Forbidden Summer: A Taboo Erotic Drama

Chapter 1: Back Under Her Roof

The sound of the front door creaking open carried through the house like a trigger—Rachel Carter froze in the kitchen, her hand tightening around the ceramic coffee mug she hadn’t yet filled. Morning sun spilled in stripes across the tile floor, warm and golden. The house had been quiet for weeks, months even. Too quiet. But now that silence was broken.

“Mom?”

Jake’s voice was deeper. Not a boy’s voice. It rumbled through the hallway like a bassline, casual but commanding.

Rachel stepped out from behind the kitchen island just as he turned the corner—and nearly dropped the mug.

Jake Carter, her only child, stood in the foyer with a worn duffel over one shoulder and an exhausted smile. Nineteen now. A year of college under his belt. And whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this.

He wasn’t just taller. He was filled out, chiseled, man-shaped. His black T-shirt clung to wide shoulders and a firm chest, his biceps stretching the sleeves slightly. The athletic cut of his body hinted at time in the gym, and his sun-touched skin suggested afternoons spent shirtless somewhere warmer than this suburban purgatory. His jeans hung low on narrow hips, and the waistband of his boxers peeked just above the denim—careless, confident, sexy in a way that made Rachel’s breath catch.

His face still held echoes of the boy she remembered: soft brown eyes, a crooked smirk that betrayed mischief. But there was new sharpness in his jawline, a darker stubble that shaded his cheeks. She noticed his neck first—thick, masculine, veins visible when he tilted his head back to grin at her.

“Jesus, Jake,” she said, flustered, setting the mug down. “You scared me.”

He dropped the duffel with a heavy thump, stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around her.

She wasn’t ready.

His body was solid—hard—his scent hit her like a memory she shouldn’t want: musk, sweat, the hint of some woodsy deodorant. He held her tight, longer than he used to, and she felt it… felt all of him pressing against her front. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her belly to his abs. Her thighs to his—

She pulled away too fast.

“God, you’ve grown,” she said, stepping back with a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Rachel Carter had always been beautiful, even if no one said it aloud anymore. At forty-eight, her beauty had matured into something softer, sultrier. Her face bore faint traces of sleepless nights and silent disappointments, but her high cheekbones, full lips, and wide hazel eyes gave her a magnetic pull that hadn’t dulled. Her body—curvy and womanly—had once turned heads at parties. She still had the soft hourglass shape, her waist narrowing just enough before widening into full hips and a round, sensual ass. She wore leggings and a loose off-shoulder sweater that clung to the subtle swell of her breasts, her nipples lightly outlined beneath the knit fabric from the chill air. She hadn’t worn a bra. It was morning. She hadn’t expected company.

Jake’s eyes dipped down. Just for a second.

And Rachel noticed.

He cleared his throat and smiled again. “Yeah… guess I did. You look… you look really good, Mom.”

Her heart skipped.

Flatteries from strangers were one thing. But from her son?

No. That wasn’t what he meant. Was it?

She turned away, unnecessarily adjusting the knobs on the stove. “You hungry? I can make eggs. Maybe bacon?”

Jake leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. His gaze roamed the kitchen, then back to her. “I’m starved. But I kinda just want to catch up. Sit down, talk. Is Dad around?”

“No. He left early. Golf, I think. With someone from work.”

Jake’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Still glued to his weekends, huh?”

Rachel gave a tight smile, then moved toward the fridge. She could feel Jake’s eyes on her—her backside, she knew it. The tight stretch of her leggings over her ass left nothing to the imagination. And maybe… maybe she didn’t walk as carefully as she normally would’ve. Maybe she lingered at the open fridge longer than necessary. Maybe her own thighs pressed together just a little.

She was wet.

Just from a hug?

She needed to stop.

“Why don’t you go sit down?” she asked, her voice tighter than she meant it to be. “I’ll bring you something.”

Jake stepped closer instead. “Actually… could use a shower first. Been on the road since dawn.”

His voice dipped, low and smoky. His eyes didn’t leave hers.

Something electric passed between them. A pause. A beat too long. Rachel’s skin prickled.

Then he turned and padded down the hall, disappearing toward the bathroom, his duffel forgotten.

As he walked, she watched his back. The way his shoulders rolled. The way his jeans clung to his ass. The faint line where his shirt rode up, showing tan skin and that damn waistband again.

When the bathroom door clicked shut, she exhaled.

Then cursed under her breath.

Her panties were soaked.

---

Rachel stood in the kitchen, frozen, staring down at the untouched mug of coffee like it might explain why her thighs were slick, why her nipples were stiff under her sweater, why her fingers itched to slide between her own legs.

Jesus, Rachel.

She turned to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, gripping the counter. Her reflection in the window above the sink showed a woman flushed with something she wasn’t allowed to feel.

He’s your son.

But her body didn’t give a fuck.

She heard the water start in the shower. Pipes groaned behind the wall. She imagined the steam fogging the glass, dripping off his skin. Her breath caught.

Don’t go back there, she told herself.

But her feet were already moving.

She padded down the hallway, slow, careful not to creak the floorboards, her bare feet nearly silent on the wood. The bathroom door was cracked just enough to let steam curl out in lazy trails. Her mouth went dry.

She should walk away. She should.

But instead she stopped.

And listened.

The soft patter of water striking tile. A long sigh. Movement. She could almost picture it.

Rachel leaned forward. Her fingers gripped the edge of the doorframe.

Through the crack, she could just barely see—nothing direct, but enough to paint the rest in her mind.

A silhouette behind the fogged glass door of the shower. A tall figure. Wide shoulders, strong back. The shifting shape of Jake as he turned toward the spray, lifted his arms, scrubbed soap through his hair. Then turned again—and her stomach flipped.

She could see the blurred suggestion of cock.

Big.

She covered her mouth with her hand, like it might smother the shame already blooming. But her eyes stayed locked.

Jake reached down.

His hand moved.

Slow strokes.

He was jerking off.

Rachel bit her lip, heart pounding against her ribs. Her pussy pulsed like it knew, like it craved the very thing it shouldn’t. The soft wet sound of his hand sliding up and down filled the small tiled room.

He didn’t know she was there. God, he didn’t know.

But she didn’t back away either.

She watched.

He braced one hand against the wall. His strokes got faster. More aggressive. A low grunt echoed in his throat—raw, deep, animal.

She imagined the slick weight of his cock. Long. Hard. Swollen with need.

Her hand moved without thinking.

Slid down her belly.

Fingers pressed into the waistband of her leggings, pushed past the elastic of her soaked panties. She moaned—soft, muffled in her palm—as she touched her own dripping cunt.

One stroke. Just one.

She swirled her clit. Her knees nearly buckled.

Inside, Jake gasped—and came.

The sound was obscene. A strangled groan of release, loud and unashamed. Her son, cumming just feet away.

Rachel nearly did too.

She pulled her hand out fast, retreating back to the hallway like a thief, her breath ragged. She didn’t stop until she was back in the kitchen, bracing herself against the counter with fingers that still glistened from her own desire.

She didn’t know what had just happened.

But she knew it wasn’t over.

---

Rachel had just turned off the burner when she heard his footsteps behind her. Slow. Barefoot. Her skin tingled as if the sound alone carried heat.

She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. Not yet.

“Shower felt good,” Jake said behind her, voice low and lazy. “Didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

Rachel poured eggs onto the skillet, the sizzle loud in the silence between them. “Long drive,” she said stiffly, though her voice cracked in her throat. “You said you left early?”

Jake didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stepped beside her, leaning on the counter so close she could smell the soap still clinging to his skin—cedar, smoke, something masculine and sharp. Her breath caught as she glanced down.

He wore only a towel.

It clung to his hips, just barely. A pale line where his tan cut off teased just above the edge, and a single droplet of water trailed from his collarbone, over the swell of one pec, down the center of his abs… and vanished below terrycloth.

Rachel turned away fast. Too fast.

Jake noticed.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t think it’d be a big deal. You used to see me run around in nothing when I was little.”

You’re not little anymore, she wanted to say. Not even close.

She focused on flipping the eggs. “You’re a grown man now,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t be walking around like that. Not in front of—me.”

Jake grinned, and it licked at the air like fire. “So you do notice.”

Rachel’s hand froze on the spatula.

She could feel him watching her. Watching her body. Watching the slight tremble in her arm as she stirred. She didn’t know whether to be furious or aroused—and that confusion made her even wetter.

The heat from the skillet felt like it was rising from between her legs.

“Go put some clothes on,” she said, but it came out breathy.

Jake didn’t move.

Instead, he reached past her, behind her, for a fork in the drawer—and his chest brushed against her back. Solid, bare, warm.

Rachel sucked in a breath.

Then his towel slipped.

Just a little. Not enough to expose. But enough for her to feel the brush of something hot and firm press against the back of her thigh—thick, unmistakable.

Jake lingered.

Neither of them said a word.

She could feel the tension hanging between them like humidity. The scent of soap, the eggs, her own arousal, all mixing in the hot morning air.

Then he stepped back.

Fork in hand.

“Towel’s slipping,” he said casually. “Might need a hand.”

He let that hang there.

Rachel turned, face flushed, eyes sharp. “Jake.”

“Relax,” he chuckled, turning toward the table. “Just teasing.”

He sat down, the towel hiking dangerously high up his thigh. One hand rested casually over his lap—maybe holding it down. Maybe not.

Rachel set the plate in front of him and walked back to the counter, unable to stop glancing over her shoulder at him.

He took a bite of eggs, watching her the entire time.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said, voice thicker now. “Tastes fucking good.”

Rachel swallowed hard.

She hadn’t even eaten.

---

The rest of the day passed like Rachel was walking on the edge of a knife.

Jake changed clothes—jeans, a black tee, barefoot again—and lounged on the couch like it was still his kingdom, legs spread wide, phone in hand. Every time she walked through the living room, she felt his eyes trail her like fingers. Bold, slow, and shameless.

She tried distracting herself—laundry, dishes, anything. But nothing worked. Her cunt still ached from that moment outside the bathroom. The image of Jake’s thick silhouette stroking under the shower replayed over and over, timed perfectly with the sound of his grunt as he came.

She touched herself again in the laundry room. Bent over the washer, panties around one ankle, hand shoved between her thighs. She came with his name on her lips, breathless, hating herself even as she bit down on the back of her wrist.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

And still—every time she saw him, something in her stomach twisted. Every glance. Every smirk.

She wasn’t imagining it.

She wasn’t the only one thinking about it.

That night, Rachel went to bed early.

David never came home. No call. No text. Typical.

She lay under the covers in a thin cotton tank top and panties, skin clean from a long shower that did nothing to wash away the hunger. She left the hallway light on. She wasn’t sure why.

Just after midnight, she heard Jake’s door creak open down the hall.

Soft footsteps.

The creak of the floorboard just outside her door.

Then silence.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Jake?

She waited. Frozen. Drenched.

Then—just barely—she heard his hand on the doorknob.

Turning.

The door didn’t open.

But he was there.

And he knew she knew it.

Her nipples strained against her top. Her thighs pressed together, squirming. The air in the room felt thick enough to choke on.

He stayed there for almost a full minute.

Then walked away.

Rachel lay there staring at the ceiling, heart hammering in her chest, the heat between her legs spreading like fire through her core.

She didn’t sleep until her fingers were soaked again.

---

Chapter 2: The Shift

Rachel stood at the stove again, same skillet, same old pan. The scent of bacon and coffee filled the kitchen like a blanket, but it did nothing to soothe the pulse between her thighs.

She wore a soft robe today—thin cotton, pale blue, tied hastily around her waist. She hadn’t bothered with a bra again. Her panties clung damp between her legs, a remnant of the night before. She hadn’t changed them. Part of her wanted him to smell it.

Jake’s footsteps were slower this morning. No rush. Just the sound of bare soles across wood, like he was savoring each step.

She didn’t turn.

But she felt him.

“Morning,” he said, that same deep, unbothered tone curling through her.

She didn’t answer.

Just bent forward slightly, grabbing a plate from the lower cabinet. Her robe parted just enough at the chest to show the curve of one heavy breast. Her nipple brushed the fabric—stiff, obvious.

Silence behind her.

She stood slowly, setting the plate down, then turned.

Jake was standing across from her at the island, leaning against the marble with one hip, shirtless again. His jeans rode low, low enough she could see the faint trail of hair dipping below his waistband. His eyes weren’t on her face.

They were on her tits.

Wide-eyed. Unapologetic. His jaw clenched like he was trying to keep himself in check, but the bulge in his jeans gave him away.

Rachel’s breath hitched.

She wanted to cover herself.

She wanted to open the robe.

She did neither.

Instead, she turned back to the pan. Her voice tight. “You want eggs again?”

“I want you to turn around,” Jake said softly.

Rachel’s hand froze on the spatula.

The heat from the skillet felt like it rose from inside her.

She said nothing.

“Sorry,” Jake muttered after a beat. “That was… that was a joke.”

But it wasn’t.

She knew it.

He knew it.

She flipped the eggs, her hand trembling. Her thighs clenched again. The heat, the scent of him, the sound of his voice—it all stirred something thick and wrong and wet inside her.

She plated his breakfast without a word, sliding it toward him.

He sat. Ate. Watched her the whole time.

And when she turned, she saw it: his hand beneath the table. Slow. Subtle.

Jerking himself.

Right there.

Rachel gripped the edge of the counter, nails digging into the wood.

She could hear it. Just the faintest rhythm. The clink of his fork. The sound of slick skin. His breath, steady, controlled.

She didn’t stop him.

She didn’t leave the room.

She let it happen.

Jake finished his plate.

Then stood.

His bulge was gone—but the way he looked at her? Different. Heavy.

Rachel couldn’t move.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said, stepping past her. Close. His shoulder brushed hers. His breath ghosted over her neck.

Then he was gone.

She stood in the kitchen alone, heart pounding, panties ruined.

---

Rachel sat on the edge of her bed with the door shut behind her, the room dim and quiet except for the sound of her own shaky breathing. She still wore the robe. It clung damp between her thighs. Her nipples had dried into two hard peaks pressing against the fabric like accusations.

She hadn’t planned to come in here. Not yet.

But the second Jake left the kitchen, she’d felt her knees weaken and her cunt throb.

He didn’t even try to hide it. His hand, stroking slow under the table while she stood there pretending not to notice. While she watched. While her pussy got so slick she’d felt a drop run down her inner thigh.

Rachel’s fingers trembled as she untied the robe.

It fell open.

Her breasts spilled free—soft, heavy, real. Nipples dark and flushed. Her skin was warm everywhere. She reached between her legs without hesitation now, parting the robe wider.

Her panties were soaked.

She hooked her thumbs in and dragged them down, letting the cotton cling for a moment to the lips of her pussy before it peeled away with a wet sound.

She was swollen.

Her folds slick, glistening, flushed pink like they knew what she wanted. Her clit stood proud, throbbing, twitching.

She moaned, soft, desperate, as her fingers brushed over it.

Jake.

The name slipped into her mind like a curse and a prayer.

She pictured him under the table, his cock thick in his palm, the base of it veiny and hard, the tip red and angry, glistening. She pictured him watching her tits bounce beneath her robe, biting his lip as he came. She felt it. Imagined him pushing her over the counter, grabbing her hips, whispering how fucking hot she looked like this.

“Oh… fuck…”

She moaned louder this time, two fingers slipping inside while her other hand rubbed her clit in tight, furious circles. Her legs spread wide on instinct. Her hips bucked off the mattress.

She came.

Hard.

A rush of wet heat poured over her fingers as she cried out, thighs twitching, body shuddering. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t graceful.

It was filthy.

She panted, slick fingers still stuffed in her pussy, trembling with aftershocks.

Then she heard it.

Footsteps.

Not downstairs.

Outside her door.

No.

Rachel froze, hand still buried between her legs, robe wide open, her pussy a mess of glistening pink and throbbing heat.

Then—

A knock.

Soft. Three taps.

Jake’s voice, low.

“Hey. You okay in there?”

Rachel’s stomach flipped.

She couldn’t speak.

She couldn’t breathe.

He already knew.

He had to.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice hoarse.

Long pause.

Then, “Okay.”

She listened as he walked away.

She didn’t move for five full minutes, her fingers still wet, her breath ragged.

But in her mind… she wanted him to open the door.

She wanted him to see.

And if he had?

She wasn’t sure she would’ve stopped him.

---

Rachel emerged from her bedroom after a long shower, redressed and scrubbed clean, but nothing could wash away the burn inside her. Not after what she’d done. Not after the knock. Not after Jake’s voice outside her door, soft and knowing.

She’d come so hard her thighs still ached.

And yet—she wanted more.

She wore a different robe now, thicker, belted tighter. Her hair was still damp. No makeup. She hoped it made her feel plain. Safe.

It didn’t.

Jake was sitting on the living room floor, back against the couch, legs spread wide as he thumbed through something on his phone. Shirtless again. His chest was broad, golden in the afternoon light, muscles cut from youth and gym sweat. His nipples were hard. A fine line of hair traced down from his chest to the sharp V at his hips, disappearing into low-slung joggers.

He looked up as she walked in.

His eyes didn’t skim. They landed.

Rachel swallowed. “I was thinking about making something for dinner. Something… normal.”

Jake grinned. “What? No eggs again?”

“Funny.”

He didn’t get up.

He just patted the space between his legs.

“Come sit.”

Rachel froze.

Her heart tripped. Her breath hitched. But her feet?

They moved.

She stepped closer, each step echoing in her own head like a dare. She lowered herself between his legs, her back against his chest. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t need to.

She could feel him.

His thighs on either side of her. His warmth soaking into her spine. His breath just behind her ear.

He smelled good.

Rachel tried to focus on the TV. She had no idea what was on. Some movie. Some voices. It all blurred behind the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Jake shifted.

His thigh brushed hers. Then his hand dropped down casually—one palm on the carpet beside her leg, the other…

On her knee.

Rachel flinched.

He didn’t pull away.

His fingers tapped. Absent. Gentle. Then slid.

Up.

Slow.

Rachel’s breath hitched in her throat. The hem of her robe sat just above her knees. His fingers brushed the edge. Stayed there. Hovering.

Waiting for her to pull away.

She didn’t.

They kept moving.

Higher.

The tips of his fingers grazed bare skin. Her thigh. Then the inside of it.

She opened her legs. Just a little.

Just enough.

Jake’s voice near her ear, thick and dark. “This okay?”

Rachel didn’t answer.

She just let her knees fall wider apart.

His fingers slid higher, then froze.

Her robe had ridden up. Her thighs bare now. And beneath it?

Nothing.

No panties.

His breath hitched.

“You’re not wearing anything,” he murmured.

She couldn’t lie.

She nodded, barely.

His hand moved then—bold now—his fingers brushing over her bare slit, slick and hot and already soaked from the risk alone. He hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck, Mom…”

His middle finger slid through her folds, slow and easy, dragging her wetness down over her opening. She gasped—quiet, sharp—as her hips shifted, grinding slightly into his hand.

He cupped her, one full palm against her cunt, fingers parting her lips, pressing just enough to feel her tremble.

The TV was still playing.

Rachel’s robe was still on.

But she was being fingered on the living room floor by her son—and she didn’t care who might walk in.

Jake leaned forward, his lips grazing her ear. “You’re soaked. You did this thinking about me, didn’t you?”

Her eyes fluttered.

She nodded.

He slipped a finger in.

She almost screamed.

Instead, she bit her lip and came again, body jerking against him, one hand over her mouth as his fingers worked her slowly, deeply, possessively.

When it was over, she collapsed back into him, panting.

Jake pressed a kiss to her neck.

Rachel didn’t move.

She knew the line was gone now.

And there was no going back.

---

Chapter 3: No Innocence Left

The house was dark.

David hadn’t come home.

Again.

Rachel sat alone in her bedroom, the bedside lamp casting a low golden pool across her thighs. The robe was gone. She wore only a thin camisole, one strap slipping off her shoulder, and nothing else. Her legs were bare, parted, bent at the knees. Her cunt was flushed, lips already glistening from her fingers’ earlier teasing.

She hadn’t meant to touch herself.

But the moment she heard Jake in the shower again—water pounding, the same groan from his throat—her hand slipped down between her legs like it had a mind of its own.

Now, she couldn’t stop.

Her left hand gripped the edge of the headboard, white-knuckled. Her right hand worked between her thighs—middle finger buried in her soaked pussy, two others spreading her open. She was slick and swollen, her clit throbbing and flushed, pulsing with every slow stroke inside her.

“F-fuck…”

Her voice was soft, desperate, slurred with heat. She spread her legs wider, tilted her hips forward, imagining his cock instead of her fingers—thick, stretching her, pounding into her while he held her wrists down.

She came once.

And didn’t stop.

She kept going, fucking herself with her fingers now, harder, faster, her breath coming in ragged moans as the slick sounds filled the room—wet, obscene, hungry.

Then the door opened.

She didn’t hear it at first.

But she felt it.

The air shifted.

She looked up.

Jake stood in the doorway.

Shirtless. Hair damp. Eyes wide.

And hard.

So fucking hard.

His gray sweats were tented, the thick outline of his cock visible down one thigh. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

Rachel froze—hand still buried inside her pussy, her body trembling from the tail end of orgasm. Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

Jake stepped in.

Closed the door.

Locked it.

“I knew you were thinking about me,” he said, voice low, shaking with something between lust and possession. “I could feel it.”

Rachel tried to pull the covers over herself, but he was already beside the bed.

“Don’t,” he said.

And she didn’t.

His hand wrapped around her wrist, lifting her fingers from her cunt, her slick coating them.

He brought them to his mouth.

And sucked.

“Jesus Christ, Mom…”

Rachel whimpered.

He climbed onto the bed slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. His cock strained hard beneath his sweats, and he pressed it against her thigh—hot, thick, pulsing through the fabric.

“I want to taste it from the source.”

Rachel’s mouth opened in protest—but nothing came.

He didn’t wait.

He pushed her thighs apart, his hands rough on her skin, and lowered his face to her drenched cunt.

Then licked.

One long, slow stroke from her opening to her clit.

She gasped, body jerking, hips lifting off the mattress.

“Ohh—Jake!”

His tongue was perfect. Broad and firm, dragging up her slit before he latched onto her clit and sucked. Her whole body lit up. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him in deeper as he groaned against her, tongue fucking her with growing hunger.

He devoured her.

Like he’d been waiting his whole life.

And she let him.

No—she gave herself to it.

She rode his mouth, grinding shamelessly as her orgasm tore through her again—louder this time, a wail of pleasure so raw it echoed down the hall. She didn’t care. Let the whole fucking world hear.

When she came down, panting, soaking the sheets, Jake pulled back slowly—lips glistening, chin slick, eyes wild.

“You’re mine now,” he said.

Rachel didn’t argue.

She just pulled him up and kissed him.

Tasted herself on his tongue.

And moaned.

---

Jake straddled her hips, sweatpants halfway down his thighs, his cock finally freed—thick, heavy, flushed deep red at the tip. It hung between them like a weapon, veined and pulsing, slick from the precum already smeared across his shaft.

Rachel’s breath hitched.

It was… huge.

She reached up with trembling fingers, eyes never leaving his cock as she wrapped her hand around it—warm and twitching in her palm.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “This was inside me once…”

Jake’s voice was gravel. “Not where it should’ve been.”

She stroked him slow, her fist gliding from tip to base, spreading his precum with each wet pump. His cock throbbed in her grip, his eyes burning into her tits, her face, her lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hips twitching into her hand. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

Rachel grinned—wicked, hungry.

Then she slid down beneath him.

Her lips kissed the tip.

Jake hissed.

She licked around it, slow, tasting him like candy, letting the salt of his arousal melt on her tongue. Then she opened wide—so wide—and took him in.

Half his cock vanished into her throat.

“Fffuck, Mom—”

She sucked harder, moaning around him, spit already dripping down her chin, her hand stroking the rest of his thick shaft as she bobbed her head faster. Jake’s fingers tangled in her hair, gripping tight, guiding her like he’d dreamed about this for months.

She gagged once—then shoved deeper.

Jake groaned, hips jerking. “God, your mouth…”

Her lips popped off his cock with a loud, wet gasp. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said.

She spread her legs. Pulled her camisole up over her tits—soft, full, nipples hard from the air and arousal.

“I want it raw,” she breathed. “I want to feel my son’s cock inside my pussy.”

Jake nearly came on the spot.

But he grabbed her thighs instead, spreading her wide. Her cunt glistened, the lips flushed and parted, already pulsing, needing him.

He lined up.

And pushed in.

Slow.

Thick.

Stretching her open inch by inch.

Rachel gasped, her head thrown back, hands clawing at the sheets.

“Ohh—Jake!”

His cock sank deeper, deeper, until his hips were flush with hers, their bodies locked together.

“You feel how tight you are?” he growled in her ear. “You were fucking made for me.”

He pulled back—then slammed into her.

She cried out, loud, filthy, the sound bouncing off the walls. Her tits bounced with each brutal thrust, her legs wrapped around his back, holding him in. Her pussy clenched him tight, sucking him deeper, wetter with each stroke.

Slick sounds filled the room. Skin slapping. Her moans. His growls.

“Fucking breed me,” she choked. “Make me yours.”

Jake snapped his hips harder.

“Say it again.”

“Breed me,” she screamed. “Put your cum in your mother’s pussy.”

He lost it.

One hand on her throat, the other gripping her hip, he fucked her—deep, savage, animal. She came again, her pussy gushing around him, soaking the sheets as her back arched and her scream split the night.

Jake followed.

He slammed in to the hilt.

And came.

Hard.

Hot pulses of cum shot deep into her, flooding her cunt with thick, forbidden release. Rachel clung to him, whimpering, milking every last drop as her pussy fluttered around his still-throbbing cock.

They collapsed together.

Breathless.

Sweaty.

Ruined.

---

Rachel sat at the edge of the bed, shaking.

Her camisole was twisted above her tits, one strap hanging limp over her arm. Her thighs were sticky with cum, her pussy still twitching from the last orgasm. Jake’s seed leaked out of her in slow, messy rivulets, soaking the sheets, pooling between her legs.

She should’ve gotten up.

Should’ve run to the bathroom.

Should’ve cried.

But she couldn’t move.

Her son’s cum was still inside her.

Jake leaned against the headboard, watching her. Naked, cock still half-hard, slick and glistening. His eyes were dark, endless, hungry.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

Rachel swallowed hard.

“I need to clean up—”

“No.”

His voice cut through her like a whip. He reached forward, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her back between his legs. She gasped as her bare ass landed in his lap, his arms wrapping tight around her middle, holding her down against the sticky heat of his cock.

“You think this is over?” he whispered in her ear. “I’m just getting started.”

Her pussy clenched again.

He slid his hand down her belly.

Over her mound.

And cupped her slit.

She moaned, weak, already sensitive, already soaked again.

“Feel that?” he murmured. “That’s my cum inside your pussy. That’s your cunt still leaking from your son’s cock.”

Rachel whimpered.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

She hesitated.

He slapped her inner thigh—just once, sharp.

“Now.”

Rachel’s fingers dipped down.

She spread herself open—everything raw and glistening, folds puffy and red, her clit still swollen from being sucked and fucked. Jake’s eyes never left her hand. She rubbed slow, working his cum over her slit, her breath catching.

“Get messy,” he whispered. “I want to see your fingers covered in it.”

She obeyed.

Two fingers slid deep inside her, moaning as they came out soaked with slick and cream. She brought them to her lips.

Sucked them clean.

Jake groaned behind her. “You nasty fucking slut…”

His hand wrapped around her throat from behind, not tight—just there. Claiming her. Dominating her. His other hand slid back between her legs, joining hers, their fingers working her clit together now, fast and rough.

Rachel’s head dropped back onto his shoulder.

Her body trembled.

She was going to come again.

“Say it,” Jake growled into her ear.

“I’m your mom,” she gasped, “and I’m fucking addicted to your cock.”

“Who owns this pussy?”

“You do,” she cried. “You do!”

She came again, screaming this time, thrashing in his lap as he held her down, his cock hardening beneath her ass.

He let her ride it out.

Let her fall apart.

Then pulled his fingers out and smeared her slick across her belly, her tits, painting her in the filth they’d created.

They sat there in silence, the room stinking of sex.

Rachel didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Jake kissed her shoulder.

“We’re doing this again tomorrow,” he said. “And every day after.”

She didn’t say no.

---

Chapter 4: The First Fall

The night air crawled into Rachel’s bedroom through the cracked window, cool against her sweat-slicked skin. She lay on her back, the sheets twisted around her legs, camisole rolled up beneath her tits again. Her cunt was still sore. Tender. Used.

But not satisfied.

Not really.

She stared at the ceiling, one hand between her legs—not touching, just resting there. Feeling the heat.

Jake hadn’t come back after that last time.

And that should’ve been the end of it.

She should’ve cried. Repented. Swallowed down the horror of what she’d done.

But she hadn’t.

She lay there for hours replaying the feel of his cock, the way his fingers gripped her throat, the way he made her say things she didn’t even know she wanted—needed—to say.

Touch yourself.

Call me Daddy.

Beg me to cum in your pussy.

Her pussy clenched just remembering it.

Then—midnight.

She heard his door creak open.

Again.

Soft footsteps padded down the hallway.

Rachel’s heart kicked.

The door didn’t knock this time.

It opened.

Jake stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging loose off his hips, and the look in his eyes was different now—dark still, yes, but something gentler underneath.

He didn’t say a word.

He just climbed into her bed.

Slid in behind her.

Wrapped one arm around her waist.

His body was warm against her back, his chest against her spine, his cock hard and pressing between her ass cheeks through the thin fabric of his pants.

Rachel stiffened—but didn’t move.

She felt his lips brush her shoulder.

Then her neck.

Then lower.

Soft, slow kisses. Not rough. Not like earlier.

This time, he was careful.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jake whispered.

His fingers slipped beneath her camisole. Cupped one breast. Rolled her nipple between his fingers until it was stiff and aching again.

She moaned, soft and helpless.

Jake kissed her again—just below her ear.

“I need you.”

Rachel turned to face him.

His hand slid down her belly. Beneath the sheets. Between her legs.

And this time when he touched her… it wasn’t to use her. It was to worship her.

He stroked her gently, two fingers rubbing slow circles around her clit, not trying to rush it, not trying to make her scream—just make her melt.

“Jake…” she whispered, but it came out like a moan.

He kissed her lips.

Then deeper.

And deeper.

Tongue sliding into her mouth as his fingers slid into her pussy, stroking her from the inside with slow, curling pressure that made her thighs shake.

She came quietly this time.

Tears prickled at her eyes.

It was too much. Too soft. Too loving.

“Let me make love to you,” Jake said, eyes inches from hers.

Rachel should’ve said no.

Should’ve shoved him out of bed.

But instead?

She pulled his sweats down.

And opened her legs.

“Please,” she whispered. “I need to feel you again.”

---

Jake pushed inside her slowly.

So slow.

The thick head of his cock parted her swollen folds, and Rachel gasped—hips rising to meet him, pussy still slick from his fingers, warm and soft and welcoming.

She’d taken him before. Hard. Fast. Rough.

But this?

This was unbearable.

His cock filled her inch by inch, dragging over every nerve, every tender ridge inside her cunt until he was buried to the hilt, his hips pressed flush against hers.

“Oh my God…”

Rachel clung to him, arms around his back, nails scratching lightly down the muscles of his spine. She was wide open, tits pressed to his chest, legs wrapped around his waist, her pussy gripping him like it never wanted to let go.

Jake’s breath trembled.

“You feel perfect,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect inside.”

He began to move.

Not with frenzy.

With rhythm.

Long, slow strokes. Deep and deliberate. The kind of fucking that wasn’t just about cumming—it was about claiming. About memorizing her from the inside out.

Rachel arched, her head falling back into the pillow.

Her nipples dragged across his chest with each thrust, stiff and sensitive. Her body met his perfectly—his size stretching her wide, her pussy clenching on him with every glide.

He kissed her again.

Long. Deep. Tongue tasting her moans.

Rachel’s hands tangled in his hair. She kissed back harder, lips desperate, sucking his tongue like it was part of him she needed to own.

Jake grunted softly.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he breathed into her mouth.

She whimpered.

Her body shook beneath him. She could feel another orgasm building—this one slow and heavy, like a storm crawling up her spine.

“Don’t stop,” she begged.

Jake didn’t.

He fucked her slowly, grinding his hips at the end of each stroke, making her feel the curve of his cock drag over her G-spot. Making her need it.

Her pussy gushed again, wetter now, juices leaking around his cock, down to his balls, soaking the sheets beneath them.

“Touch yourself,” he whispered.

Rachel reached down.

Her fingers rubbed her clit in tight circles, already slick and swollen, her breath breaking into soft cries.

“Good girl,” Jake growled. “Make yourself cum while I’m inside you.”

She obeyed.

Her legs trembled.

And then—

It hit.

Hard.

Rachel came with a loud, choked moan, her body clenching around his cock, pussy milking him, spasming, her slick squirting out in a messy gush that soaked his thighs.

“Ohhh fuuuuck—”

Jake’s thrusts broke rhythm.

He slammed in once.

Twice.

“Gonna cum inside you again,” he groaned. “I don’t care if you get pregnant.”

Rachel clawed at his back.

“Do it,” she cried. “Cum in me, baby—fill your mother’s pussy!”

Jake roared as he slammed into her, holding deep as his cock exploded inside her—pulse after thick, filthy pulse. Cum gushed into her womb, his shaft twitching with each burst, her pussy flooded with her son’s seed.

He didn’t pull out.

He collapsed on top of her.

Still buried. Still twitching.

Rachel clung to him, her fingers brushing through his damp hair, her body a wreck beneath him.

Neither of them said a word.

Because there was nothing to say.

They both knew what had just happened.

And they both wanted it again.

---

Rachel lay flat on her back, one leg still curled over Jake’s hip, her body covered in sweat and cum and nothing else. The air in the room was thick—sex, skin, humidity. Her sheets were ruined. Her cunt throbbed, sloppy and stretched, her pussy lips puffy and glazed in the mixture of their orgasms.

Jake’s cock still rested half-hard inside her, twitching occasionally.

He hadn’t moved.

He’d fucked her slow. Filled her up. And now?

He was falling asleep inside her.

His head rested against her breast, lips brushing her nipple as he breathed deep, slow, satisfied.

Rachel stared at the ceiling.

She should’ve shoved him off.

Should’ve run.

Should’ve screamed.

Instead, she slowly ran her fingers through his hair.

Jake shifted, nuzzling into her tit like it belonged to him.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

Rachel’s throat tightened.

“Jake…”

He didn’t open his eyes.

“You don’t get to pretend that didn’t happen,” he said softly. “Not after how you screamed.”

She flushed hot.

Humiliation mixed with the ache between her legs. Her pussy still leaked his cum every time she moved. Her thighs were sticky. Her belly smeared.

She opened her mouth to argue—but his hand slid up her ribcage, over her side, and cupped her face.

“I’m not going back to my room tonight.”

Rachel blinked. “What?”

“I’m sleeping here,” Jake said. “With you.”

He looked up at her finally, eyes sharp and calm. “You want me to leave?”

Silence.

Rachel’s heart twisted.

She should say yes.

She should say get the fuck out.

But she didn’t.

Her hand slid over his back instead.

“Stay.”

Jake smiled against her skin.

He rolled to his side, pulling her against him, her face to his chest now, their legs tangled. His cock slid out with a slick pop, and the flood of his cum followed, dripping down her inner thigh onto the sheets.

Rachel flushed.

Jake didn’t care.

He reached between her legs, casually dragging two fingers through her messy slit, gathering the dripping mix of seed and slick.

Then he lifted it to her lips.

“Lick.”

Rachel hesitated.

Then obeyed.

Her tongue flicked out, tasting her own cunt and his cum from his fingers, swallowing the filth he fed her.

Jake kissed her forehead like it was sweet.

“I love the way you taste,” he whispered.

Rachel pressed her face into his chest.

And finally let herself fall asleep.

---

Chapter 5: Morning After Guilt

Rachel woke alone.

The other side of the bed was warm, the sheets rumpled where Jake had been, but he was gone now. Morning light filtered through the half-drawn blinds, soft and accusing. It painted golden stripes across the chaos of the night before—her camisole discarded on the floor, the sheets stained with sweat and sex, the air still thick with the scent of it.

Her thighs were sticky.

Her pussy throbbed.

She pulled the sheet back and winced.

A thick smear of cum clung to her inner thigh, trailing from the puffy lips of her cunt all the way to her knee. She could still feel him inside her. Her pussy felt open, stretched, raw.

And needy.

She should’ve felt sick.

Instead, she pressed her fingers between her legs.

She was still wet.

Still leaking.

Still full of her own son.

“Oh God…”

She stumbled out of bed and straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Her reflection in the mirror was a wreck—hair wild, lips swollen, breasts flushed, nipples hard, her neck still bearing the faint red imprint of Jake’s mouth.

She turned on the shower.

Stood under the spray.

And scrubbed.

But even with water burning hot against her skin, she couldn’t wash away the memory of him—his hands, his voice, the way he moaned when he came inside her. It clung to her like a second skin. It made her ache.

She stepped out wrapped in a towel, trembling.

Then she heard his voice.

Downstairs.

Laughing.

Like nothing had happened.

She froze.

Jake.

Downstairs.

Casual. Confident.

Home from college.

Just another morning.

She nearly vomited.

Rachel dressed quickly—loose jeans, oversized sweater, hair in a messy bun. No makeup. No perfume. Nothing sexy. She couldn’t afford to look good. She couldn’t afford to want to.

Then she crept downstairs.

Jake was in the kitchen.

Shirtless again. Always fucking shirtless. He stood at the counter cracking eggs, humming something under his breath. His hair still damp from his own shower. His sweatpants clinging low, revealing just enough hip to make her pulse spike.

He looked up.

Smiled.

“Morning, Mom.”

Her breath caught.

His voice was warm. Normal. Like he hadn’t knotted her legs around his waist and fucked her until she squirted all over his cock.

She didn’t answer.

She poured coffee with shaking hands and turned her back to him, pretending to stir sugar she didn’t add.

Jake came up behind her.

Silent.

Close.

His heat pressed into her back before she could move. She froze.

His hand slid around her waist.

Then lower.

And lower.

Rachel gasped as his fingers slipped between her thighs.

“You didn’t clean all of it out,” he murmured against her ear. “I can feel me still dripping out of your pussy.”

She shoved him.

Hard.

“Don’t,” she snapped, voice shaking. “Don’t touch me.”

Jake stepped back, surprised but unbothered.

She turned on him, chest heaving. “Last night was a mistake.”

He tilted his head. “Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Which part?” he asked softly. “The part where you begged me to fill you? Or the part where you licked my cum off your own belly?”

She slapped him.

The sound cracked the air.

Jake’s head turned from the hit.

Then slowly turned back.

His eyes burned.

And he smiled.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he said.

And Rachel already did.

Because her pussy clenched just hearing his voice.

---

Rachel stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall, heart pounding, cunt still slick from his fingers. She wasn’t angry—she was scared. Scared of how much she wanted it. Scared of how quickly she folded when Jake touched her. Scared of the way her pussy pulsed every time he looked at her like she was his.

She shoved the laundry room door open and stepped inside, slamming it behind her.

Stupid.

Weak.

Her own son.

She braced her hands on the dryer, head bowed, chest heaving.

She needed to breathe.

She needed to cool down.

But then—

The door opened.

Jake stepped in, calm and silent, and shut it behind him.

Click.

The lock.

Rachel turned fast. “Don’t.”

He said nothing.

He stepped forward, slowly.

“I said don’t,” she whispered, backing up until her ass bumped the dryer. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Jake stopped just inches from her.

“You can,” he said, voice low. “You just don’t want to admit how much you need it.”

Rachel’s eyes flashed. “I don’t—”

He dropped to his knees.

And shoved her legs apart.

“Jake—”

Her voice died in her throat as he dragged her jeans and panties down in one swift move, exposing her soaked, flushed pussy. She was already dripping. Her clit stiff, her lips glistening.

Jake looked up at her.

“You’re already wet.”

“Fuck you,” she whispered, but her thighs trembled.

Jake leaned in and kissed the inside of her knee.

Then her thigh.

Then higher.

Rachel shivered.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Say you want it.”

“No.”

He licked her.

A long, slow stroke from the bottom of her slit to her clit.

Rachel cried out, hands grabbing the edge of the dryer for balance.

“You’re such a fucking liar,” Jake growled.

He stood.

Pulled his cock out.

Hard. Thick. Veins bulging. Tip flushed.

He gripped her jaw.

“Say it.”

Rachel panted.

“I… I don’t…”

Jake dragged the thick head of his cock between her soaked folds, coating himself in her slick. Then he pulled back. Waited.

“I won’t put it in,” he said. “Not until you say it.”

She whimpered.

Her hips rolled forward.

“I want it,” she gasped. “I want your cock.”

Jake smirked.

“Where?”

“In my pussy.”

“Who’s pussy?”

Rachel’s voice broke.

“Mine,” she whispered.

He didn’t move.

She groaned, desperate, humiliated, aching.

“It’s your pussy,” she choked. “It’s my son’s cock. I want it inside me. Please, Jake… fuck your mom.”

And he did.

He shoved in with a brutal thrust that slammed her hips into the dryer, his cock splitting her wide open in one hot, wet stroke.

Rachel screamed.

He grabbed her wrists. Bent her forward.

And fucked her.

Fast. Deep. Mean.

The dryer rocked beneath her as his hips slammed into her ass, her pussy squelching with every stroke, his balls slapping her clit.

“You like this?” he growled. “Getting bred like a bitch in the laundry room?”

“Yes!” she moaned. “Fuck, yes—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop!”

He reached around and rubbed her clit, two fingers stroking her fast and filthy as he pounded into her from behind. She came hard, her pussy squirting, soaking his cock, her scream muffled in her own sleeve.

Jake grunted.

“Gonna fill you again.”

“Yes,” she cried. “Cum in me. Please—do it—fill your mother’s cunt!”

He drove deep—

And came.

Hot.

Thick.

Rope after rope of cum flooding her womb again, her pussy milking him, draining him.

Jake pulled out, and her cum-dripping pussy clenched at nothing.

Rachel collapsed against the dryer.

Ruined.

Used.

Owned.

---

Rachel knelt on the tiled floor of the upstairs bathroom, towel clutched between her thighs, catching what her pussy couldn’t hold in.

Jake’s cum leaked from her in thick, white streaks, soaking through the cotton. Her cunt was sore. Red. Raw. Every shift of her hips made her tremble. Her body throbbed with aftershocks. Her face flushed with heat she couldn’t hide anymore.

She’d been used.

Fucked over the dryer like a whore.

And she loved it.

She dropped the towel.

Looked down at herself.

Her pussy was still open. Pink. Wet. The lips puffy and gaping. Cum dripped in slow threads down her inner thighs.

She reached down, touched it.

Brought two fingers to her lips.

Licked them clean.

She didn’t even cry this time.

Then—

Footsteps.

Her head snapped up.

Jake stood in the doorway.

His eyes locked on hers.

Then dropped.

To her bare chest.

To her spread thighs.

To the ruined towel on the floor.

He stepped in.

Closed the door.

Wordless.

His cock was already out. Already hard.

Rachel didn’t speak.

She crawled to him.

On her knees.

Mouth open.

Jake grabbed the back of her head, tangled fingers in her hair.

“Don’t be gentle,” she whispered.

And he wasn’t.

He shoved his cock into her mouth so fast she choked on the first thrust—gagged, drool spilling down her chin. Her lips stretched wide around the thick shaft, her throat clenching as the tip rammed deep.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Jake growled, his hips rocking, pumping her face with no mercy. “Take it, Mom. Take it like the cum-drunk slut you are.”

She loved it.

Her tongue flattened, drool soaking her tits, eyes watering. He fucked her mouth with filthy rhythm, watching her slobber, listening to her moans turn to muffled gags.

Then he pulled out.

Held his cock at her lips.

“Beg for it.”

Rachel panted, lips swollen and glazed in spit.

“Please,” she gasped. “I want to taste you—please give me your cum. I need it down my throat.”

Jake shoved back in.

Faster now.

Harder.

Her nose hit his abs.

He fucked her face.

“Gonna fill your mouth,” he grunted. “You’d better fucking swallow it all.”

Rachel moaned around his cock.

And then—

He came.

With a shout.

Hot jets of cum flooded her throat, thick and salty, shooting straight into her stomach. She swallowed fast, choking once, then again. Some dripped out the side of her mouth. He didn’t stop. He held her there. Let her drink every drop.

When he finally pulled out, his cock glistened, her chin coated in spit and seed.

Jake looked down at her.

“You’re mine now,” he said.

Rachel nodded.

Because she was.

---

Chapter 6: A Secret Life Begins

The sound of David’s car pulling out of the driveway had become Rachel’s new cue to tremble.

Gone.

Out for meetings.

Out for drinks.

Out for hours.

She stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing a mug, pretending she wasn’t soaked between the legs. She’d been pretending all morning. Pretending the soft ache in her pussy was just nothing. Pretending she hadn’t spent the last two nights falling asleep with her son’s cock inside her.

Jake walked in.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t need to.

His bare feet padded over the tile. She heard the soft breath at her shoulder. Then his hands—rough and hot—slid around her waist.

Her whole body stiffened.

Then melted.

Jake pressed up behind her, his cock hard already beneath his sweats, rubbing slow against the curve of her ass. No underwear. She could feel it.

“You wet yet?” he murmured in her ear.

Rachel’s mouth opened, but nothing came.

He already knew.

His hands slid lower, gripping her hips.

“You knew I’d come find you the second he left,” Jake growled. “You’re probably already dripping.”

He pulled her jeans down.

No panties.

Her cunt was soaked.

“Jesus, Mom,” he laughed. “You’re leaking onto the fucking floor.”

He bent her forward over the counter.

Rachel didn’t resist.

Didn’t speak.

She just spread her legs.

Wide.

Her pussy glistened, lips puffy and parted, pink and ready, his cum from the night before still leaking from her hole.

Jake dropped his sweats.

His cock slapped against her ass—hard, swollen, throbbing.

He didn’t tease this time.

He slammed in.

Rachel screamed.

The impact echoed through the kitchen, her hands gripping the faucet, tits bouncing beneath her sweater as his cock plowed deep into her wet, hungry cunt.

“Ohh—Jake—fuuuuck!”

He grabbed her hips and fucked her—fast, loud, dirty. The kitchen filled with the sound of skin slapping, her pussy squelching with every stroke, her moans rising with each thrust.

“You like getting fucked where you do dishes?” he growled. “Huh?”

She sobbed. “Yes—yes—oh God, yes!”

He reached around and grabbed her throat, pulled her head back.

“Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“You,” she choked. “You own it—my son owns my fucking pussy—”

Jake groaned.

Then came.

Hard.

Flooding her again, balls deep, his cock twitching as he filled her womb with another load of hot, thick cum.

Rachel’s knees buckled.

He held her up.

His cum dripped out the second he pulled out, running down her thighs in long, creamy trails.

Jake leaned in and whispered against her ear.

“Don’t clean it up.”

He kissed her neck.

Then walked away.

Rachel stayed bent over the sink, her cunt leaking, her breath ragged.

This was her life now.

And she was starting to love it.

---

The laundry room smelled like detergent, dryer sheets, and cum.

Rachel stood bent at the waist, pulling warm clothes from the dryer into a basket, her loose house shorts stretched tight over her ass. No panties. She never wore them anymore—not since Jake made her stop.

Her pussy was always wet anyway. Always ready.

The floor behind her creaked.

She didn’t need to turn around.

Jake was already there.

Already hard.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

Rachel swallowed, hands trembling as she reached for another shirt.

She didn’t stop.

Jake stepped behind her.

His fingers hooked her waistband, yanked her shorts down to her knees.

Her cunt glistened in the low light—slick and open, already throbbing. She’d fingered herself just minutes ago, bent over the laundry pile, thinking about the last time he came inside her.

Now he was back.

His cock slid between her thighs without warning, dragging over her soaked folds.

“Already leaking again,” he muttered. “You need this.”

Rachel whimpered.

Then moaned loud as he pushed in—slow at first, spreading her open, his shaft dragging over her walls until he was balls-deep, the head of his cock kissing her womb.

She shuddered.

“Jake—”

He grabbed her hips.

And pounded.

Hard.

Fast.

Savage.

The basket toppled. Clothes scattered.

Rachel screamed into the laundry, hands buried in t-shirts, her pussy squelching loud as Jake used her like a toy, his hips slapping into her ass with wet, obscene rhythm.

“Every fucking room,” he grunted. “Every surface.”

“Yes!”

“You’re mine, Mom.”

“Yes—fuck, yes!”

He came hard, biting her shoulder as he spilled inside her again, thick ropes of cum pulsing into her womb, his cock twitching as her pussy milked him.

She came with him.

Loud. Wet. Shaking.

When he pulled out, her pussy gaped, dripping.

Again.

---

She was in the hallway not twenty minutes later, wiping her hands on a dish towel, when Jake grabbed her from behind and shoved her down onto the stairs.

She gasped as her knees hit the carpet.

“Not here—someone could see—”

“I don’t care,” Jake growled, yanking his cock out. “I’m still hard.”

She didn’t fight.

She spread her legs.

Let him use her again.

Fast, brutal, right there on the steps.

Her pussy soaked the carpet.

His cum ran down each stair after they were done.

---

That night, he came to her room.

She was already naked.

Already wet.

He slid in behind her.

And didn’t even say hello before slipping his cock back into her, spooning her as he fucked her slow and deep.

They fell asleep like that.

Still connected.

Still leaking.

---

The sun hadn’t risen yet.

The room was dim, the sheets tangled around Rachel’s legs, her body splayed half on her side, half on her stomach—nude, exposed, vulnerable. Her breasts rose and fell slowly with each sleepy breath. Her thighs were parted just slightly, one knee bent forward.

And behind her—Jake.

Already awake.

Already hard.

His hand cupped her ass, spreading her open.

She didn’t stir.

Not until the thick head of his cock nudged the slick, swollen lips of her pussy and began to press in.

“Mmnn—ahh…”

Rachel gasped in her sleep, hips twitching.

Jake grinned, kissed her shoulder.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Just let me in.”

His cock slid deeper, slowly spreading her soaked, morning-warm cunt. She was already wet—already leaking. Her body had started without her brain.

Rachel moaned, eyes fluttering open.

“Jake—?”

“Morning,” he breathed against her neck.

Then slammed the rest of the way in.

She choked on a moan, mouth falling open as her pussy clenched around him, stretched full and aching. Her body jolted from the force, ass rippling from the impact of his hips.

“You were grinding on me in your sleep,” Jake growled, his breath hot in her ear. “Whimpering. You wanted it.”

“I… I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t lie.”

He fucked her harder.

Faster.

Each thrust rocked her forward against the pillow, her tits dragging across the sheets, her clit catching on the bed as his cock pistoned inside her wet, hungry cunt.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she whimpered. “I’m yours—fuck, Jake—yours!”

He pulled her hips higher, forcing her ass up, face buried in the pillow now as he railed her from behind, cock pounding deep, balls slapping her soaked slit.

“You want me to cum inside again?”

“Yes!”

“You want to drip all day?”

“Please!”

He growled.

Fucked her faster.

Held her down.

And came hard, cock buried to the hilt, his seed erupting deep in her womb.

Hot.

Sticky.

Endless.

Rachel trembled, her pussy milking him, gushing around him.

When he pulled out, her hole gaped open.

A flood of cum followed.

Down her thighs.

Onto the sheets.

Jake leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Don’t clean it up.”

She moaned.

He got up.

Got dressed.

Left her there.

Ruined.

Used.

Loved.

---

Chapter 7: Fracture Lines

David came home late.

Again.

The living room lights were off. The kitchen spotless. Rachel hadn’t left him a plate. Not even a note. Just silence. Thick and cold.

He loosened his tie, set his keys down. Walked past the laundry room—and paused.

The washer was open.

A pile of wet panties sat just inside. On top: a sheer, pale-blue pair, soaked through the crotch. Not damp. Soaked.

He blinked.

Frowned.

Picked them up.

Sniffed.

His stomach turned.

Not just sweat.

His wife’s scent was there—ripe, intimate, unmistakable. But beneath it, something darker. Thicker.

Cum.

He dropped them like they burned.

“Rachel?” he called into the dark. “You home?”

No answer.

He climbed the stairs slow.

Half-hoping she was asleep.

Half-hoping she wasn’t.

At the top of the stairs, he passed Jake’s door.

Closed.

But not locked.

He moved on.

Rachel’s door was ajar.

He pushed it open.

She lay curled on her side, the sheets pulled high, her shoulders bare, her breathing shallow.

Her skin was flushed.

Her hair wild.

The room smelled wrong.

Like sweat.

And sex.

David took a step inside.

The floor creaked.

Rachel stirred.

“Jake…?”

David froze.

She turned slowly.

Saw him.

Her face drained.

“Oh,” she said softly. “It’s you.”

It’s you.

Not thank God.

Not where were you.

Just oh.

David’s jaw clenched.

Rachel sat up, pulling the sheet higher.

Too late.

He’d seen the marks.

Red imprints on her thighs.

Bruises at her hips.

Bite marks on her neck.

“Long day?” she asked, eyes refusing to meet his.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t know how to.

Something had shifted.

He felt it like a knife pressed to his spine.

Down the hall, Jake’s door opened.

Then closed again.

Soft.

Casual.

Rachel’s eyes flicked toward it.

Just for a second.

But David saw.

---

David sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, just watching her.

Rachel stood at her vanity, brushing her hair in the mirror, trying not to shake under his gaze. She wore a simple camisole and sleep shorts, loose, soft cotton—but the fabric clung to her hips. Her nipples were visible through the top.

She hadn’t worn a bra.

Again.

He noticed.

“I found your panties in the laundry,” David said, voice flat.

Rachel froze mid-stroke.

“Yeah?”

“They were… wet.”

She blinked at her reflection. “I wore them all day.”

“Not like that.”

She turned slowly. “What are you implying?”

David didn’t speak.

Rachel’s heart thundered in her chest.

Then he stood.

Walked past her.

Didn’t touch her.

Didn’t kiss her goodnight.

He just left.

---

Down the hall, Jake watched the door close.

He grinned.

Then slipped into Rachel’s room, silent as a shadow.

She was still at the vanity, shaking.

He didn’t ask what happened.

He just wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

And kissed her neck.

Her knees buckled.

“Did he touch you?” Jake murmured against her ear.

She shook her head.

“Good.”

His hand slid down her belly.

Her thighs parted before he even asked.

“No panties again?” he whispered.

She moaned. “You told me not to.”

Jake smiled.

“Good girl.”

He slid two fingers inside her.

Soaked.

“Jesus, Mom,” he growled. “You’re dripping. All this for me?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

He fingered her slow, deep, curling up until she squirmed against his palm.

Then he pushed her down over the vanity, face to the mirror, hands braced on the edge.

Her shorts hit the floor.

Jake lined up behind her.

She watched it all—his cock sliding into her pussy, her face twisting in pleasure, the way her eyes rolled back when he bottomed out.

“I want you to look at yourself,” Jake hissed. “Look at what your son does to you.”

She did.

She watched herself get fucked.

Bent over the vanity while her husband sat in the next room, alone.

Jake pounded her hard, fast, one hand gripping her hip, the other wrapped around her throat as her tits bounced in the mirror, as her pussy gushed wet around his cock.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say what you are.”

“I’m your fucktoy,” she gasped. “I’m your filthy little cum dump.”

Jake moaned.

“Tell me who fucks you better.”

“You do,” she sobbed. “You do, Jake—my own son fucks me better than my husband ever did!”

He slammed in deep.

And came.

Hot.

Explosive.

Her pussy overflowed with his seed, spilling out onto the floor as she collapsed over the vanity, legs shaking.

Jake leaned over her back.

Kissed her ear.

“You’re mine.”

Rachel nodded.

Still watching herself in the mirror.

Still dripping.

---

David checked the washer again.

Another pair of panties—black lace this time, soaked straight through. The crotch glistened when he lifted them, a deep, shiny sheen like lotion. He sniffed.

Not detergent.

Not sweat.

Sex.

He stared at the fabric in his hand, heart thudding.

Rachel had been quiet for weeks. Distant. Restless. And Jake?

Jake was always there.

Too close.

Too casual.

Too confident.

David dropped the panties back in the washer and closed the lid.

Then walked upstairs.

---

Rachel didn’t hear the footsteps.

The shower was already running. Steam clung to the mirror, fogging everything. She leaned against the tile, fingers braced on the wall, legs spread, water cascading down her back.

Jake was behind her.

Naked.

Hard.

His cock already inside.

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered against her ear. “He’s home.”

Rachel moaned.

“Then why are you—ahh—fucking me right now?”

“Because you’re dripping,” Jake growled. “And I’m not going a single day without this pussy.”

He thrust deep.

Rachel bit her lip, head falling forward as Jake filled her from behind, his cock pounding into her, her slick gushing with every stroke despite the heat of the water.

Her moans bounced off the tile.

She tried to hold them in.

She failed.

---

David stopped in the hallway.

Rachel’s bedroom door was cracked.

The bathroom light was on.

He heard something.

Not voices.

Just… sounds.

Wet sounds.

He stepped closer.

Stopped outside the door.

Steam curled out from underneath.

A soft thud.

Another.

A choked moan.

David’s hand hovered near the handle.

But he didn’t open it.

Couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

He stepped back.

---

Inside the bathroom, Rachel was losing control.

Jake had one hand over her mouth, the other wrapped around her belly as he fucked her hard, fast, reckless.

“You want him to hear, don’t you?” Jake hissed. “You want Dad to know his wife’s full of her son’s cum?”

Rachel moaned behind his hand, her body bucking against the tile.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he growled. “Right here. Loud.”

She did.

Hard.

Her pussy squirted around him, soaking his cock as he slammed in deep, spilling hot seed inside her for the third time that day.

Jake stayed buried.

One hand still on her mouth.

Both listening.

To the silence outside the door.

To the danger.

To the thrill.

---

Later, Rachel lay on her bed in just a towel, legs parted, cum still leaking out between her thighs.

Jake licked it up.

Slow.

Smirking.

“He knows,” Rachel whispered, breathless.

“I want him to.”

Her pussy clenched.

Because so did she.

---

Chapter 8: Caught in the Act

David came home early.

Rain pelted the windshield as he parked, tires hissing against wet pavement. Something had been gnawing at him all day. A sickness in his gut. An image he couldn’t shake.

Rachel bent over the dryer.

Jake standing too close.

A wet spot in the crotch of her panties that hadn’t been there before she went in.

He stepped out of the car and slammed the door.

Inside, the house was quiet.

Too quiet.

No TV.

No kitchen sounds.

Just a faint rhythmic thump.

David set down his keys.

Followed the sound.

Up the stairs.

Down the hall.

His bedroom door was closed—but not latched.

He pushed it open.

And froze.

Rachel was on her hands and knees at the foot of the bed, tits swinging with every thrust.

Jake knelt behind her, naked, hips pumping.

His cock was buried inside her—deep—his hands gripping her ass, spreading her open with every thrust.

Her pussy was soaked, swollen, stretched around her son’s cock. Cum already leaked from her hole, wetting her thighs, dripping onto the sheets.

David’s breath caught in his throat.

Rachel looked up.

Their eyes locked.

For a split second, everything stopped.

Then—

Jake thrust again.

Hard.

Rachel’s head fell back, mouth wide.

She moaned.

Loud.

“Ohhh fuuuck, Jake—don’t stop!”

David staggered.

Jake looked over his shoulder.

Saw him.

Grinned.

And kept fucking.

“Want to watch, Dad?” he growled. “Come see how wet your wife gets for our son.”

Rachel cried out again.

Her back arched.

Her pussy gushed.

She was cumming.

Hard.

David watched as Jake fucked her through it—balls slapping wet against her cunt, cock stretching her open, her moans climbing pitch with every stroke.

“Say it,” Jake barked. “Tell him.”

Rachel gasped, shaking.

Then looked straight at her husband.

“I love it,” she moaned. “I love our son’s cock. He fucks me better than you ever did.”

David’s knees buckled.

Jake slammed deep.

And came.

Thick pulses of cum spilled inside her, leaking around his cock, dripping out onto the sheets.

Rachel collapsed onto her elbows, panting, face glazed with sweat and shame and satisfaction.

Jake pulled out slow.

His cock glistened.

Her cunt gaped.

Used.

Flooded.

David said nothing.

He turned.

And walked out.

Rachel didn’t move.

Jake leaned over her back.

“Knew he’d find out eventually.”

She nodded.

Still dripping.

Still full.

Still Jake’s.

---

David sat at the dining table.

Still in his soaked jacket.

The rain pelted the windows behind him.

He hadn’t spoken since he left the bedroom.

He just sat.

Staring at nothing.

The front of his slacks still damp.

Not from rain.

From sweat.

From fear.

From truth.

Rachel walked down the stairs barefoot.

Hair messy.

Skin flushed.

Still glowing from the orgasm Jake had forced out of her just minutes ago.

She wore nothing but a robe.

No bra.

No panties.

Just soft cotton against skin that still smelled like sex.

David looked up.

His mouth opened.

But she didn’t give him the chance.

She sat across from him.

Silent.

Head high.

He clenched his fists.

“You let him—”

Rachel didn’t blink.

“You begged him—”

Nothing.

“You looked me in the eyes and let him fuck you, Rachel.”

Her lips parted.

And she whispered, “He makes me feel alive.”

David’s face twisted.

“I’m your husband.”

Rachel leaned forward.

“He’s the only one who’s ever made me cum.”

Silence.

Then—

Footsteps.

Jake entered the kitchen, shirtless, his jeans slung low, hair damp from a sink rinse, not a shower.

His cock still smelled like pussy.

Like her.

He stepped behind Rachel.

Laid both hands on her shoulders.

David stood.

Jake didn’t move.

“I should beat the shit out of you,” David growled.

“You won’t,” Jake said calmly.

“I should drag you out of this house.”

“You can try.”

David’s fists clenched tighter.

Rachel reached up and touched Jake’s wrist.

Soft.

Loving.

Claimed.

“She’s mine now,” Jake said.

Rachel closed her eyes.

And nodded.

David’s voice broke. “You’re sick.”

Jake stepped around the table.

Stared his father down.

“Then leave.”

Rachel looked up at her husband.

Her past.

And didn’t say a word.

David stared at her one last time.

Then grabbed his keys.

And walked out the door.

The sound of the engine.

The tires in the rain.

Gone.

Jake turned.

Rachel stood.

Wrapped her arms around his neck.

And kissed him.

“Bedroom?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Make me forget him,” she whispered.

And he did.

---

Jake shoved Rachel back onto the bed, her robe falling open as she hit the mattress with a soft, eager gasp.

She spread her legs without a word.

Her pussy glistened—still messy from before, lips flushed, swollen, raw from how deep he’d fucked her.

Jake stripped as he stepped toward her.

His cock already hard again.

Thick.

Veined.

Heavy.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled.

Rachel looked up at him, eyes wide, mouth open.

Then she whispered:

“I want you to breed me.”

Jake froze.

His cock twitched.

Rachel propped herself on her elbows, spreading her legs wider.

“I want you to fill me until it leaks down my thighs every hour of the day. I want to smell like you. I want to be yours.”

Jake climbed onto the bed.

Grabbed her ankles.

Pushed her knees back until they touched her chest.

Her cunt spread open for him—pink, drenched, trembling.

“You’re gonna take all of it,” he said.

“Please,” she begged.

He spit on her pussy.

Watched it drip between her folds.

Then shoved his cock in deep.

Rachel screamed.

Her back arched.

Her tits bounced with every thrust as Jake fucked her harder than he ever had. No foreplay. No softness. Just ownership. Skin slapping, pussy squelching, her moans turning to helpless cries.

“Bred like a bitch,” Jake growled.

“Yes!”

“Gonna knock up my own fucking mom.”

Her eyes rolled back.

“I want it!”

He folded her tighter—knees to shoulders—and drilled her hard, deep, ruthless. His cock pounded her soaked pussy, the bedframe slamming into the wall, the mattress creaking beneath them.

Rachel came again.

A squirting rush that sprayed across his thighs, her pussy spasming around his cock, milking him.

“Don’t stop,” she sobbed. “Use me—wreck me—own me!”

Jake pulled out suddenly.

Grabbed her hips.

Flipped her over.

Her ass in the air now, back arched, face buried in the sheets.

Then—

A thick glob of spit hit her asshole.

Rachel gasped.

Jake smeared it with his thumb.

Then pushed in.

She screamed into the pillow.

“Jake!”

He shoved his cock back into her pussy at the same time.

Both holes filled.

One with spit and pressure.

One with his cock.

He slammed into her.

Rachel drooled on the sheets, moaning uncontrollably.

Her body shook.

Her cunt gushed.

Jake gripped her hair.

Yanked her head back.

“I’m gonna breed this hole,” he growled. “You’re gonna drip my cum for days.”

“Fucking do it!”

He slammed in one last time—

And came.

Hard.

Pulse after thick, white pulse flooding her cunt, his cock buried deep, her pussy milking him like it never wanted to let go.

He stayed inside.

Held her hips.

Watched it leak out.

Watched her ass twitch, still full of his spit.

Watched her fall apart.

When he pulled out, the cum poured down her thighs.

She collapsed.

Face down.

Ass up.

Dripping.

“Again,” she whispered, voice cracked.

Jake leaned down.

Bit her shoulder.

“Whenever you want,” he growled.

Because she was his now.

Fully.

Utterly.

Forever.

---

Chapter 9: Fallout

The sun rose slow.

Gray light spilled across the hardwood floor, the carpet, the disheveled sheets. Rachel sat at the edge of the bed, a robe tied tight around her waist, legs together, arms wrapped around herself like they could hold the guilt in.

The house was silent.

David hadn’t called.

He hadn’t texted.

He was gone.

And she’d let him go.

Because she couldn’t stop taking her son’s cock.

Her thighs were still sticky.

Her cunt still open, still sore from the way Jake had used her the night before—hard, deep, everywhere. She could still feel the stretch in her asshole. Still feel the cum dribbling out slowly from between her legs, cooling on her skin.

The bed reeked of sex.

Of family.

She buried her face in her hands.

What the fuck had she become?

---

Jake leaned against the doorway, watching her.

Naked.

Silent.

Hard.

He could smell her from here.

He stepped forward, slow, like approaching something sacred.

“Why aren’t you in the shower?” he asked.

Rachel looked up.

Eyes red.

Face pale.

“I can’t,” she said quietly. “I can’t wash it off. I feel like it’s everywhere.”

Jake knelt in front of her.

His hands touched her knees.

Spread them.

Her robe opened.

Her bare cunt peeked out—raw, red, glistening.

“I don’t want you to wash it off,” he said.

Her breath hitched.

“I want you to feel it,” Jake whispered. “I want you to live in it. You begged me for it. Begged me to ruin you.”

“I know,” she said. “I remember.”

Jake reached up.

Untied the robe.

Let it fall.

She didn’t stop him.

He kissed her stomach.

Her hips.

Knelt lower.

Pressed his mouth to her swollen pussy lips.

Tasted her.

Cum. Sweat. Shame.

He groaned.

“I could eat this for hours.”

Rachel trembled.

She didn’t push him away.

She spread her legs.

Jake licked her.

Slow.

Deep.

Tongue dragging through her folds, collecting the mess, savoring it.

Her fingers found his hair.

“Jake…”

“You’re mine,” he said, voice muffled against her cunt. “You know that now.”

She nodded.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered.

Jake slipped two fingers inside her.

Her back arched.

He licked her harder.

“Say you love it.”

“I love it,” she moaned. “I love what you do to me. I love what I’ve become for you.”

Jake groaned.

She came.

Again.

Explosive.

Messy.

Collapsing onto her elbows as he licked and fingered her through it, swallowing every drop.

He didn’t stop until she begged.

And even then—

He only paused to kiss her lips.

“Dad’s gone,” he said. “But I’m not.”

Rachel looked into his eyes.

And nodded.

Because she didn’t want him to leave.

Ever.

---

The blinds stayed closed.

Rachel didn’t leave the bed.

Not once.

Jake made sure of it.

He rolled her onto her back, her side, her stomach—fucked her in every position. Made her suck his cock when she was too exhausted to speak. Made her cum on his fingers when her pussy was too swollen for another thrust.

She lost count of how many times she came.

How many loads he poured into her.

How many times he slapped her ass, made her cry, then kissed her until she smiled again.

The mattress was soaked.

Sheets ruined.

The air thick with sex and sweat and spit and love—filthy, twisted love.

Jake stood at the edge of the bed now, stroking his cock slowly, watching her.

Rachel lay flat on her back, legs splayed, body covered in drying streaks of cum. Her tits rose and fell with each trembling breath. Her pussy—raw, used, red—leaked a steady stream of his seed down onto the sheets. Her asshole, stretched from earlier, still winked faintly open.

“Open your mouth,” Jake said.

Rachel did.

Tongue out.

Jake stepped forward, pressed the thick head of his cock against her lips.

She licked it.

Tasted herself.

Tasted them.

Then took it in deep.

“Fuuuuck,” Jake groaned, his hand tangled in her hair. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

She moaned around his cock, gagged, spit pouring out the sides of her mouth. She looked up at him with teary eyes and sucked—messy, eager, desperate.

Jake pulled out with a wet pop.

Grabbed her legs.

Folded her in half.

And shoved back inside her pussy like it belonged to him.

She screamed.

Her cunt was a wreck.

Sore. Slick. Begging.

He pounded her fast, deep, hard, their bodies slapping together like thunder.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass again,” Jake growled. “And you’re gonna thank me for it.”

Rachel sobbed.

“Yes—please—please fuck my ass again—”

He flipped her over.

Spat.

Pushed the head in.

Her body jerked—but she didn’t stop him.

She backed onto it.

His cock stretched her ass open, inch by inch, until he was buried to the balls.

Then he started moving.

Slow at first.

Then faster.

Then ruthless.

Rachel clawed at the headboard, moaning, drooling, begging, her tits bouncing with every brutal thrust.

He came deep.

Hot.

Endless.

Spilling his seed inside her ass, groaning as he held her hips and unloaded every drop.

When he pulled out, her asshole gaped.

His cum spilled out in thick globs, trailing down to her pussy.

Rachel collapsed.

Face down.

Destroyed.

Jake lay beside her.

Pulled her into his chest.

Kissed her forehead.

“Mine,” he whispered.

She nodded.

Eyes fluttering closed.

“Yours.”

---

The house was quiet.

Dawn painted the bedroom in soft gold, spilling between the blinds, brushing over their tangled bodies.

Jake lay on his back, one arm thrown over the pillow, breath deep and slow. The sheet covered only half of him. His cock rested thick against his thigh—soft, but not for long.

Rachel watched him.

From her knees.

Between his legs.

Naked.

Dripping.

Cum still clung to her thighs from the night before. Her pussy throbbed just looking at him—sore, gaping, starved. She leaned down, kissed the tip of his cock. Felt it twitch.

He stirred.

Eyes half-lidded.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

Rachel didn’t speak.

She straddled him.

Guided the thick shaft between her folds.

Pressed the head to her still-slippery slit.

Jake groaned.

“You’re already wet?”

“I never stopped being wet,” she whispered.

And then—

She sank down.

Slow.

Deep.

Jake’s cock split her open again, filling her inch by inch, her pussy swallowing him like it had been waiting all night.

They both moaned.

Rachel’s nails dug into his chest as she bottomed out, his cock twitching deep inside her, her cunt soaking him in seconds.

She didn’t ride hard.

Not yet.

She grinded.

Slow circles.

Back and forth.

Her clit rubbed against his pelvis. Her tits bounced with every shift. Her face flushed with heat.

Jake grabbed her hips.

Watched her.

“Look at you,” he breathed. “Fucking yourself on your son’s cock before breakfast.”

Rachel moaned.

“Just needed it…”

She leaned forward.

Kissed him.

Then rode him faster.

Harder.

Her pussy squelched around him, juices leaking out, dripping down his balls as she fucked herself raw, her moans rising, breaking, begging.

“Gonna cum again,” she gasped. “Can’t stop—it won’t fucking stop—”

Jake grinned.

“Do it.”

She came loud—her body convulsing, cunt gushing all over his cock, squirting mess across his stomach, her thighs shaking as she screamed into his neck.

Jake didn’t stop her.

He fucked up into her, hips slamming, breeding her from below.

She came again.

Harder.

He pulled her down.

Whispered in her ear.

“You ready for another load?”

Rachel cried, “Yes—give it to me—fill me again—fill your mother’s pussy!”

Jake groaned.

Then came.

Long.

Deep.

Hot.

Cum flooding her already-drenched cunt, pouring inside her like he wanted it to stay, her body twitching as it filled her up.

When he finished, she collapsed onto his chest, panting, used, glowing.

He didn’t pull out.

She didn’t want him to.

They just lay there.

Connected.

Breeding.

Still leaking.

---

Chapter 10: Home, Rewritten

The days passed without incident.

No police.

No divorce lawyers.

No angry phone calls.

Just… absence.

David was gone.

And the house felt quieter than ever.

Quieter—and heavier.

Because Jake didn’t just move in physically.

He took over.

He sat in David’s chair.

He left his laundry on the floor and expected it clean.

He walked through the house shirtless, cock hard in the mornings, dragging Rachel out of the kitchen by her hair to eat her out over the sink before breakfast.

He didn’t ask.

And Rachel never said no.

---

Now, she stood at the counter, robe hanging open, nipples hard from the cold, her cunt already wet.

Jake sat at the table behind her, drinking coffee.

He watched her.

Always watching.

Rachel reached for the milk.

Jake’s voice came low.

“Bend over.”

She paused.

Turned her head slightly.

“I said bend.”

She bent.

Slow.

The robe parted.

Her ass bare.

Her cunt slick.

Jake stood behind her without a sound.

His cock slid between her legs in one smooth, practiced thrust.

Rachel moaned.

Head down on the counter.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned. “You’re always ready for me.”

“Always,” she whispered.

His hands gripped her hips.

He fucked her slow—long, deep strokes that made her stomach tense, her eyes flutter, her pussy gush.

She came in under a minute.

“Already?” he teased.

She nodded, dazed.

He fucked her harder.

“Say it.”

She knew what he meant.

“I’m yours,” she moaned. “My pussy. My mouth. My ass. All of it.”

Jake slammed deep.

“You forget anything?”

Rachel gasped.

Then smiled.

“My heart,” she whispered. “It’s yours too.”

Jake came inside her.

Fast and deep.

One hand on her shoulder.

The other wrapped around her throat.

Holding her down as he filled her with his cum.

Again.

And again.

---

Later, she cleaned the floor.

Wiped her thighs.

Then served him breakfast.

He didn’t thank her.

Just ate.

And watched.

Like she was still on the menu.

---

Rachel stood in the hallway, freshly showered, hair damp, wearing a soft pale dress—no bra, no panties.

Jake had made that clear.

He’d come into the bathroom this morning while she was rinsing off, pushed her against the tile, and slid his cock into her pussy with a grunt.

While the water rushed past them, he whispered into her ear:

“No more underwear.”

She came on the spot.

He pulled out.

Slapped her ass.

“Next time you cum without permission, I’ll edge you for a week.”

Rachel moaned.

Nodded.

Bit her lip.

---

Now she stood barefoot at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables.

Every shift of her legs let air hit her dripping pussy.

Every lean forward made her tits sway inside the dress.

Jake entered behind her, footsteps deliberate.

His palm landed on her ass.

Hard.

She gasped.

“Did I give you permission to cum yet?”

She turned her head slowly.

“Not yet.”

Jake leaned in.

His hand slid up under her dress.

Fingers found her slit.

Soaked.

Swollen.

He didn’t need to ask—she was right on the edge.

“You’re holding it?”

Rachel nodded fast.

Teeth clenched.

“Good girl.”

He pulled his fingers back.

Licked them.

“Get on your knees.”

She dropped without a sound.

Jake unzipped.

Pulled his cock out—already hard.

She took it in her mouth, moaning as she gagged herself on the thickness, her tongue swirling, her lips sucking, tears forming fast.

Jake gripped her hair.

“Look up.”

She did.

Eyes wide, mouth stuffed, drool running down her chin.

“Now you don’t cum until I do,” he growled. “And not a fucking second before.”

Rachel nodded, cock still buried in her throat.

He fucked her face slow, then faster, faster, until she choked on every stroke, until her thighs shook from the edge.

But she didn’t touch herself.

She didn’t dare.

Not without permission.

Jake pulled out, cock soaked, twitching.

He grabbed her hair.

“On the floor.”

She rolled to her back.

Spread her legs.

Her pussy gleamed in the kitchen light.

He knelt.

Shoved his cock inside.

She nearly screamed.

He grabbed her throat.

Thrust hard.

“Not yet.”

She cried.

Moaned.

Twitched.

Begged.

“Now.”

She exploded.

Came with a violent gush, her pussy squirting all over his thighs as she screamed, her body arching.

Jake fucked her through it.

Then filled her.

Deep.

Another load inside his mother’s pussy.

She lay panting beneath him, twitching, wrecked.

His seed leaking out before he even pulled back.

---

Later, she served him dinner.

Still leaking.

Still bare.

Still Jake’s.

---

Rachel stood naked before the mirror, hands at her sides, legs slightly parted. Her hair was down. Her nipples stiff. Her pussy—puffy, red, sore from a dozen loads—was already slick again.

Jake stood behind her.

Shirtless.

Holding black leather in his hands.

She didn’t speak.

She just watched him in the reflection.

“You know what this is?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You gonna fight it?”

Her voice broke.

“No.”

Jake stepped behind her.

Lifted the collar.

Thick.

Tight.

Real.

He wrapped it around her throat.

Buckled it snug.

Then pulled the strap at the back—tightening it—until her breath caught, until her spine straightened.

Click.

He locked it.

The padlock hung just below her throat.

Jake kissed the back of her neck.

“Now look at yourself,” he whispered.

She did.

Saw her body.

Her marks.

The bruises on her hips.

The bite on her breast.

The dried cum between her thighs.

And now the collar.

“Say it,” Jake murmured, stepping closer.

His cock—already hard—pressed against her ass.

Rachel stared into her own eyes.

“I’m yours.”

Jake reached between her legs.

Rubbed her clit slow.

“Not enough.”

She moaned.

“I’m your toy.”

“Say what you really are.”

She shuddered.

“I’m not your mother anymore.”

Jake’s cock slid inside her from behind.

Slow.

Thick.

Full.

Her body welcomed it.

“I’m your fuckpet,” she breathed.

Jake fucked her in front of the mirror.

Hard.

Fast.

One hand in her hair.

The other choking her just enough to keep her there—right on the edge.

She moaned louder.

Watched herself bounce on his cock.

Her tits.

Her lips.

Her collar.

She came like a bitch in heat.

Gushed.

Pussy squirting, thighs soaked, mouth open in a silent scream.

Jake slammed deep and came inside her again.

Hot.

Endless.

Her reflection smiled.

Ruined.

Collared.

His.

---

Epilogue: Her Son, Her Lover

The road stretched out ahead of them, two long lanes lined with trees, golden with the tail-end of summer. Jake rode in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, one hand resting casually on his thigh. He hadn’t said much for the last hour.

Neither had Rachel.

She drove in silence.

Her hands tight on the wheel.

Her collar was gone—but she felt it anyway.

Her pussy was still sore from the night before. Jake had taken her on the stairs, then in the shower, then bent over the suitcase. When she tried to zip it afterward, she could still feel his cum leaking down her thighs.

Now she was supposed to drop him off.

Let him walk back into his old dorm room.

Pretend he wasn’t the man who fucked her every night, who filled her cunt until it couldn’t hold anymore, who claimed her like a bitch in heat.

She couldn’t.

“Pull over,” Jake said suddenly.

Rachel blinked.

They were alone on the road.

“Why?”

“Because I want to look at you.”

She slowed.

Eased off the shoulder.

Parked beneath a row of trees.

Birds chirped outside.

Wind kissed the windows.

Jake leaned across the console.

Unbuckled her seatbelt.

Then kissed her.

Hard.

Slow.

With possession.

His hand slid up her leg—under her sundress—right to her pussy.

No panties.

She hadn’t worn any for weeks.

She moaned into his mouth as his fingers brushed her slick folds.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered.

“I never stopped being wet for you.”

He grinned.

Then moved fast.

Unbuckled.

Opened his door.

Came around to hers.

Yanked it open.

“Back seat. Now.”

Rachel obeyed.

She climbed into the back like a girl half her age, sundress bunched at her waist, tits bouncing as she crawled across the leather seats.

Jake followed.

Closed the door behind him.

No words.

Just heat.

Just need.

He flipped her onto her back, shoved her knees to her chest, and pulled his cock out—hard, veined, ready.

“Tell me you’ll miss it,” he growled, lining up.

“I’ll need it.”

He pushed in.

She gasped.

Her pussy spread open—eager, aching, ready to be ruined one more time.

Jake fucked her hard.

Slow at first.

Then faster.

Then brutal.

The car rocked.

Her moans filled the cabin.

Her heels dug into the headrest as he pounded her, tits bouncing, fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“Breed me,” she begged. “One more time—please, baby—flood me!”

He groaned.

Thrust faster.

The windows fogged.

Her cunt gushed.

Then—

He slammed deep.

And came.

Hot.

Endless.

His cum poured into her womb like he was claiming territory.

He held there.

Buried to the hilt.

Forehead against hers.

Breath mingling.

Neither spoke.

Not yet.

When he pulled out, she was wrecked.

Leaking.

Quivering.

Eyes glossy with tears.

She touched his cheek.

“You’ll come back to me,” she whispered.

Jake smiled.

“I never left.”

---

As the car pulled back onto the road, Rachel shifted in her seat.

His cum soaked the cushion beneath her.

And she didn’t wipe it.

She drove him the rest of the way like that.

Dripping.