My mind was racing as I found myself holed up inside our local mall’s family bathroom.
While my unsuspecting husband indulged in a meal at the bustling food court just within reach of us, I had once again found myself irresistibly drawn to my 23 year old son.
In the secluded confines, I kneeled before him, my lips already tingling with anticipation. The words that escaped our mouths were drenched in explicit yearning, each syllable a testament to the depths of our lust.
“Mmm, god I missed this cock while you were away at school,” I purred, my voice dripping with yearning. “I want to taste every inch.” The forbidden nature of our encounter heightened the intensity, igniting an insatiable hunger within us both.
As I took him deep into my throat, the sensation of his pulsating length against my tongue sent shockwaves of pleasure through my body. Each stroke, each caress was a testament to our unrestrained desire, a symphony of passion drowning out the sounds of the bustling food court.
Our whispers became a cacophony of explicit phrases, fueling our primal hunger. “Oh, baby, I want your cum,” I moaned, the words seeping with unfiltered desire. “Give it to me. Fill mommy’s mouth with your sweet release.”
Just like that, the boundaries of convention shattered as we surrendered to our carnal appetites.
Yet, in the midst of our debauchery, a sudden realization pierced the air like a jagged shard of guilt. The faint sound of my husband’s – yes, his father’s – voice, growing closer, calling for us from somewhere out in the hall, sent a jolt of panic coursing through our veins. We were teetering on the precipice of discovery, the thrill of almost getting caught electrifying our illicit affair.
With hurried movements, we composed ourselves, masking the evidence of our transgression. The door swung open, revealing my unsuspecting husband, oblivious to the taboo act that had only just transpired mere feet away.
A knowing glance passed between son and me, a silent acknowledgment of our shared secret. As we emerged from the bathroom, the weight of our forbidden encounter clung to us like a whispered confession, forever etching itself into the fabric of our relationship from that moment onward.