BUILT FOR ONE THING CH. 1

 I had wanted to fuck my gorgeous mother since the moment I learned what fucking was all about. Then, one summer night in high school, I finally got my wish.

At a very young age, I had become aware of Mom's ravishing looks--aware, at least, that she didn't resemble other women. She was taller, her hips were wider, her legs were longer and her breasts were much larger. Plus, her skin was smoother and softer and her arms didn't have that flab that I saw on her friends' arms. Her face was so much prettier, too. During my pre-school years, I loved to remind her of this last fact as I tagged along with her on errands. "Oh, thank you, sweetie-bear," she'd say, grinning and giving me a kiss on the cheek.

Before long, I realized that other people--men, mainly--noticed Mom, too. Wherever she and I went without Dad, wolf whistles and shouts like "Hey, honey pie!" followed us like the baying of horny dogs. I became so accustomed to them, the way an urban dweller grows deaf to the sound of sirens, that they became a normal part of my environment. Even today I never notice when some jerk whistles at a woman who's with me. On some unconscious level, I probably assume they're whistling at Mom.

Back then, I naively thought all women provoked the same reactions from men until the day I mustered the nerve to ask Mom about it. She was walking me home from kindergarten through our neighborhood of big houses and lush, sloping lawns, and the route took us past a home being built two blocks down the street from ours. As we walked by, a guy with a thick moustache yelled from the roof, "Hey, baby, bring those things up here!" Mom didn't seem to hear him.

As we crossed to the next block, I said, "Mom, what things was that man talking about?"

"I'm not sure," she said casually. "Since he was too lazy to include an adjective, like 'big' or 'long,' he could have meant either my breasts or my legs."

"Why do workmen always say stuff to you?"

"They do it for fun. And I guess they think I'm really hot."

"Like a stove?"

"Well, not quite. You'll find out later."

"You're pretty, Mom."

"Thank you, sweetie-bear."

"And those *are* really big," I said.

She followed my gaze to her tits, which were bouncing around and stretching a green tank top out far in front of her body. They were easily the size of cantaloupes. Each looked as large as my head.

"Oh, not you, too, Bobby," she said, rolling her eyes.

"No, I mean they're big and pretty," I said.

"Thank you, honey. Coming from you, I don't mind at all. They are nice and big, aren't they? This bra really lets them jiggle." She cupped her hands under them, hoisted and made them boomerang up and down a few times as she grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at me. I giggled, but I was far too young to realize what a mind-boggling sight it was. The imbecile on the roof would have squirted his brain into his pants.

"Do you like them? I look a lot younger than I am, don't I?"

"Probably. How old are you?"

"Never mind."

"Does Dad like them?" I asked, pointing at her tits.

"He never pays much attention to them," she said.

I wondered what was wrong with him. "I would if I was Dad." Mom was quiet for a minute. My parents got along okay, but Dad traveled a lot for a his job. He was the vice-president of an oil company. And even when he was home, I didn't see much of him except at breakfast and dinner.

But he a sense of humor. Before my bedtime, whenever Mom would read *The Little Engine That Could* to me, Dad would poke his head in the room and say, "Jill, that *is* an oil-burning locomotive, right?"

She would snicker and say, "Oh, Charles."

On the sidewalk, Mom and I were nearing our house. "Bobby, starting tomorrow, let's walk to school a different way."

"Okay."

"And remind me not to wear this top anymore."

- II -

So men lusted after Mom. And one afternoon when I was nine, I began to lust after her, too. I was lying on my bed and noticed her out the window as she sunbathed on the sandstone patio by the pool. She got up to turn her lounge chair and I gaped at her tall, voluptuous hourglass: smooth, toned legs that seemed to rise forever until finally flaring into full hips, which in turn scooped dramatically into a slim waist and a flat stomach with a sexy inny navel. Above all this,

 her breasts cantilevered out like an enormous balcony, each of them larger than the six-inch desk globe she had given me on my birthday. Yet they were supple and perky, swelling like balloons out of a French bikini top and snuggled against each other with a half-foot line of cleavage between them. Her face was lovely, too, with sculpted cheekbones, a long, sleek nose, a strong chin and a high forehead, all of which gave her a distinct air of royalty. Her light-brown hair was down to her shoulders, straight a! nd thick and shimmering like silk in the summer sun.

When she started for the house, I watched her hips swaying and her massive breasts jiggling and causing her bikini top to heave up and down, I felt something new and scary and looked down to see stuff dripping out of my cock. I had just had my first orgasm.

After that, jacking off and thinking about my mother became a daily event. She usually wore form-fitting clothes, like turtlenecks and bodysuits that stretched taut over her tits and faded jeans that hugged the curves of her full, shapely ass. Just watching her load the dishwasher or fold towels made me horny. She had a gentle, sensual way about her movements that made the back of my neck tingle.

I was even turned on by her hands, which were erotic in a sleek, agile, big-knuckled way. I'd sit at the kitchen table, pretending to do my homework, and when she wrapped one hand around an iced tea glass to wipe it dry, I imagined her wrapping it around my hard cock instead. Then I'd run upstairs, yank down my pants and frantically do the job myself. Sometimes I'd even risk leaving my door ajar, secretly daring her to stumble upon me. Childishly, I hoped she'd be flattered--or better yet, turned on--by my lust for her.

But she never caught me. Sometimes I'd ask her to help me with my homework even though I didn't need it. As she wrote math problems or spelling lists in my notebook, her huge bustline would shimmy faintly. My cock would harden as I stared at her. I was pretty sure she didn't notice me doing it.

Once, during an especially horny weekend while I was in junior high school, Mom was sunbathing with her younger sisters Linda and Chrissy, who are twins and gorgeous but not as curvaceous as Mom. I was in my bedroom watching them and eagerly jacking off. They were trading body compliments and admiring each others' tits when, suddenly, a longstanding prayer of mine was answered.

After glancing nervously toward the house, Mom reached up to the front clasp of her red bikini top and unhooked it. Her enormous breasts sprang out of the cups and bounced against each other, settling into perfect, jutting teardrops with just a natural touch of sag as she removed her top completely, her aureoles small and dark red and her nipples pointing upward like a teenage girl's.

Chrissy and Linda gaped at Mom's bare tits and cooed with envy. "Jesus, Jill!" Linda shouted. "Aren't you ever going to age?"

My reaction was even stronger. No sooner had I set eyes on them--utterly mammoth yet more perfectly shaped than I ever dreamed--than my balls contracted and my cock started spewing cum. Long, white ropes of it squirted and squirted, burning as it coursed up through my rigid dick and madly splattering all over the bed and the window. A little Papa Smurf figurine on my nightstand took a blast right on its cute little face.

So there was Mom, innocently gabbing with her sisters about butt exercises and the Pritkin diet while I mentally pounded my cock in and out of her pussy, moaning obscenely and pumping a six-pack of cum out of my balls. I flopped onto my back panting, my shorts around my ankles, and watched Mom struggle to fit her melons back into her bikini top. It took me ten minutes to clean up all the cum.

Other boys my age jacked off fantasizing about Samantha Fox or Heather Thomas (or Victoria Principal, if they didn't have cable). I jacked off thinking about my mother. I began to wonder if I was weird.

But I stopped worrying after the evening of the seventh-grade pageant, when Mom came backstage to do everyone's makeup, her hips swishing, her huge tits challenging the straps of a low-cut blue slipdress and her pheromones glowing like a vapor trail in her wake. The boys were so mesmerized by the San Andreas fault line of cleavage between her jostling, shifting tectonic masses that not even the toughest of them complained about the extremely faggy stuff she was putting on their faces. When she leaned over them with a mascara brush, her warm, perfumed air enveloping them and her knockers nearly bursting out of her dress, their trousers tented and their neck hair stood on end. They fought to conceal their boners as they bumbled onstage.

"Such nice boys," Mom said to Mrs. Danberry, the civics teacher. Waiting for my cue, I looked up at Mom. A sly grin had crept across her sexy lips.

"Um, yes, they are," Mrs. Danberry replied, eyeing Mom's statuesque figure with a mixture of awe and disapproval.

After that, I knew there wasn't a goddamned thing wrong with me for wanting to fuck my mother. Every other human male who had set eyes on her wanted to fuck her, too. Never in my life had I felt so much pride.

I first got laid during my freshman year in high school. The girl's name was Lisa and we did it in the back seat of her father's Mercury Marquis. She was a sophomore and had done it with another guy already. "Oh, Bobby, oh, Bobby," she yelled as I screwed her and the car lurched up and down. But I didn't call out her name. I was pretending she was Mom.

- III -

I was Mom's only child and she doted on me incessantly. She was protective, panicking whenever I didn't get home on time or forgot to call. She was suspicious of my buddies. "Are his parents okay?" she'd ask me, groping for reassurance about a friend throwing a party or having a sleepover. "Yeah, yeah, they're fine," I'd answer.

My active social life pleased her but she was jealous of my girlfriends, even the ones I just palled around with. "Is she cute?" she'd ask me in a tickling tone of voice whenever I mentioned a new name. Then came the staged pouting. "Cuter than me?" she'd whimper.

"No, Mom, she's not as cute as you." From my dutiful tone of voice, silly Mom thought I was just patronizing her. Hardly.

"Good!" she'd say, her brown eyes sparkling with triumph. "You're not allowed to go out with anyone better looking than me." She'd give me a peck on the cheek that nearly made my dick burst through my fly every time. Then she'd trot off to run errands or take a shower, her jugs swaying under a cotton button-down or an old college sweatshirt and her ass filling a pair of khaki shorts deliciously.

The truth is that the girls were jealous of Mom. No facetious pouting on their parts, only genuine, jaw-clenching, blood-greening envy. After meeting her, they never wanted to come to the house, and when they did, Mom's incredible looks made them stamp their feet and grumble some escape plan like, "Let's go to the mall. Right now."

We lived in a small, close-knit suburb, and Mom's face and body were probably a common subject of conversation. One evening, a girl I'd dated occasionally called me, but not to chat. "My mom wants to know where she can get boobs like your mom's," she said.

My one and only goal for my sophomore year was to play cornerback on the varsity football team, so I spent the summer working out twice a day and binging like Oprah Winfrey after a week of bad ratings. When I wasn't at Smitty's Gym doing squats, I was in the kitchen or the den with a plate of steak and rice.

Mom loved serving as my personal chef and studied a whole bookshelf of bodybuilding cookbooks. She'd come into my bedroom every morning at five with a protein shake and wake me with a feathery stroke on my arm. I'd drink the shake while she sat on the bed and yawned happily. Once when she took a long stretch, her arms overhead and her braless cantaloupes practically exploding out of her satin nightgown, I had to shift under the covers to hide the bulge of my throbbing cock.

The shakes and steaks, along with all the hours of weightlifting, paid off. By the end of the summer, my five-foot-ten-inch frame had filled out to a well-defined 165 pounds. I played second-string on the varsity team that year and continued my regimen. By the following summer, I was six feet flat and a husky, sinewy 180. And Mom was really taking notice.

She had been complimentary since the start of my training program, but as my shoulders broadened and she noticed she was looking up into my eyes for the first time (she's five-ten), her affection took on new character, a longing that seemed faintly carnal. "Lookin' good, very good, honey," she'd say whenever she saw me sunbathing by the pool. After bringing me my shake one morning and kissing me on the cheek, her lips moved to my ear, lingered for a long second and whispered, "Wake up, you big tiger."

It got more blatant. When I was helping her clean out a pantry one hot day in early July, I was carrying a heavy box and holding the door for her when she paused behind me and groped my straining biceps. "Mmm, nice," she cooed, her breath on my neck, and wiggled her tits against my back. My knees almost curled. I was getting the distinct impression that my mother wanted me.

It was understandable. Dad hadn't been a very strong presence in the family lately and had never showed much interest in her. I had no idea when they had last fucked, and I didn't want to know. I wanted her all to myself. Dad was decent and smart but socially inept, and I refused to believe he could satisfy any woman--least of all, Mom. Plus, he was five-six with a bad combover and a gut full of Ding-Dongs. Mom wasn't attracted to him. That made me smile.

Mom's lusty comments kept coming, and I was pretty sure she had noticed that, along with my biceps, my cock was getting very, very big. I was pretty sure I had spotted her stealing a couple of glances at my crotch though my jeans, and one afternoon by the pool, I caught her gazing right at my bulge as I vaulted off the diving board.

No one would blame her. One day as I lay on my bed stroking my huge dick with both hands and fantasizing about fucking her doggy-style, her ass quivering and her tits swinging back and forth, I noticed a can of Lemon Pledge the housekeeper had left in my room. I held it against my cock. They were the exact same length and width. I folded my hands under my head with pride and just looked at my dick, pointing straight up like a fleshy, engorged obelisk, the aerosol can of penises, its helmet dark and purple and as big as a racket ball. I had a ten-inch johnson with my mother's name on it. It seemed she and I were both built for one thing.

- IV -

That one thing, the thing I'd been praying for since I was nine, happened later that very month. It began about an hour after dinner on a Thursday evening. Mom and I were home and Dad's flight was due in late. I was in my bedroom, sitting on my bed and trying to get my mind off Mom, who had kept my cock at full mast all day with a form-fitting knit top and a pair of tight Levis. She'd been going to the gym with me a couple of times a week, and it was beginning to show: her triceps were nicely defined and her round ass was riding even higher than usual in her jeans. All I could think about was lifting that top and sucking her tits, then pulling down those jeans and sticking my big cock in her pussy. But such notions were beginning to depress me. It was madness. She was my mother and sex would simply never happen.

I was just about to call a buddy to go to the movies when Mom's fingers rapped lightly on my open door. "Hey, honey, look at these," she said, walking into the room. In her hands she held a black velvet demi-bra and a matching pair of panties. She dangled them from her pinched thumb and index finger, one item in each hand. The massive scale of the bra cups sent a shudder of lust down my legs. "Like them?" she asked.

"Wow," I whispered.

"I got them today. They're for your father."

"I think they'd look better on you," I said.

Mom tittered. "You silly."

I had always been so filial with my compliments to Mom, even when the rawest things were on tip of my tongue. But this time I didn't care. I decided to pretend she was a girlfriend and say what came naturally.

"God, you must look so hot in those," I said.

Mom's eyes widened at me and she seemed to draw a long, pensive breath. "Why, thank you, honey. Do you think he'll like them?"

"Uh-huh. Just imagining you in them is turning me on. But you look so hot in anything, Mom."

"Oh, Bobby," she laughed, "stop before my head gets too big."

"I'm not flattering you. Your body is beyond belief."

"Wow. Oh, god. Thank you, sweetheart. You're pretty gorgeous yourself."

She was grinning in ecstasy and gazing off at nothing. She was used to the crass come-ons from men on the street and blithe indifference from her husband, with nothing between the two. My brash, earnest praise had sunk in deep. A warm silence fell.

"Well?" I said.

"Hmm?"

"You going to model those for me or what?"

She glanced at the lingerie in her hand. "Oh, I don't know, Bobby, I'd feel kind of awkward."

"Gimme a break. I've been sitting here swelling your head for nothing?"

"God, to think I could actually turn on an eighteen-year-old." She truly didn't realize what a goddess she was. Modest beauty is such a wondrous thing. "Okay," she said gaily, "Just so you can give me the final yea or nay." She went off to her bedroom and I lay back on my bed rubbing my stiffening cock through my jeans. She wasn't even into the bra and panties yet, but in my mind she was already out of them.

A minute later, she called out from her room, "Okay, honey, come see."

I got up and walked to her doorway licking my lips and activating the video camera in my brain. I was quite possibly going to see the hottest thing in underwear since Marilyn Monroe had posed with her skirt in the air over that subway grate.

Reaching Mom's doorway, I nonchalantly looked inside. The room was moody and long-shadowed with the light from a single bedside lamp. And there, in the middle of the floor, stood Mom, giggling.

"See anything you like?" she said.

Oh, yes. Suddenly that bra no longer seemed so huge, stretched over the lower half of her massive chest like the Grand Coulee Dam desperately holding back a thousand acres of water. Mom's big, firm tits swelled over it together like two bronzy water balloons, her smooth skin pushing out just a touch beyond the top edges of the velvet. When she straightened one bra strap, causing her left breast to lift and undulate teasingly, I could practically hear its contents sloshing like a milk jug.

My eyes wandered lower. Below her board-flat tummy, the panties hugged her round hips in narrow bands that dove to her crotch in a deep v-shape. The material lay perfectly over her tanned, supple curves, and I imagined how her light-brown beaver triangle--which I hadn't seen since we stopped bathing together, years before--must have looked under the velvet.

"Well?" Mom asked, smiling and casting her arms out in graceful presentation. "I hope that dazed look on your face is a good sign."

"Jesus Christ," I said. Mom tittered again. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Hey, that could mean you've never seen something so awful," she whined.

"Okay, how about this? You're the hottest fucking woman on the face of the Earth."

Bobby," she gasped.

"Show me the back," I said.

She turned around and I took a step toward her. The panties arced over the globes of her full, heart-shaped ass, which was far too youthful and resilient to allow the material to cut into her at the edges. I reached down and rubbed my cock, which was throbbing at full mast and bulged like a cucumber across the front of my jeans, the head up near my left hip. I left it there. The time for hiding my erection from my mother was over. I glanced up at her slim, sexy back and noted that her bra was front-clasping.

"Well?" Mom prompted.

"Those panties show off your gorgeous ass."

"Oh, Bobby, you *are* being bold, aren't you?" With her back still to me, she turned slightly to see herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door and fingered one of the bra cups. "This material is so nice. I love velvet."

"I do, too," I said, stepping up behind her. Her White Linen fragrance floated into my sinuses. I brought my hands up to her shoulders and caressed the material on the straps. It felt soft and alive over her skin and made me wonder how closely she kept the hair above her pussy trimmed.

Thinking about her pussy autopiloted my hands back down. I placed both of them on her ass and fondled it confidently She drew a quick breath.

"Mmm, feels like those glute exercises have been working," I said. "Your ass feels as good as it looks."

"Bobby, honey, thank you, but I don't know if you should..." her voice trailed off dreamily and her head lolled back a little.

My hands migrated back up to her slim waist and gripped it for a moment. Mom's head swayed. I brought my hands higher, trembling with anticipation. After years of staring at Mom's huge tits and ejaculating who knows how many barrels of cum all over myself in her absence, it was time to go for the real thing.

I let my fingers drift up to the sides of her bra, admiring the velvet again. Then, in one smooth, synchronized movement, I slid them down over the cups and gave her breasts--at least the portions that fit in my hands--a firm squeeze. I felt them swell up out of her bra.

Mom drew a long, rasping breath. "Oh, Bobby, no," she whispered, her head falling back. Her body hadn't tensed in the slightest. I thrust my hips forward and rubbed my big, hard cock against her ass. She arched her back in response.

I pulled my right hand from her breast, slid it up her neck to sweep her hair away and then planted a deep, succulent kiss on her nape. With my other hand, I pulled her left bra strap from her shoulder.

Mom craned her arms back and locked her hands around my ass, pulling me into her. I ran my lips up and down her neck a couple of times and then moved to her right ear. "You are so beautiful," I whispered before thrusting the tip of my tongue into it.

She shuddered. "Oh, my god," she said as her head turned toward mine. I worked her ear, nibbling on the lobe and grooving my tongue into the little winding canals above it.

With a sudden pirouette, Mom faced me, grabbed my head and stuck her tongue down my throat. Now it was my turn to gasp, drawing in a lungful of her heated mist, which tingled with electric madness like the moisture in roiling storm clouds. It was sin, it was chaos, it was the stuff that had made Greek poets fear the sun would turn backwards in its course. A mother was passionately kissing her son. And they were about to fuck.

Mom heard my thoughts and flinched. She pulled her head back with a look of dismay and planted two stern palms on my shoulders.

"Oh, honey, we can't do this. It's crazy. We'll regret it for the rest of our lives." She replaced her fallen bra strap.

"But it would be so good," I said.

"Oh, I know, baby, I know. You're so young and strong, and I can already tell that you know what you're doing." She looked at my bulging crotch. "I can also tell you're hung like a fucking horse, Bobby."

"I wanna do you with it," I said, leaning down to kiss her neck.

She didn't stop me. "No, honey, you're my son." I kissed her on the lips again and she instinctively darted her tongue into my mouth before pulling away. But then her eyes beamed mine with pure lechery, and her lashes blinked some beguiling Morse code message of outlaw sex. "Christ, it would be fantastic, wouldn't it? But no, we simply can't."

By then I was harder than I had ever been in my life. My cock was raging against my pants like an infuriated bull. I looked down at her huge, round tits, which were straining at the seams of her bra. If I gave up, I'd never get that close again.

Before she could raise a hand or speak a word, I reached up and unclasped her bra. Her tits surged out of it with such force that the cups flew back around her arms. I fit my hands under both tits and squeezed them greedily for a second: they were firm and ponderous yet the skin rebounded under my fingers like the barely-ripe 32B's on a teenage girl. Then I leaned down and took her right nipple in my mouth.

"OH," Mom called out.

My tongue orbited her aureole, and her nipple immediately stiffened and rose like a pencil eraser. I flicked my tongue over the tip of it. Mom panted. "Oh, my god," she moaned. I felt her hands on my head and feared she would push me away again.

Not this time. Her fingers sifted lovingly through my hair at the temples, her motions slow and massaging. Her nails scratched the back of my neck. Her grip tightened after a moment and she guided me to her other breast.

Meanwhile, I fondled her ass with both hands and one of hers descended to my crotch. It groped the outline of my cock through my jeans, stopping and squeezing like a shoe salesman palpating for toes in a new boot. Finally, her fingers reached the head and massaged it. My monstrous dick surged and strained and turned to solid granite. I could already feel it dripping juice in a steady trickle.

"Oh, my god," she said. "Oh, god, it's huge." She pulled my face from her breast and we looked at each other. Her breath was coming in loud rushes, her bra was flopping uselessly at her sides and her mountainous, bare tits, wet with my saliva, were heaving up and down with each gasp.

Her nose crinkled and her lips curved down into a sneer so lustful I felt my sphincter contract. "Ooh, Bobby," she said, "I want you to fuck me with your big cock."

Hearing those nasty words from my mother for the first time sent such an unnerving ripple of lust up my spine that for a second I worried I would lose my erection. My knees were Jell-O. But that second passed quickly.

I unzipped my jeans and yanked them and my shorts down in one frantic movement. My big cock sprang out like an upended diving board, its ten thick inches towering obscenely between Mom and me and pointing right at her naked tits. I just stood there and let her see it for the first time.

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "Jesus Christ, Bobby! Oh, god almighty, it's gigantic! You've got the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life!" Her eyes journeyed down its length. "Mmm, your balls are nice and big, too."

I stroked it with one fist. "Is this what you want, baby?" I asked. "You want me to pound your pussy with this big boy?"

I planted my hands on my hips and let my cock pulse and twitch. Mom finally got up the nerve to wrap her hand around it, as if she were approaching a wild animal. Her fingers didn't meet. She brought up her other hand and started jacking with both fists. "Oh, yeah, Bobby, I want you to slide your big cock into my pussy and take me to paradise."

"Get on the bed," I said.

She quickly climbed up on the comforter, her mammoth rack swaying lewdly, and got in position on her back. As I whipped off my T-shirt, I let my jeans and shorts fall to the floor so I could step out of them; she lifted her ass and slid her velvet panties over her full thighs, then bent her knees and tossed the underwear off her feet. She spread her legs wide and massaged her clit. "Mmm, honey, come up here," she said between deep breaths as I joined her on the bed, my big dong sticking out in front of me like the jib spar on a sailing ship.

I got between her legs and braced myself over her at arms' length. The weight of me over her on the springy mattress made her big tits wobble from side to side. I craned down and kissed one of them, sucking on her hard nipple for a second, then I moved up and thrust my tongue as far as it would go into her mouth.

Then I looked down between us and got ready to fuck her. My hips were high in the air and my stiff cock was hovering over her beaver, which was just the neat brown triangle I remembered. I paused for a second in brain-lock. I was about to fuck my own mother. I reached down and took my cock in one hand and guided it toward her pussy.

Mom raised her head to look down, too, and what she saw made her grab my tensed upper arms to brace herself. "Ooh, yeah, baby, my pussy's wet and I'm ready for you," she said. "Put that big thing in me." She raised her face up to mine and gave me a quick kiss that told me she was truly ready. Then, just to be sure I had gotten the message, she commanded loudly, "*Fuck me, Bobby*."

I held my cock to her pussy and slid the huge head in. She was even tighter than I had expected. Her hands gripped my arms harder.

"Ahhhh," she gasped.

"Point of no return, baby," I said. "You're about to get that trip to paradise."

She lifted her head again to look down. "Oh, yeah, sweetheart, slide it all the way in. Fuck me with every inch of your big cock."

I couldn't believe the language coming out of her mouth, but hearing it was almost making me blow my nuts. She flexed her hips a little for angling and I finally slid my throbbing cock into her pussy. It gripped me like a hot, wet vise but I pushed in fast anyway. It just kept going in. Moaning, Mom rose up on her elbows to watch the action. "Ooh, baby, give me all of it." Then, after another couple of inches, "Ungh! God, this is going to be so fucking good!"

"Honey, I'm going to give you the best fuck you've ever had," I said arrogantly.

"Oh, Bobby, I know you will."

"Jesus, Mom, your pussy is tight!"

I figured the head of my cock would meet her cervix when I still had two or three more inches to give her, as had happened with all the teenage girls I had banged. But this time my big, long dick was in a real woman. As we both watched and she began to cry out "Oh, Bobby, honey...Oh...OH, BOBBY!" her pussy swallowed my entire cock. My big balls slapped against her ass just as my helmet bumped the back of her canal.

I looked up at her. She was seething through clenched teeth. "Ooh, baby," I said, "You've got all ten inches of me in your pussy."

"Jesus Christ, it's like a baseball bat. Start fucking me, Bobby. I can't wait any longer!"

She bounced her hips to get me going and I began sliding my big dick in and out of her pussy with steady, moderate strokes using about half of its length.

Mom grunted and bucked her hips to meet my thrusts. Her hands squeezed my chest muscles.

"Is that good?" I asked.

"Ooh, darling, it feels great, but pump faster. I'm so fucking horny," she said.

I did as the lady asked. My cock pistoned in and out of her, making a sound like beaded water being swished off a car hood. I flexed my hips high on each upstroke and pulled it out right to the tip.

After all, my beautiful mother had specifically asked me to fuck her pussy with every inch of my big cock. I was gladly doing it.

Her huge tits had already been wobbling sensually, but when I speeded up, they went ballistic. They lifted off her chest and began swinging in opposite directions, inscribing two circles that met at the center with a loud slap of skin. Her nipples, still as hard as pencil erasers, were erasing an imaginary figure-eight in the air. I wanted to suck them, but the sight of them careening as I hammered Mom's pussy was just too spectacular.

"Oh, Bobby, my tits are going crazy. Look at them!"

"I am. Just seeing them is almost making me come."

Her melons weren't the only things in the room suffering an earthquake. My fast tempo and powerful strokes had set up a brassy squeak in the box springs that marked our cadence. Much louder, however, was the sound made by the big cherry headboard, which was slamming against the wall so hard that flakes of white paint were falling off the ceiling molding above it.

"Ooh, Bobby, you're fucking me so good," Mom said, her words warbling as if something were drumming on her voicebox. She smiled up at me, and I smiled back at her. "Kiss me, sweetheart," she said softly. I leaned down and our tongues mashed against each other in a quick embrace.

"Mmm, good, sweetie-bear," she said when I was back up on straight arms. "You didn't break stride. But I want some more of that." She lifted herself onto her elbows so that our faces met. Her tongue shot between my lips again. It was a long kiss this time--slow and probing with methodical, slow-cooked lust.

Then we both looked down. The lips of her pussy were stretched taut, clinging to my wide, deeply-veined dick as I banged her.

"Ooh, baby," she said, "Look at your ten inches pleasing my pussy. You're making me feel so fucking good, Bobby. I just can't believe we're doing this."

"I can't either."

"But don't you dare stop. You're fantastic."

"I've been wanting to fuck you for years, Mom," I said, slowing my strokes a tad so I'd last a little longer. Even so, I was going to shoot my load way too soon.

"And I've been wanting you to fuck me ever since you got so buff and gorgeous and sprouted that big cock between your legs. I noticed it in your swim trunks," she said, looking down again at my monster pumping her canal. My dick was slick and glossy with her juice, glistening in the lamp light as I pulled it out for a long, hard down-stroke.

"But I had no idea how fucking huge you were," she finished. "I'm glad we're fucking with the light on so I can see your big pole filling my pussy."

Then her tone got very nasty again. "Ooh, yeah, Bobby, give it to me. Come on, big boy, you're not supposed to do this to your mother, so you'd better make it worth all the guilt."

I speeded up my strokes. My balls were slapping loudly against her ass and her tits were taking off again.

"Ooh, yeah," she snarled. "Pound me, baby. Slam my pussy with your big, long, hard cock!"

I thumped her even harder.

"Oh, yes, Bobby! Fuck me! Oh, god, yes. Yes! Oh, Jesus Christ, honey. Oh, Christ, Bobby, I'M COMING!"

It was a relief to my ears, since my own orgasm was imminent. I had already turned the corner and was feeling the charge building on the underside of my dick. I normally had Herculean endurance, but this was too much for me. Frankly, it was a miracle I hadn't come when she first wrapped her hand around my tool.

Screaming my name, Mom reached up with both hands and pulled me down to her as her hips began to spasm. They drove up against me wildly, lifting us both off the bed for three or four of my strokes at a time.

"Oh, Bobby sweetheart, don't stop. Oh, fuck me, baby, keep pumping your cock...oh, now, yes. Yes. Yes. YES. YES! YES! YES! OH, GOD, YES! FUCK ME, BOBBY! OHHH! OH, GOD! OHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She shrieked into my ear as her nails dug into my shoulders. Finally, her grip lightened; I eased my strokes and caught my breath. Then my own orgasm was on its way. My balls tightened and the whole head of my cock was tingling.

"Honey, it's my turn now," I grunted, arching my back upward and clamping my eyes shut in concentration.

She was still panting from her orgasm. "Oh, baby, that feel so good, but you'd better pull your cock out of me. Honey, are you listening? There's a chance I could get pregnant." Then that nasty tone again. "Besides, I want to see all the juice that squirts out of those big balls of yours! I bet you come in quarts! Do it all over my tits, baby! Pull your big cock out of my pussy and squirt hot cum all over me!"

My balls heard all that marvelous depravity. "Okay, baby," I said, gulping and giving her pussy one last thrust. "OH, FUCK, HERE IT COMES!"

I flexed my ass up high to pull my cock all the way out of her and reached down to stroke and aim it with my right hand. Under me, Mom got up on her elbows. Then I gave her what she had asked for. And then some.

No sooner was my cock out of her than I grunted savagely and the first long white stream of cum squirted, arcing up and landing on Mom's face. It splattered obscenely over her left eye and ear, running down her cheek to her mouth. As she was moaning and licking it off her upper lip, I groaned again and another three huge cords of semen spewed out of my big dick and onto her countenance. One coated her forehead and her hairline. Another splashed on her chin and a third sprayed right into her open mouth.

I couldn't believe how much cum I was squirting, and neither could she. "Jesus Christ, Bobby," she said in awe, gazing down at my geysering cock. "You really do come in quarts!"

My dick kept blasting. A second load on the chin, then another. A stream right into her right eye. Two on her nose. Her face and neck were coated, but my balls weren't done yet. Mom knew what I was thinking, and her timing was perfect. "Mmm, yeah, squirt the rest all over my big tits," she said, strings of semen dripping from her face. She cupped her hands under her cantaloupes. I aimed my cock at her right tit and shot three long ropes across it, then I swung my cannon to the left tit and stroked the last two big salvos right across the nipple. The final spurts of my load, which just kept coming and coming, showered onto her stomach and her hands. At last, my cock was just dripping semen into her navel as I leaned over her.

I collapsed onto one elbow. She held one hand to her mouth and licked my jism off it, smiling slyly at me and making a funny purring noise. She looked down at herself. All the semen I had squirted on her tits was running down onto her concave stomach in white rivulets. "Jesus, Bobby, I've never seen so much cum in my whole life. I'm covered." I got up and trotted to the bathroom and grabbed a bath towel off the rack. I returned to the bed where Mom lay dazed, her long legs splayed apart and her big tits rising from her chest like two huge cherry sundaes of semen. I climbed up next to her and began cleaning her up.

"Oh, god, Bobby, that was mind-blowing. I don't know how on earth you learned to fuck a woman like that by the tender age of eighteen, but we're definitely going to talk about where you've been spending your evenings. Lord, to think of the teenage pussy you've been stretching with that big dick."

I finally got all my cum off her and put the towel aside. Post-climax euphoria was sluicing through my veins like an endorphin. What had happened was precisely the momentary bout of insanity I'd been fantasizing about since I felt my first orgasm. And now I had just fucked my mother's brains out, fountaining a gallon of semen all over her beautiful face and her gorgeous, massive tits. It would take a little while for me to believe it all.

I scooped her into my arms and we cuddled close together, her head on my chest. My mind wandered lazily, but Mom was already grasping at reality. "Oh, Bobby, honey, I still can't believe this. I just fucked my own son," she groaned. "I've probably permanently screwed up your development."

"Oh, please. I'm the king of the fucking world. I've never felt so content in my life."

"They why isn't that big cock of yours taking a rest?"

I looked down at my dong, which was lying large and heavy on my abs. It was still almost as long as it was fully erect.

"It takes a little while to wind down," I explained.

"Mmm, I'll say," Mom said. "Honey, when we get up and leave this bed, we *have* to put this behind us. It was wonderful, but it can't happen again."