I had sex with my girlfriend's mom

I was halfway through a bowl of cereal and a mindless scroll of Instagram when my phone started buzzing. The contact photo was Rachel’s, my girlfriend. I thumbed to answer, still chewing.

“Hey babe,” I said, slouching further into the kitchen chair.

“Marc! Can you do me a huge favor?”

“Of course. What’s up?”

“So, I’m at the mall with Kelly. My mom’s, like, totally on her own today and she bought this new couch? Except the delivery guys only left it in the driveway and she has no one to help drag it in. Can you swing by and help her?”

Rachel’s mom. That should have set off my internal alarm system, but it didn’t. Instead, I felt the low, humming thrum of anticipation in my balls. “Yeah, no problem,” I said. “What time?”

“She’s home now. Can you head over soon?” There was a weird pause. “She says she’ll owe you, like, a pie or something.”

“I’m on it,” I said, probably a little too fast. “Tell your mom I’m on my way.”

Rachel squealed her thanks and hung up before I could say anything else. I stared at my phone for a minute, then the ceiling. It was summer, classes out, my life consisting of part-time work, gym, video games and Rachel. But the thought of seeing Elena made my pulse pick up in a way I wish it wouldn’t.

I changed my shirt, ran fingers through my hair, debated a spritz of cologne (settled for deodorant, because subtlety), and grabbed my keys. The drive to Rachel’s house was short, my mind racing the entire time.

It wasn’t fair, how hot her mom was. Forty, maybe forty-one, with a body that defied every suburban law of physics. I remembered the first time I met her: early September, their pool party, me standing in Rachel’s backyard wearing swim trunks that suddenly felt like a size too small. Elena appeared from the house, hips swinging, a turquoise bikini barely managing to contain her curves, long dark hair pulled into a ponytail that hung between her shoulder blades. She waved to me, sunglasses glinting, and for a second I forgot my own name.

She hugged me that day, right in front of Rachel. A warm, full-bodied squeeze that was pure California earth-mother, but her boobs pressed into my chest and I felt the whole thing vibrate through my spine. Since then, I’d noticed every little touch, every smile, every suggestive “Oh Marc, you’re so strong!” with a secret dirty joke in her eyes.

I drove with the windows down, letting the hot summer air blast my face. My shorts weren’t helping the situation in my lap, where I was already half-hard and trying not to think about Elena’s ass. Or the time she asked me to get something from the top shelf and stretched, tank top riding up, flashing just enough toned belly and a hint of underboob to make me need a bathroom break. Or the time last Christmas when she made me help her with lights outside, both of us on the ladder, her body so close I could smell her perfume, like forbidden fruit.

I parked, wiped my palms on my shorts, and got out. Elena’s house was classic suburb: stucco, Spanish tile roof, front yard with sculpted hedges, and a little porch with flower baskets. The new couch was parked on the walkway, swaddled in plastic like a beached whale.

Before I could knock, the front door yanked open. “Marc! You made it!” Elena’s voice was sunshine, smoky and bright at the same time.

She stood framed in the doorway, wearing exactly the kind of outfit that had fueled my late-night fantasies: a white ribbed tank top that was practically see-through, the kind with spaghetti straps and no hint of a bra underneath. Her nipples pressed soft, dark coins into the fabric, and she didn’t seem to care at all. Below, she wore denim shorts so tiny they bordered on pornographic, frayed at the edges and hugging her hips, her tanned legs bare and flexing as she stepped toward me.

I’d seen her dressed like this at Rachel’s house a dozen times, but this was the first time it was just us. “Hey, Elena,” I said, trying to sound normal.

She smiled and pulled me into a hug that lingered a second too long, her arms winding tight around my back and her breasts mushrooming against my chest. I couldn’t help it; my body registered every detail: the warmth of her skin, the musky, sweet scent of her perfume and the way her thighs pressed against mine.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, pulling back and keeping her hands on my arms. “I promise, this will take, like, half an hour tops.”

“No problem,” I said. I felt flushed. There was no way she couldn’t see what was happening below my waistband, but if she did, she pretended not to.

We walked to the stranded couch.

“It’s heavier than it looks,” she said, bending at the hips to grip the bottom. Her shorts hiked up, revealing the full, round shape of her ass. It was hypnotic. I forced myself to look away, then looked back anyway.

I squatted and got my hands under the couch, feeling my biceps flex under her gaze. “Ready?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, hair falling over one eye. I could see the outline of her nipples, sharp and stiff, and nearly groaned aloud.

We heaved the couch up, shuffling it through the front door and into the living room. Elena guided with one hand, her other palm occasionally brushing my arm or shoulder. We wedged the couch against the wall and set it down with a thump.

“Perfect!” she said, stepping back and clapping her hands. “You are a lifesaver.”

I tried to hide my boner behind a throw pillow. “Happy to help.”

She looked me over, lingering on my arms, then gave me a little wink. “Think you can handle one more?”

“Of course.”

She led me down the hall, ass swinging, to her bedroom. I’d only been in here once, and never alone. The room was big and sunlit, with a king bed and pale blue comforter, an expensive-looking vanity cluttered with makeup, and an open closet that was basically a rainbow of dresses, heels and silk.

In the middle of the room, still in its box, was a white, high-gloss dresser.

I went to pick it up, but Elena stopped me, hand on my shoulder. “Wait. It’s heavy. Let’s open the box, do it together.”

The words do it together hit me right in the groin. I knelt to slice open the box, Elena crouching next to me. Her hair tickled my arm. When we pulled the dresser free, she leaned close, breath hot in my ear.

“You’ve got strong hands,” she said, her tongue teasing the word “strong.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, trying not to look down her tank, but failing. Her cleavage was insane. I wondered what her nipples would taste like, how heavy her tits would feel in my hands. I hated myself for it, but I wanted her so bad I could barely move.

We set up the dresser, moving together in the narrow space. Every time she bent over, I caught a flash of ass cheek, or the smooth, tan length of her thighs. She made a little show of stretching to the top shelf in the closet, her tank top riding up and baring the dip of her lower back. At one point, I caught sight of a lacy red bra hanging from a hanger, and something I was 99% sure was a vibrator peeking out from a drawer. I felt my face go molten.

Elena turned and caught me looking. She grinned. “Men,” she said, rolling her eyes with affection. “You’re all the same. Can’t resist a little lace, huh?”

I tried to play it cool. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare.”

She laughed. “Don’t apologize. I bought that for me, but it’s nice to know someone else appreciates it.”

We finished moving the dresser into place, our arms brushing. Sweat slicked my skin, and the thin cotton of her tank clung to her curves, kinda transparent now. I could see every contour of her breasts, the shadow of her areolae and the perfect teardrop shape.

“Wow,” Elena said, leaning back against the wall, panting. “You really are a strong young man.”

“Thanks,” I said again, helpless. My cock was so hard it actually hurt, but I kept my hands at my sides.

She noticed. She had to. She stepped closer, voice lower. “Rachel’s lucky,” Elena said, her gaze locked on my face. “I always tell her, you’re the best she’s ever brought home.” She touched my biceps, squeezing. “Not just muscle, either. You’re sweet.”

She let go, then tugged the front of her tank straight, the fabric stretching tight over her chest. She wiped sweat from her brow, then mine, her fingers slow and gentle. She laughed again, and for a second, I thought she was going to kiss me.

Instead, she let her hand rest on my cheek.

“Thank you, Marc,” she whispered.

We stood like that, staring, both of us too close and not moving away. My hands twitched. I thought about Rachel, about how this was wrong, but Elena’s body called to me like gravity.

She finally broke the tension, stepping back, cheeks flushed. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s get you something to drink. You look parched.”

I followed her out of the bedroom, my heart hammering, my brain screaming, my cock throbbing. I wanted her. I wanted her more than anything, and I didn’t care if it made me the worst boyfriend on earth.

I trailed Elena down the hall, already hungry for whatever came next.

We ended up in the kitchen, the table set with a pie, which Rachel had told me about. It was blueberry, steam curling from the cracks in its golden crust. Two plates, two forks, a chilled pitcher of wine. For a second, the normalcy of it all almost calmed me. Then I saw Elena’s hands: one already wielding the pie server, the other resting on her back, fingers tapping the edge of her shorts.

She cut a big wedge, slid it onto my plate. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said.

“I could eat,” I answered.

She sat next to me instead of across. The pie’s purple filling glistened in the light. Elena picked up the can of whipped cream, shook it so her tits jiggled, then spiraled a huge dollop onto her own slice. She licked a bit from the can’s nozzle as if it were precum from a cock, eyes never leaving mine.

I tried to focus on the pie, but her bare thigh pressed against my knee under the table, and her tank top, now nearly transparent with sweat, was a whole second course. She laughed at the way I kept glancing down.

“You have a sweet tooth, Marc?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “I guess I do.”

She dipped her finger into the whipped cream, brought it to her lips, and sucked it clean slowly, eyes closed and tongue flicking. My cock throbbed under the table.

The pie was delicious: warm, gooey, a little tart, crust crisp. I groaned involuntarily, and Elena grinned.

“You like it?” she said, licking her lips.

“It’s really good,” I said, but it sounded like a moan.

She leaned closer, her lips brushing my ear. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“I guess,” I said a bit awkwardly.

She poured us both a glass of wine, the chilled white fizzing in the heat. I took a gulp and felt the burn in my throat, the flush rising in my cheeks.

“So, how are things with Rachel?” Elena asked, tracing lazy circles on my knee.

“They’re good,” I said, then wondered if it was a lie. I mean, they were, technically, but the way I felt sitting here with Elena, sweaty, horny, so alive, was not how I ever felt with Rachel. I felt like a bastard, but I also couldn’t stop.

Elena shrugged, then stared into her wine. “You can tell me. I’m not going to judge. I just…” She hesitated, then turned her head, hair falling over her shoulder. “I’m lonely sometimes. Divorce is weird.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling bad for her.

“Don’t be. You help. You’re so… present.” Her hand slid higher, just above my knee.

I looked at her. The line of her jaw, the faint crow’s feet at her eyes, the way her full lips curved even when she wasn’t smiling. I wanted to touch her more than I’d ever wanted anything.

She set down her wine, licked another finger of whipped cream, and fed me a bite, her finger brushing my lips. She didn’t pull away.

Her finger lingered, warm and sweet against my lips. I sucked the last trace of cream off it almost involuntarily. Elena’s eyes darkened with heat.

She pulled her hand back slowly, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Marc… do you have any fantasies? Be honest with me.”

The question hung between us like a live wire. I could have lied. I should have. Instead, the truth spilled out. “Yeah. An older woman.”

Elena’s lips curved into a knowing smile. She tilted her head, hair falling over one shoulder. “Anyone in particular?”

The kitchen felt ten degrees hotter. My heart hammered so hard I was sure she could hear it. I stared at the half-eaten pie, then forced myself to meet her eyes. “You,” I admitted, voice cracking. “You’re… really fucking hot, Elena. I’ve thought about you constantly. It’s messed up, but I can’t help it.”

For a second she just looked at me. Then an emotional laugh escaped her. She pressed a hand to her chest, right above those full breasts that rose and fell with quick breaths.

“Oh, Marc… I have a thing for younger men too. Especially sweet, strong, respectful ones like you. I’ve felt so invisible since the divorce. But every time you come over, the way you look at me… it makes me feel wanted again. Sexy and alive.” She reached out and cupped my cheek, thumb brushing my jaw. “I’ve imagined this more times than I should admit. Touching you, kissing you and letting you see all of me.”

“Can I?”

“Of course,” she said with a grin, biting her bottom lip.

I forgot about Rachel. She leaned in, and our mouths met.

Her lips were soft, cool from the wine, but her tongue was hot, and the kiss went from gentle to greedy in seconds. Her hand moved up, sliding along my thigh, fingers teasing the edge of my shorts. I let out a gasp. She climbed into my lap, straddling me on the kitchen chair, her ass pressing down, her chest flattening against my torso.

I couldn’t help it; I grabbed her hips, pulled her tight, felt the heat of her through my thin shorts. She rocked against my erection, grinding slow.

She broke the kiss just enough to bite my lower lip. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?” she said, her voice a husky growl.

“For months,” I admitted, my hands trembling on her waist.

“God, I knew it.” Her tongue traced my jaw. “The way you look at me…”

Her hands slid under my shirt, nails raking up my abs. She lifted my shirt over my head, tossed it onto the counter. Then she pulled her own tank off in one smooth motion, tossing her hair back and sitting proud and bare-chested in my lap.

Her tits were even more perfect than I imagined: heavy and round, full natural D-cups with dusky pink nipples, swollen and begging to be sucked. She watched my face as she cupped them, squeezed, then brought my hands up to join hers.

“Touch me,” she said, and I did, thumb and forefinger circling her nipples, rolling them gently.

She moaned and pressed her tits into my face. I sucked one nipple, then the other, tasting the salt of her sweat and the faint, sweet tang of her body lotion. Her hands worked open my shorts, found my cock, and she stroked me through my boxers.

“I knew you’d be big,” she whispered, biting my ear. “But fuck, Marc, you’re perfect.”

She stood, shimmied her shorts down, and revealed a pair of lacy panties that disappeared into the curve of her ass. She made a show of bending to pick up my shirt, her ass waving in my face. I slapped it, lightly, and she laughed, delighted.

“Bedroom?” I said, voice cracking.

“Here first,” she answered seductively.

She knelt in front of me, pulled down my shorts and boxers, and took my cock in both hands. She gazed up at me, tongue flicking the tip, then swallowed me halfway, her lips sliding down slow. I almost lost it right there.

She pumped her fist, lips tight around my shaft, making little sounds of appreciation as she worked. She licked the underside, circled the head, and took me deep until her nose brushed my stomach. Her eyes never left mine.

“Fuck, Elena,” I moaned, hand in her hair.

She sucked harder, twisted her wrist, saliva running down to my balls. She cupped them, fondled gently, then went back to bobbing her head, her hair wild and glossy. The sensation was wet, warm and forbidden.

When I was close, she sensed it. She pulled off with a pop, wiped her mouth with her finger, and licked it clean.

“Now, it’s time for the bedroom.”

Taking off her lacy panties, she led me to her bedroom, walking naked, hips swaying. The bed was rumpled, the sheets pale blue, and when she crawled onto it, her ass was high and inviting. I followed, kneeling behind her, and pulled her panties down, revealing her pussy: smooth-shaven, lips full and glistening.

I ran my tongue along her slit, tasting her arousal, sweet and musky. She shivered, grinding back into my mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” she said, breathless. “Lick me, baby.”

I did, licking her clit, dipping my tongue inside, sucking her until she was gasping and clawing the sheets. When she came, it was a shudder, her thighs squeezing my head, her moan low and guttural.

She flipped over, dragged me up, and straddled me, lining my cock up to her entrance. She rubbed it against her clit, wetting it, then slid down slow, her pussy tight and so wet I thought I might explode.

She rode me, hands on my chest, tits bouncing and hair flying. She bounced hard, slamming down to the base, her walls gripping me. I reached up, grabbed her waist, and started meeting her thrusts.

She leaned down, kissed me, her tongue aggressive, her breath hot. She whispered, “Fuck me harder than you fuck my daughter.”

My whole body tensed. I’d never been more turned on.

I rolled her onto her back, legs splayed, and pounded her, the headboard slamming into the wall. She clawed my back, bit my shoulder, begged for more.

I fucked her harder, driving deep with every thrust, the wet slap of our bodies filling the sunlit bedroom. Elena’s full tits bounced wildly beneath me, nipples glistening from my earlier attention. Her pussy was molten: silky, incredibly tight, and so wet it coated my balls with every stroke.

“God, yes… just like that,” she gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders.

Rachel’s face flashed in my mind, but it only made everything more intense. I was buried balls-deep inside my girlfriend’s mother, and it felt like heaven.

Elena suddenly pushed my chest, flipping us again so she was on top. She planted her hands on my chest and rode me like she was possessed, grinding her clit against my pelvis on every downstroke. Her heavy breasts swayed hypnotically inches from my face. I captured one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard while she moaned louder.

“Fuck… I’m gonna come again,” she whimpered. Her walls fluttered around my cock, then clamped down as her second orgasm ripped through her. She moaned, body shaking, pussy gushing around me.

I couldn’t hold back much longer. The pressure in my balls was unbearable. Elena must have felt it. She leaned down, lips brushing my ear, voice raw and filthy. “Don’t pull out. I want to feel you come inside me. Fill your girlfriend’s mom’s pussy.”

I grabbed her wide hips with both hands and thrust up hard, fucking her through her aftershocks. The bed creaked violently. Her tits pressed against my chest, her sweaty hair sticking to my face. I felt my orgasm building.

I slammed up one final time and exploded. Thick, powerful ropes of cum erupted deep inside her, painting her walls in hot, raw spurts. I kept thrusting through it, pumping every drop into her pussy, my girlfriend’s mother, with nothing between us. Elena moaned loudly, grinding down to take it all, her own body trembling as she milked me dry.

We stayed locked together, panting, my cock twitching inside her as the last weak spurts leaked out. I could feel my cum starting to drip out around my shaft, warm and slick. Elena kissed me deeply, her fingers stroking my hair.

“Such a good boy,” she whispered against my lips. “Look at all that cum you gave me…”

She lifted off slowly, a thick trail of my seed leaking from her swollen, well-fucked pussy down her thigh. The sight was obscene and insanely hot. She collapsed beside me, pulling me into her arms, her soft breasts cushioning my head.

For a long moment we just breathed together, the reality of what we’d done settling in. Guilt twisted in my gut, but the post-orgasm glow and the way Elena gently stroked my back made it impossible to regret.

“Do we tell Rachel?” I asked her.

She giggled. “We can keep this a secret … as long as we do it again.”

I smiled. “We’ll definitely do this again.”

Thank you for reading! You can find many of my other stories on [PornReads](https://pornreads.com/).