The silk of my robe slid off one shoulder as I reached for my phone, sending a shiver through me as the cool air kissed my skin—though let’s be honest, the heat simmering underneath was already doing its own thing. The evening was melting into the night, splashing the Tuscan countryside with bruised purples and fiery golds, like some painter’s fever dream. Lorenzo? Still stuck at the office, drowning in contracts as always, but I’d bet anything his mind was already wandering back to the villa, to me, to us—just like mine was.
I caught my reflection in the antique mirror across the room – a woman softened by years, yes, but still vibrant. My hair, the colour of dark honey, cascaded around my shoulders, framing a face that had seen laughter lines etch themselves around my eyes, but they crinkled still with a youthful spark. My breasts, heavy and full, pushed against the lace of my bralette, nipples already hardening at the thought of Lorenzo’s hands on me. I ran a hand down my thigh, smooth and bare beneath the silk, the anticipation a delicious ache in my core.
Time to remind him what was waiting.
I unlocked my phone, my fingers dancing across the screen. His contact photo, a grainy shot from our last vacation in Capri, made me smile. He looked so deliciously rumpled there, sun-kissed and unguarded.
📲 Me: Thinking of you… 💋 Just stepped out of the shower, still damp. The air is cool here, but I’m burning up for you. 🔥 Imagine… me waiting, just like this… 😈
I added a picture – a quick, artful selfie. My head tilted back, hair spilling across my bare shoulders, the lace of my bralette just visible, a hint of cleavage promising more. My lips were parted, eyes half-lidded, a silent invitation in their depths.
I pressed send, a thrill zipping through me. Lorenzo always loved these little games. They were the spice in our long marriage, keeping the embers glowing hot.
My phone buzzed almost instantly.
📲 Unknown Number: Mom? Is that you? 😳
My heart stuttered, a cold dread washing over me. Mom?
I stared at the number, unfamiliar, and then checked the recipient of my message. Not Lorenzo. Not his familiar contact. My finger had slipped. In my haste, I’d sent it… to Marco. My son. My twenty-year-old son. Who had just gotten a new phone? Whose number I had saved but hadn’t completely registered yet.
My breath caught in my throat. The blood drained from my face. A wave of nausea rolled over me. Oh god. Oh god, no.
I wanted to snatch the message back, and erase it from existence, but it was too late. Sent. Delivered. Read, apparently, judging by his immediate reply.
Panic clawed at me. I had to say something. Anything. To undo this, to laugh it off as a mistake, a joke.
📲 Me: Marco! Oh my god, I am SO sorry! Wrong number! 🤦♀️ Seriously! Ignore that last message! Completely meant for your father!!! 😂 Awkward! So awkward!
I tried to inject lightness, to make it seem like a silly blunder. But my fingers trembled as I typed, the shame burning hotter than any blush could ever be.
Another buzz. His reply was… different. Not the confused, slightly embarrassed response I’d expected.
📲 Marco: Dad changed his number again? Didn’t know. But… Mom… that picture… 😶
The emoji. The uncomfortable emoji. But… there was something else there too. A beat. A pause. And then…
📲 Marco: You look… amazing. Honestly. Like… wow. 😳
My breath hitched again. This wasn’t going as planned. Not at all. He wasn’t horrified. He wasn’t recoiling in disgust. He was… complimenting me?
A horrifying, dizzying spiral began to unfurl in my stomach. Was he… was he turned on? By his own mother? The thought was repulsive. And terrifying. And…
A strange, unwelcome flicker ignited deep within me. A spark of forbidden curiosity. This was wrong. So very wrong. But the air in the room suddenly felt thick, charged with an electric tension.
I should shut this down immediately. Tell him again it was a mistake, block his number, pretend it never happened. But my fingers hesitated above the keyboard. His words… “You look… amazing.” They echoed in my mind, strangely potent.
📲 Me: Marco, please. It was a mistake. I’m mortified. Just delete it and let’s never speak of this again. 🙏
I tried to sound firm, to reclaim control. But inside, a strange tremor was starting. The heat I’d felt earlier, anticipating Lorenzo, was shifting, morphing into something sharper, laced with an edge of danger.
His reply was almost immediate.
📲 Marco: Deleted. Promise. But… still… no need to be mortified. You really do. You always look great, Mom. Just… extra today, I guess? 😉 If Dad’s the lucky recipient… he’s a lucky guy.
The winking emoji. That damn winking emoji. It felt… suggestive. Deliberate. Was I imagining things? Projecting my own forbidden thoughts onto his innocent words?
But innocence… somehow, it felt like innocence had just taken a sharp turn and veered into a very different territory.
My nipples hardened again, not now with anticipation for my husband, but with a different kind of awareness. An unsettling, forbidden awareness of my son.
I told myself to stop this train of thought. To regain control. To be the adult, the mother. But the silence stretched between our texts, heavy and pregnant with unspoken things.
And then, another message arrived. This time, it wasn’t a text. It was a picture.
📲 Marco: Just got out of the shower too. Was going to change for dinner. But… since we’re sharing… 😉
The picture loaded slowly, pixel by pixel, each line etching itself into my consciousness with a shock. It was a selfie, like mine. But utterly different.
Marco. Standing in front of a bathroom mirror, towel slung low on his hips, water droplets still clinging to the sculpted planes of his chest, his shoulders broad and strong. He wasn’t smiling. His expression was serious, his eyes dark, fixed directly on the camera. And below the towel… just a hint of the dark shadow, the promise of what lay beneath.
My breath left me in a rush. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a gasp. This was… insane. Unbelievable. And yet… I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
He was beautiful. My son. A man now. Beautiful in a way that twisted something inside me, something deep and primal and utterly forbidden.
My heart hammered against my ribs. My skin prickled with a mixture of horror and… something else. Something illicit and undeniable. Desire.
It was there, undeniable, a shameful, terrifying arousal blossoming in the pit of my stomach. For my son.
I wanted to scream. To rage. To make it stop. But my fingers moved almost against my will, typing a response. A response that was no longer about denial, no longer about reclaiming innocence. But something else entirely. Something reckless and dangerous.
📲 Me: Marco… what are you doing? This is… wrong.
Even as I typed the words, they felt hollow, a flimsy shield against the tsunami of forbidden desire that was rising within me.
📲 Marco: Wrong? Maybe. Or maybe… just honest? You sent that picture, Mom. You started this.
His words stung, yet they also… ignited something. A sense of recklessness, a shedding of the skin of propriety. He was right, in a twisted way. I had started it. Accidentally, yes. But the door was open now. The taboo had been breached.
And a part of me, a dark, hidden part of me that I had never acknowledged, never dared to confront… was walking through that door.
My fingers trembled as I typed again. This time, there was no denial, no protest. Only a question, whispered into the digital void, heavy with the weight of unspoken desire.
📲 Me: What do you want me to do?
The reply came instantly, stark and direct, shattering the last vestiges of my composure.
📲 Marco: Take off the robe, Mom. Let me see you.
The air in the villa felt heavier now, thick with a tension that clung to my skin like damp silk. My phone trembled in my hand as Marco’s last message glowed on the screen: Take off the robe, Mom. Let me see you. The words burned into me, each syllable a spark that fed the wildfire raging in my chest. I should’ve shut it down right then—should’ve tossed the phone across the room and drowned this madness in a cold shower. But I didn’t. My breath hitched, shallow and quick, as my fingers brushed the edge of the silk still clinging to my body.
Outside, the Tuscan night deepened, the bruised purple sky swallowing the last threads of gold. The villa was silent, save for the faint hum of cicadas through the open window. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror—eyes wide, lips parted, a flush creeping up my neck. The robe hung loose, one shoulder already bare, the lace of my bralette peeking out, cupping my full breasts. My nipples strained against the fabric, hard and aching, betraying me.
I set the phone down on the dresser, propping it so the camera faced me. My hands moved slowly, deliberately, as if someone else controlled them. The silk whispered against my skin as I let the robe slide down my arms, pooling at my feet in a soft heap. Cool air kissed my bare thighs, my stomach, the swell of my breasts barely contained by the black lace. I stood there, exposed, heart hammering, a mix of shame and exhilaration flooding my veins.
📲 Me: It’s off…😳 Are you still there?
The wait was agonizing. My eyes flicked to the mirror again—my body, soft curves and smooth skin, the dark honey of my hair spilling over my shoulders. I looked… desirable. Not just a mother. A woman. The thought twisted something deep inside me, wrong and thrilling all at once.
My phone buzzed, jolting me.
📲 Marco: Fuck, Mom…😍 You’re unreal. I can’t stop looking.
His words hit me like a punch, stealing my breath. The emoji—the heart-eyes—felt playful, but the fuck was raw, unfiltered. My son was staring at me, drinking me in, and I could feel his gaze through the screen, hot and heavy. A shiver raced down my spine, pooling low in my belly, where a slick heat was already building between my thighs.
📲 Me: Marco… this is crazy. We shouldn’t. 😣
Even as I typed, my voice in my head sounded weak, unconvincing. My body didn’t care about shouldn’t. My fingers hovered over the lace of my bralette, itching to peel it away, to give him more. What the hell was wrong with me?
📲 Marco: I know. But I don’t wanna stop. Do you? 😏 Tell me you don’t feel it too.
He was daring me. Teasing me. His confidence—where had that come from?—stoked the fire in me higher. I imagined him in that bathroom, towel still low on his hips, those water droplets sliding down his chest. Was he hard right now? Was his cock straining against the fabric, thick and pulsing, because of me? The thought made my pussy clench, a fresh wave of wetness soaking the thin strip of my panties.
I swallowed hard, my mouth dry despite the heat flooding my body. My fingers brushed my nipple through the lace, a soft gasp escaping my lips at the jolt of pleasure. I shouldn’t answer. I shouldn’t keep this going. But my hands had a mind of their own.
📲 Me: I… I feel it. God help me, I do. 🔥 What now?
The reply came fast, his words dripping with intent.
📲 Marco: Touch yourself. Right there, where I can see. Let me watch. 😈
My breath caught in my throat, a moan slipping out before I could stop it. The room spun for a moment, the edges blurring as I stared at the phone. He wanted to watch. My son wanted to see me—his mother—pleasure myself. It was filthy. It was wrong. And it made my pussy throb with a need I couldn’t ignore.
I stepped closer to the dresser, angling the phone so he’d have a clear view. My hand slid down my stomach, trembling, until my fingers brushed the waistband of my panties. They were black lace too, sheer enough to show the shadow of my mound, already damp with arousal. I hesitated, heart pounding, then hooked a finger under the edge and tugged them to the side. The cool air hit my slick folds, and I whimpered, my swollen lips glistening in the dim light.
📲 Me: Like this? 😳 *Image*
I dipped a finger between my thighs, tracing the dripping slit of my pussy. My clit pulsed under the lightest touch, sensitive and begging for more. My knees buckled slightly, and I gripped the dresser with my free hand, steadying myself. The shame was still there, a sharp edge beneath the pleasure, but it only made it hotter, dirtier.
📲 Marco: Holy shit, Mom…😵 You’re so fucking wet. Keep going. Please.
His words were a command, a plea, and they shattered what little restraint I had left. I slid two fingers inside myself, slow and deep, my pussy clenching around them with a wet squelch. My head tipped back, a low groan tearing from my throat as I pumped them in and out, the friction sending sparks up my spine. My thumb found my clit, circling it, and my hips rocked forward, chasing the building heat.
“Marco…” I whispered his name into the empty room, imagining his eyes on me, dark and hungry. My breasts heaved in the bralette, nipples rock-hard, begging to be freed. I wanted him to see everything—wanted him to know how much I was falling apart for him.
The phone buzzed again, but I couldn’t stop, not now. My fingers moved faster, slick with my juices, the wet sounds of my pussy filling the air. I was close—so close—teetering on the edge of something forbidden and unstoppable.
The buzz of my phone snapped me out of my haze, my fingers still buried deep in my dripping pussy, slick and hot against my skin. My chest heaved, breasts straining against the lace bralette, nipples aching as I glanced at the screen. Marco’s name glowed there, his latest message waiting. My heart thudded harder, a wild mix of shame and raw need pulsing through me.
📲 Marco: Mom… fuck, you’re killing me. 😩 I’m so hard right now. Can’t stop staring. Show me more.
His words hit like a jolt, electric and filthy, making my pussy clench around my fingers. I bit my lip, a shaky moan slipping out as I pulled them free, my juices glistening on my skin. The air felt thick, clinging to me, the scent of my arousal mixing with the faint lavender from the villa’s open windows. I couldn’t believe I was doing this—couldn’t believe how much I wanted to.
I adjusted the phone, angling it lower this time. My trembling hand tugged the bralette down, freeing my heavy breasts. They spilled out, soft and full, nipples dark and stiff against the pale curve of my skin. I cupped one, squeezing gently, a soft whimper escaping as the sensation shot straight to my throbbing core. Then, I spread my thighs wider, panties still shoved to the side, the slick lips of my pussy splayed open for him—swollen, pink, and dripping wet.
📲 Me: Like this, baby? 😳Image
I hit send, my breath ragged, the pet name slipping out before I could stop it. Baby. God, what was I doing? Calling my son that while I exposed myself to him? The wrongness of it twisted deeper, fuelling the heat pooling low in my belly.
The wait was torture. My free hand drifted back between my legs, teasing my sensitive clit, a low groan rumbling in my throat. I imagined Marco staring at his screen, towel long gone now, his cock in his hand—rock hard, thick, the swollen head slick with precum. Was he stroking himself? Moaning my name? The thought made my hips buck, a fresh wave of wetness soaking my fingers.
📲 Marco: Holy fuck, Mom…😵 Your tits—your pussy—fuck, you’re perfect. I’m stroking myself right now. Wish I was there.
A choked gasp tore from me, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his words sank in. He was touching himself. My son was jerking off to me, his own mother, and telling me about it. My pussy pulsed, aching with a need so intense it bordered on pain. I slid two fingers back inside, slow and deep, my thumb circling my clit as I pictured him—his strong hand wrapped around his throbbing shaft, veins bulging, the wet glide of his fist driving him crazy.
“Marco…” I whispered again, voice trembling, thick with lust. The villa’s silence swallowed the sound, but it echoed in my head, a plea and a confession all at once. My fingers pumped faster, the slick squelch of my pussy filling the room, obscene and delicious. My breasts bounced slightly with each thrust, nipples brushing the air, sending sparks through me.
📲 Me: Tell me what you’re doing. Please. 🔥 I need to hear it.
I hit send, desperate now, my body teetering on the edge. My other hand pinched a nipple, tugging it hard, and I groaned louder—sexy, needy, the sound bouncing off the walls. The shame was still there, a sharp blade beneath the pleasure, but it only made me wetter, hotter, more reckless.
📲 Marco: Shit, Mom…😈 I’m gripping my cock tight, stroking slow. It’s so fucking hard for you. Precum dripping down my fingers—sticky, hot. I’m imagining your pussy right here, sliding down on me. You’d feel so good.
His words painted a picture so vivid I could almost feel it—his thick cock stretching me open, filling me, the side of my panties rubbing against his shaft as he thrust inside. My breath hitched, a high-pitched moan spilling out as my fingers curled deeper, hitting that sweet spot that made my toes curl. My pussy clenched hard, juices dripping down my thighs, pooling on the hardwood floor beneath me.
“Fuck, Marco…” I gasped, my voice breaking. My thumb pressed harder on my clit, rubbing fast, and my hips rocked, chasing the edge. I wanted him to hear me—wanted him to know how much he was wrecking me. My phone slipped slightly, but I caught it, angling it so he’d see everything—my flushed face, my swaying breasts, my hand working my soaked cunt.
📲 Me: I’m so close…😩 Wish you could hear me moaning for you.
The reply came fast, raw and urgent.
📲 Marco: Fuck, Mom, I’d kill to hear that. 😏 I’m close too—cock’s throbbing, balls tight. Cum with me. Now.
It was a command, and it broke me. My fingers plunged deep, my thumb grinding my clit, and the pressure snapped. A loud, shuddering moan ripped from my throat—“Marco!”—as my pussy spasmed, hot waves crashing over me. My juices gushed, soaking my hand, dripping down my legs, and I trembled, knees buckling as I rode it out. My breasts heaved, nipples tingling, every nerve alight with forbidden bliss.
I slumped against the dresser, panting, my phone buzzing again in my limp hand. The screen glowed with Marco’s next message, and despite the haze, I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
📲 Marco: Did you cum, Mom? 😈 Tell me how it felt. I just did—fuck, it was intense.
I stared at Marco’s message, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of my orgasm. My fingers felt clumsy as I typed back, my mind reeling. What had I just done? The shame was hitting me now, a cold wave crashing over the heat, but beneath it, a flicker of something else. Anticipation. Excitement. A dark, forbidden thrill at the thought of more.
📲 Me: I…yes. It felt…incredible.😳 Intense. I’ve never… God, Marco, this is so wrong. Oh my pussy needs it. So bad.
Even as I typed the words, they felt hollow. The wrongness of it all only seemed to make it hotter, the taboo fuelling the embers still glowing in my core. My pussy was sensitive, swollen, aching with a need that hadn’t been fully sated. Not nearly. I knew, with a sickening clarity, that one taste of this forbidden fruit would never be enough.
My son. My baby boy, now a man. And I was craving him like a drug.
The reply came fast, his words dripping with filthy promise.
📲 Marco: Mom… fuck.😏 You have no idea what you do to me. I’m rock hard again.
The night air was heavy, thick with the scent of jasmine and the weight of Marco’s words. I stood there, skin prickling, heart hammering against my ribs as I stared at his message glowing on the screen. He was hard again. My son, rock hard for me, his own mother. The shame burned hotter, but beneath it, a darker hunger twisted in my core. I couldn’t stop this train, not now. It had left the station, careening off the rails into forbidden territory.
My fingers trembled as I typed, the words spilling out before I could think better of it.
📲 Me: Oh god, Marco…this is crazy. But I can’t stop. Want you so bad. I need…
The reply came instantly, raw and urgent.
📲 Marco: I know, Mom. Me too. I’m coming over. Lock the door if I was you because I am so coming to fuck you on your bed. 😈
My breath left me in a rush. He was coming.
The villa was silent, save for the faint rustle of the breeze through the olive trees outside and the rapid thud of my heart in my ears. Marco’s last message burned into my retina: I’m coming over. Lock the door if I was you because I am so coming to fuck you on your bed. My breath hitched, a shiver racing down my spine as I stood there, bralette still tugged down, panties skewed to the side, my body a mess of sweat and slick desire. The hardwood floor beneath me was cool against my bare feet, grounding me just enough to keep me from spiralling completely.
I glanced at the door—unlocked, as always. Lorenzo wouldn’t be home for hours, if at all tonight. The villa was ours, a sprawling sanctuary of stone and silk, now charged with a tension so thick I could taste it. My fingers twitched, torn between bolting the lock and letting this madness unfold. But my pussy throbbed, still dripping from moments ago, and the dark, reckless part of me won out. I didn’t move. I didn’t lock it.
The faint crunch of gravel outside snapped my head up. A car. His car. My son was here. My stomach flipped, a nauseating mix of dread and anticipation. I grabbed my robe from the floor, slipping it back on but leaving it untied, the silk brushing against my sensitive nipples like a tease. I caught my reflection again—flushed cheeks, wild hair, eyes dark with something primal. I barely recognized myself.
The front door creaked open downstairs, followed by the soft thud of boots on the tile. “Mom?” Marco’s voice echoed up, low and rough, laced with an edge that made my knees weak. “You up there?”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Yeah… I’m here,” I called back, my voice trembling but loud enough to carry. My hands fidgeted with the robe’s hem, unsure whether to cover up or let him see me like this—raw, exposed, waiting.
Footsteps climbed the stairs, steady and deliberate. My pulse raced, each beat a drumroll to the inevitable. Then he was there, filling the doorway. Marco. Taller than I remembered, broader too, his frame lean but muscled under a tight black t-shirt. His jeans hung low, the towel from his picture replaced by denim that did little to hide the bulge straining against the zipper. His hair—dark, like Lorenzo’s, but wilder—fell into his eyes, which locked onto me with an intensity that stole my breath.
“Fuck, Mom…” he muttered, stepping closer, his gaze raking over me. The air between us crackled, heavy with lust and the unspoken. “You didn’t lock the door.” A smirk tugged at his lips, cocky and dangerous. “Guess that means you want this too, huh? ”
I opened my mouth to protest, to say something—anything—to pull us back from the edge. But the words died as he closed the distance, his scent hitting me—clean soap, a hint of sweat, and something unmistakably male. My pussy clenched, a fresh wave of heat flooding me. “Marco, we shouldn’t…” I whispered, but it sounded weak, hollow, even to me.
He stopped inches away, towering over me, his breath hot against my face. “Shouldn’t?” he echoed, voice low and gravelly. “You were just fingering yourself for me, Mom. Moaning my name. Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” His hand lifted, brushing the silk of my robe aside, exposing my breast again. His thumb grazed my nipple, slow and deliberate, and I gasped, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight to my core.
“Marco…” My voice cracked, half plea, half surrender. His touch was electric, sparking every nerve awake. My thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the ache, but it only made it worse.
“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dark and hungry as they devoured me. “So fucking gorgeous. Been thinking about this—about you—all the way here.” His other hand slid to my hip, gripping me through the robe, pulling me closer until I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Tell me to stop, Mom. Say it, and I’ll walk away.”
I should’ve. God, I should’ve. But my lips parted, and instead of stop, a shaky, “Don’t…” slipped out. His smirk widened, triumphant, and before I could process it, his mouth crashed onto mine.
The kiss was hard, messy, all teeth and tongue, nothing like the gentle pecks of a son. His lips claimed me, tasting of mint and desperation, and I melted into it, my hands fisting his shirt. He groaned into my mouth, a deep, sexy rumble that vibrated through me, lighting my skin on fire. His fingers dug into my hip, the other hand cupping my breast fully now, kneading it as my nipple hardened under his palm.
“Fuck, Mom, you’re so hot,” he growled against my lips, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. “Gonna fuck you right here if you don’t get us to that bed.” His eyes flicked toward the massive four-poster behind me, draped in white linens, a stark contrast to the filth of what we were about to do.
My breath hitched, legs trembling as I nodded, too far gone to turn back. “Bed…” I whispered, barely audible, but he heard it. With a grunt, he scooped me up—strong arms lifting me like I weighed nothing—and carried me the few steps, dropping me onto the mattress with a soft bounce.
The silk robe fell open completely now, baring me to him—bralette askew, panties soaked and skewed, my body a map of desire he was ready to explore. Marco loomed over me, kicking off his boots without breaking eye contact, his hands already working the button of his jeans. “You ready for me, Mom? ” he asked, voice thick with lust, as he shoved the denim down, revealing the thick, throbbing outline of his cock straining against his boxers.
I couldn’t speak, could only nod, my eyes locked on him, my pussy dripping with a need I couldn’t deny. This was happening. And I wanted it more than anything.
The mattress dipped beneath Marco’s weight as he climbed onto the bed, his dark eyes never leaving mine. The air in the villa was thick, charged with the scent of my arousal and the faint musk of his skin. My robe lay splayed open like a broken promise, the lace of my bralette twisted beneath my heavy breasts, nipples stiff and begging for his touch. My thighs trembled, slick with my own juices, the soaked panties still shoved aside, leaving my dripping pussy exposed to his hungry gaze.
“Fuck, Mom…” Marco breathed, his voice rough, almost reverent, as he tugged his t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His chest was broad, dusted with dark hair that trailed down to the waistband of his boxers, where his cock strained, the thick outline pulsing with need. He kicked his jeans off fully, leaving him in nothing but that thin layer of fabric, and I could see the wet spot where precum had already leaked through. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this… all spread out for me. ”
My breath hitched, a shaky whimper slipping from my lips as he leaned closer. The heat of him washed over me, his hands planting on either side of my head, caging me in. His lips hovered over mine, not kissing yet, just breathing me in, his exhales hot and ragged. “Been dreaming about this,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated through me. “You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted you.”
“Marco…” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and desire. My hands hovered uncertainly, then settled on his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle flex beneath my fingers. His skin was warm, still faintly damp from his shower, and the closeness of him—my son—sent a shiver racing down my spine. My pussy clenched, aching for more, the shame only stoking the fire higher.
He smirked, that cocky, dangerous edge returning as he shifted lower, his mouth brushing the curve of my neck. “Yeah, say my name, Mom,” he muttered, his lips grazing my skin before sucking lightly, sending a jolt straight to my core. “Love hearing it like that… all needy and hot.” His tongue flicked out, tasting me, and I arched into him, a soft moan escaping before I could stop it.
His hands moved then, rough but deliberate, sliding the robe off my shoulders completely. It fell away, leaving me bare except for the twisted bralette and skewed panties. Marco groaned a deep, sexy sound that made my nipples tighten even more. “These tits…” he said, cupping my breasts through the lace, his thumbs circling my nipples until I gasped. “So fucking perfect. Been staring at that picture, imagining sucking on them.”
He didn’t wait for a response—he didn’t need one. His mouth descended, hot and wet, closing over one nipple through the fabric. His tongue swirled, teasing the hard peak, and I cried out, my back bowing off the bed. “Oh god, Marco…” My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, the sensation overwhelming. He sucked harder, teeth grazing just enough to sting, and my pussy throbbed, dripping wetter with every pull of his mouth.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he growled against my skin, switching to the other nipple, his hand kneading the one he’d left behind. The lace was soaked now, clinging to me, and I squirmed beneath him, hips rocking up instinctively. He chuckled, low and dirty, pulling back just enough to look at me. “Look at you, Mom… so desperate for me already. ”
I couldn’t deny it—I didn’t want to. My body was on fire, every nerve screaming for him. “Please…” I whimpered, barely recognizing my voice, thick with lust. “Marco, I need…”
“Need what?” he teased, his hand sliding down my stomach, fingers brushing the edge of my panties. He tugged them further to the side, the lace rubbing against my slick folds, and I moaned louder, the friction driving me wild. “This?” His fingers dipped lower, tracing the swollen lips of my pussy, slick with my arousal. “Fuck, you’re soaked… dripping for your son. That’s so hot.”
“Marco, please…” I begged again, hips bucking as his fingers hovered, teasing but not entering. My clit pulsed, aching for his touch, and I could feel the heat of his cock so close, still trapped in his boxers. I wanted it—wanted him—more than I’d ever wanted anything.
He grinned, dark and wicked, and finally slid two fingers inside me, slow and deep. My pussy clenched around him, wet and tight, and I groaned, long and low, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “There we go,” he murmured, pumping them in and out, his thumb brushing my clit just enough to make me tremble. “That’s it, Mom… let me hear you.”
“Oh fuck, Marco…” I moaned, my head tipping back, hands gripping the sheets as he worked me. His fingers curled, hitting that spot inside that made my toes curl, and my thighs shook, spreading wider for him. The wet squelch of my pussy filled the air, filthy and intoxicating, and he groaned again, his free hand shoving his boxers down.
His cock sprang free, thick and rock hard, the swollen head glistening with precum. It bobbed against his stomach, veined and pulsing, and I stared, mesmerized, a fresh wave of heat flooding me. “See what you do to me?” Marco said, voice rough as he stroked himself once, slow and deliberate, precum dripping onto my thigh. “Gonna fuck you so good, Mom… you ready for this cock?”
I nodded, breathless, my body screaming yes even as my mind spun with the wrongness of it all. “Yes… please, Marco…” I reached for him, fingers brushing his shaft, hot and velvet-hard under my touch. He hissed, hips jerking, and then he was on me, pushing me back against the pillows, his body heavy and perfect above mine.
“I’m gonna take you nice and slow, alright?” he murmured, his warm lips grazing mine as he shifted his hips, getting himself ready. The slick, throbbing tip of his cock brushed against my entrance, nudging my swollen lips apart, and I couldn’t hold back the little whimper that slipped out—God, the stretch was already hitting me hard.
“I wanna feel every damn inch of you, every tight, perfect bit,” he said, voice low and rough, “Fuck, Mom, you’re gonna feel so goddamn good wrapped around me, squeezing me just right.”
He slid his thick, throbbing shaft into her slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried deep inside her. The sensation was overwhelming, her world narrowing to the intense heat and fullness of him stretching her tight walls. She gasped, back arching as he began to move, each deliberate thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her trembling body.
“Fuck,” he groaned, gripping her hips tighter.”You’re so fucking tight. I’m gonna wreck this sweet little cunt.”
I’m engulfed in the heat of Marco’s body, his frame hovering over mine, a delicious contrast to the cool air that still clings to my exposed skin. His breath is ragged against my ear as he pauses at my entrance—just teasingly pushing in—that first slick inch igniting every nerve ending with forbidden desire. “Marco,” I gasp out his name like a prayer and an apology all at once, feeling him pause for just a heartbeat before surging forward.
“Oh fuck…” I gasp, my voice trembling as he slides into me, his thick length spreading me open. A sinful sensation, being stretched and filled so completely. His heavy breaths ghost over my neck, hot and ragged, mirroring the frantic rhythm of our hearts.
“Your cunt is heaven,” he grunts, his voice strained with pleasure. “So fucking perfect, it’s like it was made for me.” His hips snap forward, driving him deeper, and I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. The pleasure is overwhelming, bordering on pain, and I never want it to end.
“Harder,” I beg, my voice hoarse with need. “Fuck me harder, please…”
My arms instinctively wrap around him pulling closer—the wrongness only heightening each sensation—and under this haze of lust and shame I arch up greedily meeting his thrusts.“More…” The word slips from me unabashedly desperate now; any pretence has been stripped away by raw need.
He complies without hesitation—his hips snapping harder against mine—and we find an urgent rhythm matched only by our panting breaths mingling together in silent cries beneath vaulted ceilings thick with history and sin. “Fuck yes… Mom,” Marco growls approvingly above me, “You love this, don’t you? Taking your son’s cock.”
The vulgarity sears through reason leaving nothing but carnal hunger behind—it’s filthy how much truth resonates within those words—I do love it—all too fucking much. “Yes!” My confession tumbles free punctuated by another deep plunge from him—he hits something inside sending stars bursting across closed eyes—”Love being filled…by you.”
His pace quickens driven wilder – “That what you wanted?” There’s no mockery left in such question—a dance on dark edges where we’ve both willingly fallen—only primal understanding lacing every syllable uttered low next to flushed skin.“All along?”
“Yes!” Every response is swallowed back down hungry moans escaping instead—”Needed…since your picture.” Admitting aloud sends shivers right down even as guilt flickers faintly amidst overwhelming pleasure waves crashing relentlessly through us both.
“Oh god! Harder…” The plea rips from my throat gone hoarse with lust, “Don’t stop!”
He obeys without mercy pounding relentlessly until everything fades except slick heat coiling tighter within.”Fuck yes… gonna make you scream.”
My body arches up meeting every plunge – “Scream for who? Who owns this pussy?” His voice husky command breaks restraint entirely –
“For my son…for Marco!” It spills unrestrained truth-my confession heightened pleasure peaking sharply-
In one hard push that shatters silence-“That’s right!”-he seals our pact as we crash over together. “Mine,” growls low near bursting point, “Cumming just for me.”
“Yes!” I convulse around him clenching tight–an explosion of ecstasy floods my senses while screaming name-“Marco!”
The room spins, a whirl of tangled limbs and ragged breaths as Marco drives into me relentlessly. Each thrust is a declaration of our forbidden desire, each plunge deeper stokes the fire that’s consuming us both. My back arches off the bed in response to his command—his voice rough with lust—”Scream for your son”—the very thought pushing me over.
“Marco!” I cry out unabashedly, my body clenching around him like a vice as he hits that sweet spot again and again. The villa echoes with obscene sounds—the slap of skin on slick skin mingling with my desperate moans.
His pace becomes frenzied; Marco’s hips hammer against mine without mercy now—he knows exactly how to unravel me fully—and I feel it building within him too: the rigid cock pulsating inside my soaked pussy signals his impending release. “Yes…give it all,” I urge through gritted teeth clenched in pleasure-pain ecstasy just before “Cum hard for Mom!”
He lets go—a guttural groan tearing from deep within—as he buries himself to the hilt one last time. His hot seed spills into me, filling every inch claimed by this taboo union while tremors rake violently through us both – waves crashing over our entwined bodies until spent silence wraps itself around us once more.
My legs are wrapped tight around his waist locking him there—feeling each pulse of heat leaving nothing but satisfaction dripping between thighs joined tightly together afterglow envelops slow caresses tracing lazy paths along sweat-slicked curves whisper promises not yet made aloud still unrestrained whispers fill air thick shared secrets kept hidden no longer
“So fucking beautiful…” He murmurs nuzzling soft kisses below the earlobe where heartbeats syncopate wildly under flushed skin. “Love you –“