NOVEL NEXT Chapter 616: Breaking Mom's Barriers (r-18)
The air saturated with the scorching musk of Linda's pussy, the sharp tang of her saliva dripping from my cock, the bitter polish of the ebony piano lid slick with her come, and the thick, salty reek of my pre-cum smeared across her tongue and chin.
Shadows casted across--her ravaged body—knees bruised on the plush rug, breasts heaving, nipples dark and swollen like ripe berries begging to be sucked raw, thighs glistening with her arousal, the tattered lace skirt a twisted shred around her waist, her face a wreck of tear-streaked lust, lips swollen and glistening with strings of spit and my leaking cock-slime, chin dripping with spit.
My cock throbbed in the air, massive, veiny, glistening with her saliva, the head swollen and leaking thick ropes of pre-cum that dangled like obscene pearls, pulsing with every heartbeat. Her moans lingered—
"HNNGH—Peter—fuck—more!"—raw, desperate, and she screamed her thoughts aloud in a broken, filthy whisper...
"Your cock, baby—my son's massive fucking cock is so big, so beautiful—keep fucking your mother's throat, ram it deeper, make me choke on the dick that came out of this pussy!"
We'd crossed the line, and there was no going back.
I yanked her to her feet, my hands clawing her hips, fingers bruising the scalding, sweat-slick flesh, the heat of her skin searing my palms. Her eyes locked on mine, wild with love and lust, and I tore her clothes from her body.
My fingers hooked the lace bralette, already shredded, and I ripped it apart, the fabric tearing with a sharp RRRIP, her breasts bouncing free, heavy and flushed, nipples throbbing hard as bullets, begging for teeth.
I grabbed the lace skirt, bunched at her waist, and shredded it, the delicate threads snapping, the ruined fabric fluttering to the rug like black confetti.
She was completely naked now, her body a glistening altar—curves slick with sweat, stretch marks a sacred map of the body that carried and birthed me, pussy swollen and dripping thick cream down her inner thighs, ass red with my handprints and still twitching from my tongue in her hole.
Her gasp was raw—"HNNGH—Peter!"—and she begged out loud, voice shaking: "Strip your mother bare, baby—rip it all off, leave me nothing but a naked, dripping slut for my own son!"
I didn't stop. My shirt was next, buttons popping as I tore it off, the fabric ripping, my chest bare, muscles flexing, sweat glistening in the candlelight. M
y jeans were already around my ankles; I kicked them off, the denim thudding to the floor, my cock springing free again, monstrous, veiny, the head slick with her spit and my pre-cum oozing in a steady stream.
She gasped again, sharper—"HRRRH—fuck, baby!"—her eyes wide, and she moaned her thoughts like a prayer: "Look at it wanting me—my son's cock is fucking huge, veiny, perfect—it's going to wreck your mother's cunt, split me in half, and I'm begging you to ruin me with it!"
I sat on the piano bench, the leather cool against my ass, my cock jutting upward, a throbbing monolith dripping and twitching for her. "Come here," I growled, voice shredded.
My mother, naked, about to ride her son's cock, to take me inside the pussy.
She straddled me, her thighs trembling, the heat of her skin radiating, her pussy hovering inches above my cock, dripping thick strands of girl-cum that stretched and snapped onto my shaft, the scent—musk, salt, her—choking my lungs.
Her hands gripped my shoulders, nails digging, the sting sharp, her breasts brushing my chest, nipples scraping my skin, the texture electric like hot wires.
She descended, slow, deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine, the forbidden a living pulse between us, and she hissed through clenched teeth.
"Ahhh~~~ Feel your mother's cunt kiss your cockhead, baby—my own son at the gate of the pussy that made him—wrong, so fucking wrong, and so goddamn perfect."
Her pussy lips, swollen and flushed a deep, angry pink, peeled open like petals soaked in honey, clinging to the flared crown of my cock as she hovered. The glistening inner folds trembled, slick with her cream, stretching wide around the purple, bloated head, the delicate skin turning almost translucent as it strained to take me.
A thick strand of her arousal stretched from her clit to my slit, snapping wetly as the pressure built.
She sank.
The tight ring of her entrance resisted for a heartbeat--eighteen years of celibacy fighting one last time, then gave with a lewd, sucking POP. The ridge of my cockhead forced her open, the pink flesh blooming outward, spreading into a perfect, obscene O around my girth.
Her pussy lips thinned and whitened at the edges from the brutal stretch, hugging every vein as the helmet disappeared inside her, swallowed by the scalding, velvety tunnel that hadn't known a cock since the night she made me.
Inch by tortured inch, her cunt gaped wider, the slick walls dragging and rippling over the thick veins bulging along my shaft.
I could see the outline of my monstrous cock pushing against the soft skin of her lower belly, a rigid column forcing its way back into the body that birthed it. Her juices gushed around the invasion, forced out in creamy rivulets that coated my balls and dripped in heavy strings to the bench below.
Every ridge, every throbbing vein carved into her untouched flesh, parting her deeper, deeper, until her pussy lips kissed the base of my cock, stretched so thin they looked painted on, quivering around me like they'd never close again.
She was impaled, ruined, claimed, her son's cock buried to the root in the same cunt that once pushed him into the world, and the obscene bulge in her abdomen pulsed with every heartbeat of the dick that now owned her completely.
She gasped, a raw, broken sound—"AAAAH—PETER—FUCK!"—her hips jerking, and she wailed: "You're too fucking big, baby—my son's monster cock is tearing his mother's pussy apart—hurts so good, stretch me, ruin me!"
The sensation was obscene: her pussy clamping around me like a fist, the velvety heat gripping every inch, the friction excruciating as I pushed deeper, her walls fluttering, stretching to accommodate my size, ridges of my veins dragging over every raw nerve inside her.
The wet squelch of her juices was loud, her arousal gushing down my shaft, coating my balls, pooling on the bench in a growing puddle of mother-son sin.
Her tightness was a vice, eighteen years of celibacy making her pussy a virgin's again, every vein on my cock dragging against her walls, the texture of her insides pulsing, milking me like it was trying to suck my soul out through my dick.
Inch by inch, she sank, her moans a jagged symphony—"HNNGH—UNGH—GRRRH—FUCK, BABY!"—each one punched from her gut, raw and desperate, and she kept confessing: "Fill me, Peter—stuff your mother's starving cunt with every inch of the cock I made—make me take it all!"
Her thighs trembled, the muscle spasming against my hips. Her ass brushed my thighs, the heat of her reddened cheeks burning, the slickness of her come smearing my skin.
Halfway down, she sobbed —"HRRRH—TOO BIG—YOU'RE BREAKING ME!"— but ground down harder, crying out: "Don't stop—my son owns this pussy now, wreck it, claim the hole you came from!"
I thrust upward, slow, deliberate, and her pussy swallowed me balls-deep, the stretch agonizing, her walls convulsing, the heat unbearable, until her ass rested on my thighs, my cock buried, the head battering her cervix like it wanted back inside the womb.
We froze.
No movement. Just the pulse of my cock inside her, the clench of her pussy around me in rhythmic spasms, the heat of her walls, the wetness dripping, the scent of our sin choking the air.
Her breasts pressed against my chest, nipples stabbing my skin, her breath hot and ragged against my neck, her hands clawing my shoulders, nails carving bloody trails. My hands gripped her ass, fingers sinking into the bruised flesh, the heat radiating, the slickness of her come coating my palms.
I was inside! My mother's pussy, deep in the womb that made my sisters, now stretched around her son's cock, taking every inch, and we're not moving, just feeling it, knowing we've broken everything.
She looked me dead in the eyes, voice shattered and dripping with devotion, and whispered: "You're home, baby—my son's cock is finally back inside mommy's cunt. I'm yours forever. Fuck your mother whenever you want. This pussy belongs to you now."
We stayed there, still, the pulse of our heartbeats syncing, the clench of her pussy rhythmic, the heat of her body searing, the wrongness a shared ecstasy. Then, slowly, she moved.
Her hips rotated, a slow, filthy grind, circling, her pussy milking my cock with deliberate squeezes, the friction electric, her walls dragging along every vein, every ridge, and she moaned loud enough to rattle the walls.
"Feel that, Peter? Your mother's cunt is fucking her son's dick—milking you, sucking you deeper—cum inside me one day, breed the pussy that made you, baby—give Mommy your seed!"
My hands guided her, bruising her ass harder, fingers spreading her cheeks so I could feel her puckered hole twitch above my balls, the heat of her cheeks burning, the slickness smearing my fingers as she started to ride me like damnation itself.