My Son's Name Isn't Johnny

How the fuck did you get yourself into this one, Brenda?

I felt the small table shift as he moved behind me. Grabbing my hips, he pulled me up and I never stopped him. I was still trying to find the words. I felt the tip of his hard cock slide against my ass before moving between my thighs. I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to tell him who I was. I wanted to do so many things, yet for the first time in a very long time, I found my voice was lacking.

He was grabbing his cock, telling me to let him know if I needed him to take it slower. I wished I could tell him he needed to stop before it was too late.

He was pushing now, his cock finding some resistance before the head began to disappear into me. I groaned, grabbing at the edges of the table. I had been in the position a few times before with nearly anonymous lovers, but never quite like this. Never with so much fear. And why was he so big? He felt incredibly thick as he pushed his way deeper into me. He was long, too. Good fucking Lord, why did he have to feel so perfect?

My body didn't suffer from my inner turmoil. No, it seemed alive with desire for more of this man and this cock and this moment. I was already on the edge - the massage had me tingling. But now, I was on fire. As he pulled back and repeated the slow, methodical plunge of every fucking inch of his dick into my waiting pussy, I knew I was powerless to stop him. That is if I even wanted to anymore.

I started to come to this establishment six months ago on the urging of my friend, Darcy. She told me the massages would change everything for me. And they did. What she didn't tell me was how the massage parlor had a side hustle. After my first massage, a woman asked if I wanted a little deeper massage. Confused and blissful, I said yes. She explained the prices and asked if I wanted a male or female. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to understand the parlor also outsourced a happy ending service. I declined at the time and confronted Darcy. She shrugged and told me it'd be good for me.

"Not like Barry is taking care of things," she said simply.

I stormed away in anger. Yet, three weeks later, I was back. This time, I said I wanted a male. The masseuse, also male, left the room and a few minutes later, another man walked in. He introduced himself as Roger and over the next twenty minutes, he gave me more orgasms than my husband had in five years.

Shamed, I cried quietly that night as Barry snored next to me. He was a good husband, a devoted father, and a dependable partner. He just let himself go and worked too hard. Our relationship was stagnant and now the kids were all moved out. I was bored and, weeks later, I convinced myself it was harmless sex. Males had been doing it for years, hadn't they? Paying for sex? Sometimes, even in massage parlors like this. It helped scratch an itch, I guess. It was meaningless. I wasn't looking for an out. I even told myself - or rationalized - that my relationship with Barry improved. To deal with my guilt, I gave him impromptu blowjobs or climbed on top of him to ride him. Sure, sometimes, his cock wouldn't cooperate that well and he certainly wasn't as gifted as Roger, but that was okay. He didn't need to get me off. I had a place for that.

I met Xander the next time. And Victor the time after. Today, it was Johnny, but this man's name wasn't actually Johnny. As he slid deeper into me and my pussy hugged at his cock, I wondered if any of the names of the special men who came in after the massage was over were real. Did it even matter? My body was slamming back at his dick as an orgasm was pending. He stopped moving and slapped my ass. I bucked and picked up speed. The slaps of our flesh filled the room.

He settled his thumb in my ass crack. I didn't say anything about it. I continued to fuck his tool until my body went stiff as an orgasm was finally reached. I was euphoric. Johnny grabbed at my hair and tried to pull me up, but I reached back and grabbed his hand and squeezed - my way of telling him without actually telling him that I wasn't a fan. He relented. I knew he wanted to pull me up and grab at my breasts. Maybe kiss me.

It's not that I was against kissing. It's only that I couldn't kiss Johnny. Or, rather, I couldn't kiss B.J. At the time, I pushed a series of names when I was pregnant with our third kid, but Barry really liked Barry Rodrick Anderson Jr. We quickly adopted B.J. for short.

And now his cock was inside of me.

I should have said something when I heard his voice as he entered and introduced himself. He thought I was just being nervous. He explained we would go as slow as I wanted to go. I was completely nude on a table with only a sheet over me - placed by the actual person who did the massage, a cute Asian girl named Emiko.

The lights were intentionally low in the room and meditation music was still playing. When he opened the door from the hallway, the extra lighting outlined his face and made me think he bore a striking resemblance to my son. It wasn't until he spoke that it became obvious just who he was. And as my son's impressive cock filled me, I resigned myself to just enjoy it. There was nothing I could say now. I couldn't speak up before he slid into me because he would know I was here to cheat on his father. And now, I certainly couldn't say anything because, well, too much had already happened. Better or for worse, I was along for one hell of a ride. Might as well enjoy how he stretched me so well. Perhaps next time, I would make sure to request another lover to finish my massage.

A voice in my head wondered if I would request Johnny, instead. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to somehow make that voice disappear.

My son drilled me patiently, but firmly, claiming my pussy as his own and unintentionally cuckolding his father. I pushed that thought from my head as well and focused instead on how his balls slapped at my clit, driving me closer to yet another orgasm. Was this the second? Third? I was already losing count. His hands on my hips pulled me back to him as he plunged forward. My breasts, once his source of nourishment, slid back-and-forth against the table's soft covering.

"God, you're tight," he whispered. "And so sexy. You want to turn over?"

I shook my head violently.

"You're married, aren't you?" my son asked in a hiss. I moaned louder than I intended as he slammed back into me. "It's okay, you know? Bet he gets happy endings, too."

I doubted it and, again, tried to focus only on the pleasure.

"I want to see the rest of your body," he added.

He picked up speed, his cock sliding against the walls of my pussy so deliciously. He grabbed my ass roughly, squeezing my tush in his large hands. I hadn't been just taken like this in a long time. B.J. didn't fuck me like a client. He fucked me like his woman and, while it was never lost on me how wrong that was, I also couldn't ignore just how right it felt in the moment. B.J. was only 21. How had he learned to fuck a woman this right so soon in life?

Another orgasm rocked my body as his thumb hovered over my asshole. I hadn't tried anal in probably 15 years. Why was the thought of my son fucking my ass giving me shivers? He was much longer and wider than his father and Barry hurt plenty when we last tried it. Why the fuck did I picture how much I would love B.J. doing it instead?

The orgasm rolled through my body, slowly building up intensity. He slowed, but never stopped moving, pushing deeper into me and withdrawing like a machine whose speed was turned down. My body felt like it was alive with electric current. What had this boy done to me?

And then I felt him pull out. I whined, not understanding what he was doing. As he shifted behind me, I felt his chin against the top of my ass and then I jumped as he slid his tongue south, swirling around my asshole. It was the first time anyone had ever done that with me. The idea had repulsed me before. Now, I was starting to get more into it. But it was just a moment before his tongue went lower, tasting my pussy. As the tip of his tongue touched my clit, another mini-orgasm came over me. It wasn't the first time one of these lovers had licked my pussy, but it was definitely the first time, at least with me, that a lover licked the pussy they once came out of.

He pulled away almost as my body hummed. Another involuntary whine was made. My brain tried to catch up to what he was doing, but it wasn't until I was nearly flipped over, the back of my head crashing against the table, that I realized what was happening. I freaked out. He had already dove between my legs. My arms came up to block my face as my eyes searched for anything at all to avoid my anonymity being compromised. The sheet was barely still on the table, most of it having fallen to the floor. I grabbed at it, nearly dropping it completely into a heap beside the table, but barely holding onto it as my son licked my pussy with a hungry tongue. Pulling the sheet up, I covered my face.

He chuckled, seemingly noticing how nervous I was, and reached up to play with one of my nipples as his tongue toyed with my clit. Two fingers rushed inside of me at the same time and with a mask of sorts covering my face, I could once again enjoy the pleasure. I even found myself reaching down to run my fingers through his short dark brown hair. The fact that I used to cut this same hair wasn't lost on me. Squishy, wet sounds filled the room over the soft music as my son drove me crazy with his tongue. Occasionally, he sucked at the clit and I bucked one way or another. I wish I could say my son's skills ended with his cock, but the boy knew how to use his tongue. Was that pride? Should I be proud that my son was so adept at pleasing a woman?

Sliding his hands up the back of my thighs, he pushed them up and, then, closer to me. The result was that my pussy was on full display for him as he continued to taste me and drink from me. My ass was off the table from his force on my legs and every so often, he let his tongue drag south until he was tickling my asshole. It was like a firecracker went off each time and I wondered again what it would feel like to completely let my inner slut take over and take my son's huge cock in my ass.

In my previous encounters here, none of my lovers brought me to orgasm with their tongues. To be fair, they never tried. It seemed more like a chore for them or something they checked off during their routine. I had sucked them far longer than they had even attempted to go down on me. But B.J. seemed to get off with each orgasm that overtook my body. The boy was different. I wondered how many women like myself would be requesting him. I mean, I couldn't request him. Could I? Maybe I could don a mask and return the favor?

My legs started to tire, but I was so close to a big orgasm that I fought through the pain. Just one more lick here. One more sweet suck. Just make me cum, son. To help him, I hooked my hands around my knees, keeping my most private areas as open as possible for my boy to play with to his heart's content. All the while, I went through the most intense pleasure I had ever felt. He hummed as his head went from side-to-side, tasting his mother's juices and getting drunk off them. And then, his tongue slid up, swirling around my clit suddenly.

Time seemed to stop as I came in a rush, my son moving away from my clit but only to taste the strongest of my fluid as it gushed from my drenched hole. I swore I felt tears in my eyes as the pleasure was so powerful. I wanted to throw the sheet away, pull him up, and kiss him. I desperately wished I could taste my own juices on his lips and tongue. So much of me wanted to show him what a good slut I could be as I licked my own ambrosia from his chin. In my mind, I knew this was impossible. There was no way I could let the charade of the shy client go. He couldn't realize who he was fucking. It would not only scar him for life, but cause other issues like have him wonder why his married mother had come here to get fucked. But in a way, I was also letting go even against my better judgment. Quite literally, in fact. I no longer held onto the sheet firmly. It still covered my face and, despite the sheet being so thin, the heat of my own hot breath was palpable. If he grabbed it, I probably couldn't try to keep him from seeing me. I knew that was wrong of me.

I suppose I gave him the chance if he so wanted it.

He pushed away from my slit, telling me what a tasty pussy I had as I felt my cheeks turn red. I could feel him move around before his cock re-entered my dripping hole slowly. He held onto my legs, pushing them toward me as his dick filled my pussy. I moaned loudly and arched my back. The sheet came up some and I felt cooler air rush underneath the thin fabric. It still covered me, but at this angle, I could dart my eyes south and see things. Looking down, I could see most of my breasts and, just barely, his torso. I wanted to lick him so fucking badly. I reached down to grab at my legs, my hands finding his and our fingers becoming interlocked as he reared back and drove home, his cock filling me more than his father ever had or could.

I pulled my legs open wider, letting him fuck me as deeply as he could reach. I was my son's slut. A half-hour ago, I could have never imagined being the type of mother who fucks her son. True, he was not yet aware that he was a motherfucker, but the fact that he was drove me increasingly wild. My pussy squeezed and came around his large tool as he fucked me relentlessly. The sheet was now at my chin and seemed to move just a bit each time he slid his tasty fuckstick inside of me. Sounds of our flesh smacking together seemed to vibrate off the walls as I moaned and sighed like a mad woman.

"Tell me you love that cock," he hissed at me. "Tell me you're a whore for my cock."

"I'm...your...whore," I croaked out. I couldn't even attempt to mask my voice at the moment. "I love your big cock."

The sickest of thoughts entered my brain. As a practice, the men wore condoms. Obviously, that made perfect sense. But part of me, a voice I had never heard before, wished B.J. wasn't wearing one. I still used birth control and the chances of me getting pregnant were almost nil. But it wasn't impossible. Either way, I wanted to feel my son's cum fill the hole he had once been pushed out of. I bet he came a lot, too. Not the trickle his father tended to deliver, but a huge load that seemed never-ending. It didn't take long for another orgasm to rock my body as I pictured the mess my son would leave.

My eyes rolled back and as did my head. My movement cause the sheet to slip off my head. In a panic, I covered my face, releasing my legs and using my forearms to try to protect my identity. I expected another laugh. Another chuckle at my ridiculousness.

But B.J. slowed instead. His cock continued to pulsate inside of me and with it, my pussy responded in kind. But he came to a halt. I caught my breath as I felt him lean over. Through a small crack between my forearms, I could see his face. He looked shocked and I felt absolutely mortified. What had I done?

Why didn't he just pull out?

Instead, as he leaned more toward me, his dick pushed deeper into me. And then he grabbed my wrists and started to pull. I knew the old phrase was true and resistance was futile. If he wanted, he could pull my arms apart without really needing to try. Yet, I battled and that stopped him for a moment. I knew my life was over and if I could put off accepting that fact for just another few minutes, that would be absolutely wonderful. But B.J. insisted.

"Just let me see," he whispered. Gone was the cocky voice of a confident man. In its place was the voice of my boy once more. "Please?"

I took a deep breath and held it, closing my eyes tightly for a moment. With a swallow, I released the breath and let him guide my arms away. In the dimly-lit room, I stared at my son - his dick still inside of me and still hard. He looked down at me with confusion and disbelief.

"...why?"

It was a question I was not prepared to answer. But in a choked whisper, I responded, "it just sort of happened. I didn't know you worked here."

He nodded. I'm not even sure I was answering his question. Maybe he was more interested in why I would cheat on his father. Or why I didn't stop this before it snowballed on me. Regardless, he accepted it.

Time seemed to sort of stop in those few moments. He didn't move, I didn't push him away. He didn't yell at me, I didn't know what to say. We just stared at one another, both of us almost certainly aware that his cock was still deeply embedded inside of my dripping pussy. I tried to not pay attention to his chiseled muscles or abs. For his part, he kept eye contact and didn't seem to drink in the view of my breasts. It was as if we were stuck and didn't know how to proceed.

Figuring he needed guidance, I was about to tell him to get off me when I saw the corners of his mouth begin to curl and a small grin develop. I had seen that grin before. A few years back, we played a marathon game of Uno with house rules. We were both down to our final cards with Barry having a healthy stack of them. It was B.J.'s turn and his head dropped. As I stared at the blue four in my hand and blue zero currently in play, I grew excited. B.J. didn't have anything. Hopefully, he drew a blue card and played it.

But then, that little grin came over his face and he smacked a Draw-Four card down to win the game. I released a, "dammit," which, until today, was about as French as my words get with my son around.

Now, as I laid on that table, our naked bodies intertwined, I saw that grin once more. I tried to keep my cool, but the anxiety was rising. I felt like my world was ending.

And then, he said, "You have no idea how long I've wanted to be right in this position."

I opened my mouth to say something. I'm not really sure what I would have said, to be honest. But whatever it might have been was caught in my throat as my son resumed fucking me. Long, deep strokes were punctuated with loud clashes of flesh against flesh as my son took what undoubtedly was his to take from now on. He fucked his slut mother as I let him see every inch of me and, almost as importantly, took in every inch of him. He seemed sculpted by a God in every fucking way. I was already looking forward to sliding my tongue down each of his well-defined abdominal muscles.

He called me a mommyslut and I felt no shame. No, I reveled in the name. I was his mommyslut. If he kept fucking me like this, he could call me every name in the book. Whore. Bitch. Even cunt and I absolutely hate that word. But B.J. could do anything and I would merely tell my son what he wanted to hear in return. Just keep fucking your mommyslut, boy. Make her cream more.

Over-and-over, his cock speared my waiting pussy with controlled thrusts. The smirk had finally left his face and in its place, a vision of absolute ecstasy. One day, not today, but one day, I would have to press him more about how long he had wanted this. Judging by how well he toyed with and fucked me, the boy was not short on experience so if he was infatuated with me, he clearly had not avoided other women.

Another thought entered my head and I put out a hand against that stomach I badly wanted to flick my tongue over. I pushed against him, hard, as my voice seemed preoccupied with moans of pleasure to tell him to stop fucking me. He looked confused as he stared down at me.

"I was almost..." he breathlessly whispered, indicating he was close to orgasm.

I tried to catch my breath in return before clarifying why I had wanted him to stop. "Take off the condom," I told him. It was insane. The kind of insanity that should send you to an asylum. But it was the perfect conclusion I badly needed from this endeavor.