Mousy mom submits to son, Then sets up her friend to fall

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We needed to work some shit out. Right here, right now. David must have sensed me looking at him because he looked up at me. I made a whimpering face, pleading for him to take mercy on me.

“Daavid,” I whined. He wouldn’t. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them back behind my head as he climbed over me and started humping against me. Our wet, slippery genitals were sliding all over each other. Finally, he went a little further back and his cock head caught the opening of my cunt. He stopped and slowed. His dick was in me now. Just the head and he pulled all the way out. Then back in.

I had cum before we even started and I was so sensitive it was unreal. I felt every nerve ending and every millimeter of our sex. My son was all the way on top of me, but he wasn’t putting weight on me, he was holding himself up. He was fully in control. I had submitted.

I had fully submitted sexually to my son and as ashamed as I was, it felt right. We were just following our instincts. Millennia of women submitting to sex with a powerful male. It doesn’t matter that he’s my son.

No, it does. What mother who is being honest with herself doesn’t want to sire an alpha male? What woman wouldn’t want to make her own perfect man that will one day come back to her, his eyes burning with a lifelong need as he dominates her, strips her naked, makes her cum, fucks her, and owns her? I realized this was beyond right and wrong as I felt my son’s powerful, hard cock penetrate me, a little deeper with each thrust. Then the heartbreaking emptiness as he slid his manhood all the way out. Again and again. It was the best feeling in the world to have him inside me as I gripped him tight with my pussy muscles, and the worst emptiness when he withdrew.

He is teasing me. He wants me to beg for it. I wanted to grab his ass when he thrust inside to keep him in me, but he had my hands pinned behind my head with one of his strong arms.

I started bucking my hips, and he started matching me and soon we were just fucking. The world was only cock and cunt, and sweat and skin. The familiar scents of my son and myself were amplified. Sexualized. I bucked.

We were mother and son. Naked. Smashing our sex organs into each other. We were connecting. Intimately, as a man and a woman. No clothes, no guilt, no shame. No. That’s wrong. I was ashamed. But that was part of it. It made me vulnerable. It made me wet. David placed his face under my arm and was inhaling deeply as he drove his cock wildly into me. He was getting off on his mommy’s smell.

We were being animals. I was profoundly ashamed of my sexuality, of our sexuality, of where our instincts had brought us. But I was in awe of the power of those instincts. The intensity, the emotional volatility, and the sheer joy and pleasure of committing incest with my own child were soul shattering. World changing. I knew I would not be the same person.

David let go of my wrists to better hold himself up. The rhythm of our sex was spinning out of control. I fought to keep my hips in time as I felt raw pleasure growing past my sex and threatening to engulf my whole body. I was going to cum again, I could feel it building. I had nowhere to go. My head was spinning with hormones, ungodly amounts of dopamine and endorphins. I was beyond high. I was having sex with my son.

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