I am a single mom. I am 40 years old. I don’t have the body I had when I was in my 20s, but I still catch my son’s friends hitting me with their lustful gaze. I have the curves these young men crave. Anyway, it’s been a minute since I have been with a man. I am horny.

Last week my son, he is 14, and I were watching a show and the subject of breastfeeding came up. It was late at night and I was a little stoned, relaxed on my favorite couch cushion with nothing between the world and me but a luxurious bathrobe.

In my overly comfortable state I let it slip that I had never breastfed my son, and I regretted that fact.

“Why,” he asked.

“They say it’s a great bonding experience. Nothing brings a mother and child closer. Anyway, it’s a little too late for it now.” An uncomfortable laugh escaped both our throats and I let the sound fade before I added, “Probably.”

More silence between us. I listened to his now slightly uneven breathing, the pace slightly quickened. I could feel my face and chest flushing, my nipples going erect beneath my soft cotton robe.

He turned toward me from his place on the adjacent love seat, a restrained smile on his face. He was looking at me, but not at my face. His eyes bore holes through my robe. Absently my hand drifted up to the place where the robe came together to cover my full, but slightly sagging breasts.

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” he croaked out. His throat was tight, as was the fabric across the lap of his basketball shorts, pressed toward the sky by his hormonally charged erection.

As the adult in the room I should have stopped all of this then and there. I should have sent him to his room where he would have undoubtedly inseminated a sock (or two). Instead I coyly suggested that it couldn’t possibly work while pulling at my robe, slowly exposing my right breast.

He was on me in a flash, clumsy and horny. His youthful fingers grabbed a handful of my flesh and pulled my nippled toward his mouth. His breath was hot, his tongue wet and agile. The tip flicked back and forth across my nipple as he pulled it deeper into his hungry mouth.

I put up the act of resistance; a half-hearted recrimination and a weak push at his shoulders. But I wanted this as much he did. I groped beneath him to feel his erect member beneath the nylon of his shorts.

Already the fabric was wet with his precum. He moaned with a mouthful of my tit as I reached into his shorts and wrapped my fingers around him. He came almost immediately, hot spunk covering my hand. But to my surprise and delight he remained as hard as ever. It was like stroking a greased iron rod.

With his free hand he pulled my robe completely open and blindly stroked at my unshaved pussy. Such boldness deserved a reward, so I pulled down his shorts. I pushed him off me so I could see him in his full pubescent glory.

His dick was not long, but it was thick and strong. I pushed him back another step and knelt before him. He was panting, a grin frozen on his face.

“You are the best mom in the world,” he gushed as I planted a slow, tongue heavy kiss on his sticky head. He tasted good. A teenager’s diet of soda and candy makes for yummy cum. I went in for another slow kiss, a tease to see what he could handle, but he grabbed the back of my head and pushed his throbbing, slick cock all the way to the back of my throat.

The shock caused me to gag and I try to push away but he was much stronger than me. I felt a muscular pulse between my cheeks and my mouth and throat were filled with a second ejaculation. I had no choice but to swallow each of his three spasmodic bursts. I could feel myself growing wet.

He released me and I backed away onto my back on the couch. My legs spread wide, my pussy running with lubricating juices. He just stared at me.

I worried for a moment that he spent all he had. That was it and I would be left to my own devices to finish. But no, he was still at full mast. A beautiful mixture of his cum and my saliva covered it from tip to base, a single drop dangling from the head.

“You’ve gone this far,” I said as I reached out and caressed his cock, “You better not leave me wanting.”

“Are you sure,” he asked. Look at my boy, even in the midst of forbidden carnal joy he shows a hint of sweetness.

“We shouldn’t,” I lied to him, “Maybe we should stop.”

It could be my imagination, but he almost seemed to grow harder at those words, a turgid twitch bouncing his dripping cock.

“Please, Mom?”

He didn’t wait for my response, he was on me too fast. He found what he was looking for after a few furtive stabs and I got a feel for how thick he was.

Like with my throat he pushed deep inside me, his stomach pressing against my thick mound of pubic hair. He did not grind, he did not move. He simply indulged in the feel of my warm, wet pussy wrapped around him. The muscular walls inside me squeezed him, pressing against his rod-like hardness.

He bent forward, taking my tits in his mouth one at a time, while playing with the other. Pinching and pulling, and squeezing. He tested me to see what got me off.

Then he began to fuck me. His hips moved in a smooth rhythm that pushed me closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. He came again, a hot warmth spreading inside me.

He moved to pull out, but I grabbed him by his butt cheeks, held him in place. “Be mommy’s good little boy,” the words came from me in a primal growl, “Don’t stop until you make mommy cum.”

I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Or doing. But I hadn’t felt pleasure like this before. Surely it would take many therapy sessions to unpack the reasons, but in the moment all I cared about was the surging tide of pleasure rising inside me.

It was a wave, a deep ocean wave, a tsunami of orgasmic pleasure that I intended to ride until I was smashed into the shore. His sweat mixed with mine, soaking into the couch cushion.

The crash of the wave hit me hard. I lost control of my body. My legs twitched like a hanged man in his final spasms. Le petit morte, the French call it. Inside me I felt like I could snap off his teenage dick and keep it inside me.

I could hear him yelling for me, “Oh God, Mom!” It seemed like it was coming from very far away. Then he pulled away from me, his cock finally losing it’s steam.

I lay there, shaking. I could barely move. I attempted to get up, but he had me pinned, his knees on either side of my ribs, his ponderously large balls between my tits. He had a hand on his now flaccid penis. He was stroking it slowly, attempting to revive it.

As it began to once more grow, he pressed it against my mouth. “Lick it clean, Mom?” He sure had grown audacious. But I did. I tasted us on him. I enjoyed it. I cleaned him all up while I regained control of my legs, then I pushed myself free. My robe fell free and I walked, naked and dripping, to my bedroom.

I lay in bed, drifting off to sleep to the unmistakable sound of teenage masturbation coming from the living room. God damn that teenage virility.