tip of his cock and offered them to Becca. Her tongue snaked out automatically to lick his finger clean.

"About goddamn time," Michael called out, hearing the pad of bare feet on the wooden stairs. "Everything's getting cold. I can reheat--"

He turned and stopped. His mother stood unsteadily in the wide kitchen doorway. Paul had an arm around her waist and his hand on her shoulder. She was utterly, gloriously naked, staring into the middle distance as if lost in a dream. Michael stood right in front of her, frying pan and spatula in hand, but she seemed not to see him at all.

"You hitting the dope again this early, Mom?"

"She's a little overcome," Paul said. "Bein' at the cottage must stir up some memories, huh, Mom?"

"Memories..." Becca repeated vaguely.

"I been helping her get in touch with her feelings. She's on a voyage of self-discovery this week, our mother is."

"So on top of everything else, now you're a self-help guru?"

"I'm gonna help myself to a pile of these if that's what you mean." Paul released Becca and sat down at the table, reaching across with a fork to spear pancakes from the serving tray.

"Mom?" Becca took Michael's offered hand without a word. Her face and breasts were flushed and she was breathing hard. She smelled of sex. When she shuffled forward to sit in the chair he pulled out for her, her eyes dropped to his crotch. His cock was hardening in a hurry inside his boxer shorts. She didn't look away as she had the afternoon before on the porch. Instead, her gaze lingered on his bulge and the pink tip of her tongue poked out from between her slightly parted lips.

Paul had said she was "a little overcome." Hell, whatever the two of them had been doing upstairs all this time had her so horny she could barely walk. She was checking out the goods. Well, two could play that game, right? As he helped her into her chair, Michael let his fingers wander down her hip and up her inner thigh until they briefly brushed against her bare pussy. Her sex lips were puffy and wet, and she quivered at the erotic contact.

"Bet you're hungry, after last night," Michael said, flipping a few pancakes onto the plate in front of his mother. "Better get something solid into your stomach to start the day."

"Mom's already had something solid in her," Paul snickered. "And a drink before breakfast."

"I am hungry, thanks," Becca interrupted, shaking her head to clear it. She shot Paul a stern look.

"We need to talk about this," Michael said. "If you're sucking Paul's cock--"

--"I'm not!" she insisted, slamming the syrup bottle down so hard that the plates rattled on the table. "That is, I did, but it was a moment of weakness. That's all."

"More like five or ten minutes," Paul chuckled.

"It was a mistake! A one-time thing!"

"But it can't be just one time," Michael said. "It's not fair for you to play favorites, is it? To suck Paul's cock and not mine." He pushed his chair back from the table and unsnapped the fly of his boxers. His cock sprang out, pointed straight at his mother's face.

"Oh, shit." Becca's eyes widened at the sight of Michael's hard-on. He took it in his fist and jacked the shaft a couple of times, trying to get even harder. Mom's mouth opened in an inviting pink "O." He'd dreamed for ages of shoving his dick between those full, lush lips. Now, it was going to happen.

"Go ahead, Mom," Paul coaxed.

"I can't..."

"You said that upstairs," he reminded her. "But you sucked me off anyway. You drank my spunk and loved every drop."

"I-I-I..." Becca's voice trailed off. She slid out of her seat onto the floor and crawled under the table to Michael without ever taking her eyes from his prick. He shoved his chair backward several feet more. He wanted her out in the open, where he'd have a full view of every perfect moment as Mom blew him for the first time.

Paul took out his phone and trained the camera on her. Awesome. From his angle, he'd get a clear shot of her ass and open pussy while she went down. Maybe the three of them would watch it together, later. Judging from the laptop pictures, Mom liked being watched. Seeing herself suck him off would probably turn her on so much she'd do anything.

Becca crouched before Michael, putting her hands on his knees and pushing his thighs apart. "Open wide for Mama," she murmured in a sultry voice such as he'd never heard from her lips. He shook all over with anticipation.

"Make her wait," Paul said.

"The fuck?"

"Don't let her tell you what to do," Paul explained. "She's used to bossing us around. We gotta break her of that habit."

"She's about to blow my joint, moron. I'm not taking a pass on that."

"So? Throw her some kind of a curve."

Michael snatched the bottle of maple syrup from the table, intending to throw it at his arrogant, meddling brother. He paused. "I got an idea." Unscrewing the cap, he tipped it over his lap. Syrup dripped onto his prick in a long, sticky amber strand.

"That oughta give you a little quick energy," he gloated. Paul rolled his eyes. Michael knew he was trying too hard to win the kid's approval. He wondered for the thousandth time why he sought it. He was the older brother, after all. But the two of them had gotten along this way all their lives. Paul was the stubborn rebel who bulled ahead and demanded to have everything his way; Michael, the dutiful son, did his best to behave and to please their mother.

But his stunt had its desired effect. Becca looked incredulous at first, but as the string of sugary liquid rolled lazily down the length of Michael's cock she licked her lips. She stuck out her tongue to catch a stray droplet that fell from his cock-knob. Then she slowly dragged the flat of her tongue up the underside of his fuck-pole from the balls to the head, swallowing the sweet gooey sap as she went.

"Not too shabby." Paul made a thumbs-up gesture, but Michael was beyond caring about the punk's opinion. His vision clouded as blood rushed from his brain to his cock. In none of his jerk-off fantasies about sex with Mom had he envisioned her so humbling herself, surrendering all pride to please him. She bounced on her knees, bathing his prick with her tongue, nearly swooning while licking all over his dick from head to base, probing the creases of his thighs and lapping at his balls in pursuit of every last bit of maple sweetness while Paul recorded all the action.

"Jesus..." Becca's lips surrounded Michael's cock-head. His fingers gripped the sides of his chair like vises. He was so horny and his mother was so talented a cocksucker that he was afraid he'd shoot his load right away. He didn't want that. He wanted to enjoy the exquisite workings of her tongue on his fuck-rod for as long as he could. Forever, if that was okay with God and the universe. Or at least until he died of happiness. He was sure that nothing that would come afterward in life could possibly compare to Mom's feverish worship of his prick. That was exactly what this was, too: there was no mistaking Becca's beatific radiance as she abased herself for the privilege of committing oral incest, her wide blue eyes locked penitently on his, imploring him to grace her with the blessing of his youthful, sperm-rich seed.

He'd grant Mom's prayer, but not yet. Please, Lord, not yet. Just give him a few minutes more of the heated sleeve of her mouth riding up and down his dick. Her decades of practice had fully kicked in and she was humming and flexing her throat muscles in a sensual rhythm, milking his meat with a mother's tenderness and a cockslut's skill.

He dug his fingernails into his palms and concentrated on slowing his breath. He bit down on his tongue and even tried staring straight into the brilliant sun outside the window, anything to distract himself. In the end, the delicious massage of his mother's tongue and nimble lips were too much to resist. His groin throbbed spasmodically, followed by familiar contractions and tingling at the root of his cock.

"Cumming!" Michael roared. He jerked forward and back in his chair, stabbing his prick into his mother's suctioning throat. His cock erupted, pumping bolt after bolt of cum into her stomach. She didn't flinch, instead grabbing his hips for balance while inhaling his entire shaft and pressing her face flat against his crotch. She swallowed it all, her grateful moans vibrating up along his dick and into his belly.

"Fuck, fuck!" he croaked. "Fucking motherfucker, fuck!"

Becca's eyes sparkled with amusement as she rolled her tongue through the sparse ginger curls of his pubic hair to lick up the remnants of his ejaculation.

"Well, that's done." Wearing a merry grin, she wiped her lips on her wrist and climbed back into her chair. "'Motherfucker, eh?' Don't hold your breath on that score, Bub. You, either, Paul. That's where I'm drawing the line." She sliced a piece of pancake and stabbed it with her fork. "And there better be some of that syrup left."

"You do have a calling, Mom, don't you?" Paul sighed, "It's like you were born to suck dick."

Becca couldn't answer. Her mouth was stuffed with cock. Paul relaxed naked in the middle of the bed in the upstairs bedroom with his arms folded behind his head while she slurped and gurgled madly on his huge prick. Michael slouched in a bedside chair stroking himself to erection again while taking in the hot action.

What's happening to me? I must be losing my mind.

Paul could not have been serious when he'd suggested that memories of her youthful adventures on the island had somehow unmoored her from the values she'd believed she held. True, everything about the place from the angle of the late summer light through the windows and the scent of the ocean to the creak and sway of the antique bed frame called her back to those days. Back to what she had done here so secretly, so long ago. And sense-memory had reignited the embers of forbidden desires that she'd banished for her peace of mind.

But neither of her sons had any way of knowing that.

Whatever the reason, the further she dared go with Paul and Michael the deeper she sank into depravity. Forty-eight hours ago she'd been a successful, independent woman on the cusp of a new life which, sadly, she would have to build out of the rubble of a failed marriage. And today she was carrying on like a cum-craving, incestuous slut.

Not incestuous, she corrected herself. Not that, of all things. True incest would be her sons' cocks in her cunt. She would never succumb to that temptation. As long as she could satisfy them with her mouth they wouldn't have the juice to go for her pussy. So for that reason, she kept sucking.

One reason, at any rate.

She'd never had two studs who recovered as quickly from their orgasms as Paul and Michael did, not even in her college days when she and her friends had surrounded themselves with the horniest players they could round up. This was Paul's second blow-job since breakfast, which made three for him today so far. She'd blown Michael twice. Her jaw ached from sucking cock, but she couldn't stop. She was aflame with fuck-need. They hadn't let her cum once since they'd awakened that morning. They were keeping her right on the verge, as they had last night, kissing and nibbling and finger-fucking her hot slit until she screamed aloud.

In a perverse sense, it was the eternal dilemma of parenting: a battle of wills between a mother and sons intent on getting their own way. Who would be in charge? That's what all this was about.

Except that if she were honest she had to admit that even if they stopped fighting her at this point she'd still be naked on her knees feasting on their oversized cocks. The thrill of shattering sexual taboos was as compelling as it had always been for her.

"I think it's time." Michael's tone sent a chill through her.

"Time for what?" she mumbled.

"Go for it," Paul drawled. "It's only fair. I got her mouth first."

Michael climbed into bed and knelt behind her, resting one hand on her ass and using the other to aim his cock up between her thighs.