A TENT FULL OF MOMMY-MEAT - SUPERSIZED
By Klrxo
Tate's thumbs hammered the controller buttons as his character executed a perfect combo on screen.
"Tate, turn off that PlayStation and get your things packed, darling. We're leaving for the reunion in thirty minutes!" His mom Amber announced, her voice cutting through the game's sound effects.
It was Tate's most dreaded weekend of the year. The annual family reunion at the Pinecone Campground nestled deep in the Appalachian mountains, where mosquitoes swarmed and cell reception disappeared.
The only relative close to his age was his cousin Chuck—a Star Trek fanatic—and the two of them rarely exchanged more than grunts.
"I'm 18 now, mom. Can't I just stay home this year?" he asked, reluctantly hitting the power button.
Amber stood framed in his doorway, one manicured hand on her wide birthing hip. "No, you absolutely cannot stay home. The family wants to see you, baby. You'll have a great time, I guarantee it."
Amber was a stunning 40-year-old brunette with cascading chestnut hair that fell in waves past her shoulders. Her luscious hourglass figure strained against her tight white blouse, the third button threatening to pop from the pressure of her bust.
Tate's eyes were involuntarily drawn to her mountainous tits, which seemed to defy gravity as they ballooned beneath the thin cotton fabric. The air conditioning had kicked on, and he could clearly see the protrusions of her fat nipples pressing against the material like two ripe cherries.
It seemed like all his female family members had inherited the same heavy, pendulous tits, which had been objects of forbidden fascination throughout his hormone-drenched teenage years. Since reaching puberty at thirteen, he had spilled enough pearly cum to fill an Olympic swimming pool just fantasizing about them in the privacy of his locked bathroom.
"If I have to go... I guess I'll go," he muttered, already feeling a familiar stirring in his khaki shorts.
Amber leaned against the doorframe, her glossy lips curling into a knowing smile. "Trust me…you'll DEFINITELY wanna be there this year," she winked, her long lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks.
Tate's eyebrows furrowed. "Why? What's so special about this year?"
Until recently, Amber had maintained strict maternal boundaries—never once letting a suggestive word pass her glossy lips or allowing her silk blouses to reveal more than a conservative hint of cleavage around her son. But something had shifted the moment Tate's eighteenth birthday candles were blown out.
Now her voice dripped with honeyed invitation, her blouse buttons strategically undone, and her eyes lingered on his crotch with unmistakable hunger that made his virgin cock throb painfully against his zipper.
"You're gonna be getting your dick soaking wet…that's what," his mother answered bluntly, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that made the hairs on his arms stand up.
"Wet?" Tate stammered, his mouth suddenly dry. Had his own mother just said what he thought she said?
"You're getting laid, darling," Amber purred, her manicured fingers toying with a strand of her chestnut hair. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Getting…uh, laid??" His voice cracked embarrassingly.
"You heard me right," she insisted, shifting her weight to one hip, causing her blouse to strain even more against her ample chest. "I'm not gonna tell you exactly when, or with whom, but trust me when I say…you're gonna be up to your ears in hot, tight pussy!"
Tate sat frozen, his cheeks burning crimson as a jolt of electricity shot through his groin. His mind raced with possibilities—maybe they were inviting non-family members this year? Girls his own age who might actually want him?
"Have I motivated you enough to get up and get packed yet?" Amber teased with a throaty laugh, then sauntered away, her bodacious buttocks swaying hypnotically with each step.
Tate was a lean, handsome barely-legal teen with chiseled cheekbones and piercing blue eyes that seemed to smolder beneath thick, dark lashes. His lanky five-foot-eight frame carried just enough muscle to hint at the man he was becoming, while still maintaining the lithe flexibility of youth.
His cock, which spent more time hard than not, looked almost unnatural jutting out from his slim hips—a nine-inch monument of veined flesh that curved slightly upward like a divining rod seeking moisture.
His knob was the size of a ripe plum and just as juicy—the sight of female flesh causing pearlescent pre-cum to bead at his slit before trickling down the underside of his shaft in a glistening rivulet. The veins that ran along his length pulsed visibly with each thundering heartbeat, mapping blue tributaries beneath taut, paper-thin skin.
Though his cock was uncircumcised, you wouldn't know it when he was erect—his foreskin stretched back completely to reveal the flared mushroom head beneath. The pronounced ridge of his glans formed a perfect corona, its sensitive rim a deeper shade of crimson than the rest of his shaft, promising exquisite friction against the tender walls of any woman fortunate enough to receive him.
Put simply, Tate had the kind of physique that made older women's gazes linger too long in grocery store aisles, their fingers unconsciously twisting wedding rings while imagining how his taut, youthful body would feel pinning them against satin sheets.
During the three-hour car ride, Tate's younger sister Becky sat up front with his father, while his mom shared the backseat with him.
Amber wore a short summer skirt in a shade of coral that complemented her sun-kissed skin, the hemline riding high enough to leave almost all her toned, shapely legs on display.
Tate's cock swelled instantly, throbbing against his zipper as he stole glances at his mom's smooth copper-toned thighs. They gleamed with a silky sheen from being freshly shaved and moisturized, the muscles beneath subtly flexing with each small movement.
They both pretended to focus on their cellphones, the artificial glow illuminating their faces in the dimming afternoon light.
"Damn this game!" Amber blurted suddenly, shifting her weight and bringing one delicate bare foot up onto Tate's knee. Her toenails gleamed with a fresh coat of cherry-red polish, each nail perfectly shaped and glistening under the filtered sunlight streaming through the window.
She repositioned herself, one leg curled up onto the leather seat and the other bent at the knee, slightly splayed outward in a casual pose.
The boy's breath caught in his throat as he realized her new position offered him an unobstructed view straight up her skirt. If she had been wearing modest cotton panties, that glimpse alone would have been enough to fuel his fantasies for weeks. However, what Tate discovered instead made his pulse race wildly—his mom's pale-yellow underwear was completely transparent, the delicate fabric clinging to her most intimate area like morning dew on a flower petal.
Through the sheer material, he could clearly make out the smooth, plump outer lips of Amber's sex, pressed together to form a pronounced cleft. Nestled within the shadowed valley, the pink arch of her clitoral hood peeked out, like a shy creature emerging from its hiding place.
A sweet, heady aroma suddenly wafted up from between his mother's splayed legs, filling Tate's nostrils with an intoxicating mélange that made his pupils dilate. The top notes of Amber's signature floral perfume—jasmine and vanilla—quickly gave way to the unmistakable musk of aroused womanhood beneath.
He inhaled deeply, his head swimming as the scent molecules triggered something primal in his brain. It smelled like honey-drenched peaches left to ripen in the summer sun, like salt-tinged skin after a day at the beach, like raw, unfiltered sex pheromones bottled straight from the source. His mouth watered involuntarily.
Amber's luminous hazel eyes, flecked with gold around the pupils, slid sideways to catch her son's line of sight. Her plump, glossy lips—the color of ripe cherries and swollen like she'd been stung by a honeybee—curled upward when she confirmed his gaze was locked precisely where she'd orchestrated it to be.
Her attention drifted downward, past the light dusting of peach fuzz on his jawline, beyond the rapid pulse visible at his throat, settling on the unmistakable protrusion straining against his khaki shorts.
The cotton fabric tented outward dramatically, creating a rigid, tubular silhouette that extended nearly to his hip. Amber's breath caught as she noted the distinct mushroom-shaped outline at the tip—evidence that her uncircumcised boy was so thoroughly aroused that his foreskin had fully retracted, exposing the sensitive glans beneath.
"God, I wanna see it pulse," she thought with a delicious shiver of forbidden anticipation.
She extended her slender foot—toenails gleaming like ten perfect rubies—and traced a deliberate path up his quivering thigh, stopping mere centimeters from the throbbing bulge. Her reward came instantly as the entire length visibly contracted, the fabric jumping as though electrified, followed by a barely audible groan escaping her son's parted lips.
Tate's cheeks flushed crimson as he realized his mom had caught him staring directly up her skirt at the sheer panties barely concealing her most intimate area. He instinctively went to cover his throbbing erection with his hands, desperate to hide the shameful evidence of his forbidden arousal.
But before he could conceal himself, Amber's slender fingers darted out and captured his wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. With gentle but unyielding pressure, she guided his hands back down to his sides, pinning them against the leather seat. Her stern expression made it abundantly clear that he was not to hide his excitement from her appraising gaze.
Tate's heart pounded in his chest as his mom's luminous eyes darted deliberately back and forth from his face to his crotch, openly admiring the rigid length of his cock as it visibly pulsed beneath the stretched khaki fabric. Each throb sent a shockwave of pleasure
radiating through his groin and he had to bite his lower lip to stifle a moan.
He could feel his cheeks burning with humiliation and arousal, his skin prickling with heat everywhere his mom's penetrating stare landed. When her eyes finally locked with his with an unmistakable glimmer of raw, primal hunger, it stole his breath away.
Tate's senses were on overload, his brain struggling to process the reality that his gorgeous, unattainable mother was not only acknowledging his straining erection, but seemed to be drinking in the sight of it with unrestrained lust. The masculine musk of his leaking cock swirled with the sweet, floral notes of his mom's arousal, the intoxicating combination making him dizzy with need.
As if reading his thoughts, a wicked smile spread across Amber's glossy lips. Her fingers released their hold on his wrists, but her eyes held him captive, daring him to break away from her hypnotic gaze. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as her hand drifted down...down...until her cherry-red nails hovered a mere inch above the prominent ridge of his cockhead.
Tate held his breath, every muscle in his body tensing with anticipation as a pearly bead of pre-cum seeped through the fabric.
This was all part of Amber's meticulously crafted grand plan—a strategy she'd been fantasizing about for months that would culminate in a weekend of forbidden ecstasy that neither of them would ever forget. With step one of her seduction now successfully executed, Amber needed to make absolutely certain her boy understood that his hungry staring and jutting manhood was not only noticed but enthusiastically welcomed.
With her toned thighs still splayed wide enough to showcase the transparent yellow fabric clinging to her glistening folds, she tapped
her crimson fingernails against her iPhone screen, composing a message.
"How's your game, darling? " the text illuminated her son's screen with a soft blue glow.
Tate's trembling fingers hovered over his phone before he dared glance sideways. His mother's pouty lips were slightly parted, her chest rising and falling with quickened breaths as she pretended to study her screen, awaiting his response.
"It's going alright," he managed to type, his fingertips leaving damp prints on the glass.
"Are you sure your eyes haven't been focused on something else entirely? " Amber's next message appeared instantly, each word making his pulse throb harder in his temples and groin.
Upon reading it, Tate's head snapped toward his mother. She captured his gaze and delivered a slow, deliberate wink, the corner of her mouth curling upward like a cat who'd cornered its prey.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have been looking down there," he replied, his thumbs fumbling over the keys.
Her response materialized with predatory swiftness: "I wasn't asking for an apology, sweetheart. Have you ever smelled a woman's pussy before? And I don't mean from a stolen pair of panties," the message read, each vulgar syllable burning into his retinas.
Tate's stomach clenched with a delicious, wicked spasm that radiated outward through his limbs. The forbidden word coming from his own mother's fingers made his mouth go desert-dry. "I never have before...no," he confessed, his cock now painfully straining against his zipper as he awaited her next move.
Her response made his heart slam against his ribcage. "Wanna smell mine? " the text read, the blue bubble containing those three explosive words seeming to pulse on his screen.
Tate's insides coiled like a spring wound too tight, electric tingles shooting from his groin up his spine. His thumb trembled as it hovered over her message. He blinked hard, then read it again, the pixels burning into his retinas.
"How?" he managed to type, his fingertip leaving a smudge of sweat on the glass.
Amber's fingers danced across her screen with practiced precision, her crimson nails clicking softly against the surface. "When we stop at the Rest Area and your dad and sister get out to use the restroom, I'll let you put your head down between my legs," she texted, her eyes flicking up to meet his with a predatory gleam.
After reading it, Tate's mouth went desert-dry. He turned to face his mother, taking in her glossy lips, the flush spreading across her high cheekbones, and the way her chest rose and fell with quickened breath.
She returned his gaze, her hazel eyes darkening as she fed him a warm, deceptively innocent smile that dimpled her right cheek.
"Who needs to pee?" Tate's dad, John, asked from the driver's seat, his voice slicing through the thick tension like a dull knife.
"I do…like crazy!" Tate's sister replied, already unbuckling her seatbelt with a metallic click.
"I'm good, honey," Amber announced, crossing one silky leg over the other with deliberate slowness.
"I'm ok too!" her son added, his voice cracking slightly on the last syllable.
John parked the family SUV with a jolt that made the suspension creak, and he and his daughter hurried out, slamming their doors with twin metallic thuds that reverberated through the vehicle.
"Get on the floor, darling!" Amber directed in a honeyed whisper, her glossy lips barely moving.
She positioned herself at the edge of the black leather seat, the material squeaking beneath her as she spread her knees nearly back to her shoulders, like all mothers do when they fuck or give birth - the hem of her floral sundress riding up to expose the creamy expanse of her inner thighs.
The yellow fabric of her panties stretched taut across her mound, the dampened center clinging to every contour of her swollen flesh. "Go ahead!" she urged, her hazel eyes darkening to the color of wet moss as she watched her son hesitate.
Tate lowered himself awkwardly into the cramped foot-well, the rough carpet abrading his knees through his khakis. His pulse hammered in his ears like distant war drums as he found himself eye-level with the glistening delta between his mother's legs. Her perfectly pedicured toes curled in anticipation, the scarlet polish catching the sunlight filtering through the tinted windows.
"Smell the pussy, darling," the mother whispered with a mischievous nod.
When he finally pressed his face forward, the heat radiating from her core scorched his cheeks. His first inhale filled his lungs with her essence—a complex bouquet of jasmine perfume, musky arousal, and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Amber.
His eyelashes fluttered against the transparent yellow fabric as he drew another breath, his tongue involuntarily darting out to wet his parched lips.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she whispered, watching his every reaction.
Tate was to aroused to answer, so he simply nodded.
Without warning, Amber's thighs clamped around his head like satin-covered vises, the surprising strength in her legs trapping him against her center. Her calves draped down his back, her ankles crossing to lock him in place as she ground herself against his face, leaving a slick trail of her excitement on his flushed cheek.
"Do you like it, darling? Do you like smelling mommy this way?" she purred, her voice dropping an octave, each syllable dripping with forbidden promise.
"Mn-hm!" Tate managed, the vibration of his response making her shudder visibly.
Through the gossamer-thin material, he could make out every detail—the plump outer lips, the delicate inner folds peeking through like the petals of an exotic flower, the prominent hood where her most sensitive bud nestled. The heady aroma made his head swim, his vision narrowing to this singular, taboo landscape.
"You must wonder," she breathed, running her crimson nails through his hair and pulling him even tighter against her heat, "what it would feel like to smash your young, throbbing prick through something so wonderfully wet and tight?" Her words hung in the humid air between them like a physical presence.
Tate was too excited and too smothered to answer, his face flushed crimson as his lungs filled with her intoxicating scent. His eyelashes fluttered against the damp fabric as he nodded vigorously, his nose brushing against her swollen bud.
"Does being this close to a woman's pussy get you even harder, baby?" she cooed, her voice honeyed and thick. "Does it make that beautiful cock of yours swell up nice n stiff in those khakis?"
Her fingernails traced lazy circles on his scalp, sending electric shivers down his spine.
"Mmm-hmm!" Her boy answered, his voice muffled against her heat, the vibration making her thighs quiver around his cheeks.
"Well, maybe mom can find a way to snuggle up against that throbbing boner of yours until we get to the camp site," she purred, her hazel eyes darkening to emerald. "Would you like to feel mommy's soft ass grinding against you?"
Tate nodded frantically, his pulse hammering in his temples, each heartbeat echoing in his painfully confined erection.
"We could have a nice, private dry-fuck underneath the blanket. Do you know what that is?" Amber asked, licking her glossy lips until they glistened in the filtered sunlight.
"Not really," he mumbled, his breath hot against her center.
"It's when two people go through the motions of intercourse, but with their clothes on," she explained, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "The friction makes everything hot and desperate, but a boy's dick stays relatively dry. That's why they call it a DRY fuck."
"I see," the boy answered, his lips still plastered to her panty-covered twat, the transparent yellow fabric now translucent with her arousal.
Amber's tongue darted out to moisten her plump cherry-red lower lip, leaving a glistening trail before she continued her sultry explanation, her voice honeyed like warm syrup. "Of course, no matter how dry the fuck starts out, your young dick will still drool plenty of slippery pre-cum from that swollen purple tip. And mommy's hungry little pussy—pink and puffy as a ripe peach—can't help but cream and throb when there's a nice fat cock grinding against it," she purred, her voice dropping to a velvety whisper that caressed his eardrum. "So even through our clothes, you'll feel my wetness soaking through
like hot summer rain as I hump myself to a shuddering, toe-curling orgasm on your throbbing shaft."
Tate groaned into the dampened fabric of her panties, his breath scorching her most intimate flesh, nostrils filling with her musky-sweet scent. The thought of his own mother—the woman who had nursed him, bathed him, tucked him in at night—shamelessly using his body to pleasure herself, to chase her taboo climax right there against him with his father and sister just feet away, made his swollen cock lurch and dribble in his shorts, a quarter-sized wet spot forming on the khaki fabric.
"You want that, don't you baby?" Amber cooed, grinding her hips in slow figure-eights to smear her mommy fuck-oil across his flushed cheeks like warm honey. "To feel mommy's juices soak through your shorts while she rides you? To shoot your hot, sticky load—thick as cream—in your underwear as I cream on your cock until it drips down my trembling thighs?"
"Yes... god yes," Tate mumbled, his voice muffled between her quivering thighs, his mind reeling with the depravity of it all, heart hammering against his ribcage like a tribal drum.
"Such a good boy," she praised with a giggle, finally unclenching her toned thighs from around his head, leaving faint pink pressure marks on his flushed cheeks.
"Your sister's coming back to the truck," Amber informed him as she spotted her daughter's slender figure weaving between parked cars, a plastic bag swinging from her wrist. "Give my pussy a kiss and then come back up onto the seat."
Tate did as he was told, planting a lingering kiss against the fleshy hood of her clitoris, feeling it pulse beneath the damp yellow fabric before reluctantly slipping back up onto the seat next to her, adjusting his painful erection against the confines of his khakis.
"I got you guys some salt and vinegar chips to snack on," John blurted as he got back in the SUV and started it up, the engine rumbling to life beneath them.
His wife smiled back at him with practiced innocence, her cherry-glossed lips curving upward - the perfect picture of marital faithfulness that would never cause him to suspect the slick evidence of her arousal still cooling on their son's burning face.
"Tate and I aren't really that hungry, honey…just tired. We might lie down here on the back seat and have a little nap," his wife answered, her voice honeyed yet casual as she smoothed her floral sundress over her still-trembling thighs.
"Suit yourselves," her husband replied, pulling away from the service station, gravel crunching beneath the tires. "We'll wake you both up when we get there."
Amber's hazel eyes locked with her son's, a flicker of mischief dancing in their emerald depths as she motioned for him to lie down first. "Go ahead, darling," she whispered, her cherry-glossed lips barely moving.
Tate sprawled out on the leather back seat, his khakis tenting obscenely at the crotch. His mother stretched out next to him in the spooning position, the floral pattern of her sundress riding up her tanned thighs.
Amber spread a navy blue cashmere throw blanket over them, shrouding their writhing bodies in a cocoon of privacy.
Tate's breath caught as he felt his mother's delicate fingers lift her skirt to her waist, then back her voluptuous, heart-shaped ass against his throbbing erection.
She worked the rigid length of her boy's cock in the deep valley between the plump, quivering globes of her ass, the friction sending
electric jolts up his spine. Only the paper-thin cotton of Tate's khaki shorts and the dental-floss-thin yellow satin thong separated their fevered flesh.
The teen let out a strangled gasp as his mom gyrated her perfectly bodacious booty against him in slow, deliberate circles. His cock pulsed beneath his shorts, the purple head swelling against the confining fabric until a wet spot bloomed at the tip.
"Holy fuck! He's just so wonderfully hard!" Amber thought, her inner walls clenching with need as she ground her soft, warm bubble-butt against him. She could feel the swollen mushroom head of his cock nudging through her ass-crack, pressing insistently against the puckered rosebud of her anus.
The mother grinned devilishly and sank her pearly teeth into her cherry-glossed bottom lip until it blanched white beneath the pressure. Her hazel eyes fluttered closed as she imagined that granite-hard teenage slab of veiny meat stuffed balls-deep inside her quivering ass-tract. She wickedly imagined the plum-sized tip pulsing against the velvety, forbidden recesses of her rectum, each throb stimulating thousands of hypersensitive nerve-endings connected to her swollen clitoral root, promising a mind-shattering orgasm that would leave her convulsing and speaking in tongues.
"Unngghh...Mom..." he groaned, the desperate word muffled into her chestnut hair that cascaded across his flushed face like silk. The delicious wrongness of it all - dry humping his own mother's luscious ass in the backseat while his oblivious father and innocent sister sat mere feet away - sent electric jolts of forbidden pleasure straight to his throbbing manhood.
His narrow teenage hips moved of their own primal accord, thrusting against her in an ancient, instinctual rhythm hardwired into his DNA. His angry purple cockhead slid up and down the sweat-slicked valley
between her quivering ass cheeks like a flesh missile seeking its target.
Tate floated in ecstasy, his senses overwhelmed. The rhythmic pressure she applied to his aching shaft was exquisite torture, unlike any self-pleasure he'd ever experienced. When he thought the sensation couldn't possibly intensify, his mom's slender fingers captured his wrist beneath the blanket and guided his trembling hand up underneath her blouse.
"Is she letting me…?" his brain screamed as his fingers trailed across the taut plane of her quivering abdomen. His heart thundered against his ribcage when she continued to guide him north - his thumb brushing against the lace-trimmed underwire of her bra, the massive, silk-encased globes of her breasts spilling over the cups like ripe fruit.
Amber turned her head and whispered to him softly, her cherry-glossed lips brushing against the sensitive shell of his ear. "You can touch my titties, baby... just stay outside my bra."
Once again, he could hardly believe his ears. Being so inexperienced, Tate was nervous as hell, his fingers trembling like autumn leaves in a breeze, but he wasn't about to refuse his mom's intoxicating offer.
Soon his eager, virgin hands were wandering reverently over her magnificent bra-shrouded orbs, feeling the pillowy flesh beneath delicate embroidered lace that scratched pleasantly against his fingertips. His favorite part were the rounded peaks, where he could feel the thick, pebbled nubs of her teats straining against the silky fabric, hard as pencil erasers and radiating heat.
By now his mom was humping back on him in a steady, hypnotic rhythm, her plush ass cheeks gripping his rigid shaft through their clothes like a velvet vice.
She was awestruck by his youthful vitality and impressive penile strength, the way his cock throbbed against her like a steel rod wrapped in satin. The way the 9-inch boner was anchored powerfully to its root – muscle and tendons creating an unyielding spike of teenage fuck-meat made to plow pussy.
She knew that having a large, youthful cock like Tate's inside her would make her lose her fucking mind, splitting her open and touching places her husband had never reached with his average-sized endowment.
By the time they had traveled only five miles from the station, Amber's pussy was soaking wet, her thighs slick with arousal, and Tate had a huge dark spot on his shorts where his pre-cum had soaked through, glistening obscenely in the afternoon light.
Over the next half-hour, their hips rolled in tireless counterpoint beneath the cashmere blanket, grinding their barely concealed flesh together in an increasingly frenzied dance.
Sweat beaded along Tate's hairline as his trembling fingers kneaded his mother's bra-shrouded breasts, the 38GG globes spilling over his palms like warm dough.
His touch grew bolder as her honey-sweet moans vibrated against his flushed neck, her hot breath dampening his earlobe. The slick, pulsing heat of her pussy radiated through the thin layers separating them, her juices soaking his khaki shorts until the fabric clung translucent to his nine-inch, vein-rippled erection.
"John, turn the radio up, darling," Amber gasped suddenly, her voice uneven and throaty. "I love this song."
Tate knew it was a ruse - she only wanted the blaring music to conceal the high-pitched squeals of ecstasy threatening to spill from her cherry-glossed lips at any moment. Her soft, pillow-like ass
pumped faster against him, riding his cloth-covered cock in desperate little figure-eight circles.
Electric tendrils of pleasure unfurled at the base of his spine, shooting through his groin as his heavy balls drew up tight against his taint.
"Fuck, mom. Fuck...I'm gonna cum," he groaned against the fragrant curtain of her chestnut hair, fingers digging into the yielding flesh of her breasts, feeling her diamond-hard nipples pressing against his palms.
"Let go for mommy," she purred, reaching back to palm his flexing ass, her manicured nails digging into the firm muscle as she pulled him harder against her undulating hips. "Cream those shorts for me, baby. Fill them with your thick, hot cum."
Her filthy words were his undoing. Tate buried his face in her coconut-scented locks and bit down on his knuckles so hard they left crescent-shaped indentations as he muffled his guttural moan, a tsunami of white-hot ecstasy ripping through his trembling teenage body.
His cock jerked violently and throbbed like a jackhammer against her ass, spurting what felt like a gallon of scalding, pearlescent seed into his Calvin Klein underwear. The sticky, rope-like strands of cum soaked through the cotton within seconds, painting his mother's gyrating, heart-shaped ass with his potent teenage essence.
Amber shuddered uncontrollably in his arms, her sopping wet pussy clenching and fluttering like butterfly wings as she rode out her own silent, earth-shattering climax, drenching her yellow satin thong until the delicate fabric was completely molded to every swollen fold and glistening crease of her mature womanhood.
She milked Tate's spent, purple-headed cock with her pillowy ass cheeks, coaxing out every last pearly drop of his thick boy-cream, then finally stilled.
They lay tangled together in the sticky afterglow, racing pulses gradually slowing to a steady drum, rivulets of sweat cooling on their flushed, burning skin.
Tate didn't dare move a muscle, savoring the feel of his mother's magnificent hourglass body melded against his like a second skin. The twangy country music from the radio gradually faded back into his consciousness as his orgasm-fogged brain cleared from its lustful haze.
Amber shifted her curvaceous hips, and Tate felt a fresh gush of warm wetness against his softening but still impressive cock. His eyes widened like saucers as he realized she was still leaking copious arousal, her toned, tanned thighs now completely slick with it.
He inhaled deeply through flared nostrils, the intoxicating musk of her sex—like honey and salt—mingling with the earthy, bleach-like scent of his own massive release.
"Enjoy your little nap?" John called obliviously over his shoulder as the luxury SUV rolled on, gravel crunching beneath the expensive tires.
"Mmmhmm, it was absolutely wonderful," Amber purred like a satisfied tigress, stretching her voluptuous body like a cat in heat—her gigantic, watermelon-sized tits nearly popping the straining buttons on her floral sundress.
"There's my darling Grandson!" Tate's Grandma Ruth exclaimed as he got out of the vehicle, her voice carrying across the campsite like honey dripping from a spoon.
The boy always felt like he was being swallowed up in squishy tit-meat whenever his Grandma hugged him. Of all the women in the family, her boobs were the most tremendous - 48JJs that defied gravity despite her sixty-two years, hanging like ripe watermelons beneath her floral-patterned sundress.
"Oh, you just get more and more handsome every day!" Ruth beamed, holding onto him tightly, her powdery lavender perfume enveloping him in a cloud of nostalgia.
"I bet he has girls constantly swarming around him," his Aunt Morgan added, eager to get her hands on the boy. The busty blonde was eight months pregnant, her tremendously round belly straining against a thin white tank top that looked ready to burst at the seams.
Beads of perspiration glistened between her heaving cleavage as she stepped forward and gave him a big tit-squasher - her obscenely huge boobs warm and swollen with sloshing tit-nectar, while gazing at him with brilliant blue eyes that sparkled like tropical waters.
"That's right, isn't it, honey?" Morgan asked in a hushed tone, her glossy pink lips brushing against his earlobe. "Lots of pretty girls wanting to spread their sexy legs for you?"
"My turn!" his Aunt Jane said, stepping towards them on long, tanned legs that seemed to go on forever. She looked a lot like his mom, Amber, but a few years older, with streaks of caramel highlights running through her chestnut hair. Her colossal H-cup tits were spilling out of a skimpy hot-pink bikini top - the nipples so hard they created visible peaks in the thin fabric.
When she hugged the boy, Tate literally gasped from the feel of her melonous tits on his chest, the scent of coconut tanning oil and aroused pussy-musk filling his nostrils.
"Oh, baby boy…I could just sneak off somewhere with you," she mewled, while staring him in the eyes, her tongue darting out to wet her plump bottom lip. "Somewhere nice n private."
She glanced over at her husband, but thankfully, he paid them no mind – too busy chatting it up with the other husbands.
Tate felt heat flooding his cheeks, a crimson tide rising from his collar to his hairline as his Aunt's sultry confession hung in the humid summer air. His eyes darted nervously toward Uncle Rick, who stood barely fifteen feet away by the cooler, obliviously popping the tab on a cold beer while his wife's fingers lingered possessively on Tate's trembling forearm.
As with every reunion, there were at least a dozen younger kids darting between the towering pines like hyperactive squirrels, their high-pitched squeals echoing across the campground.
The dads lounged in folding chairs with sweat-dampened shirts clinging to their beer bellies, popping tabs on frosty Budweisers while hammering tent stakes.
"What's up, cousin?!" A muscular boy Tate's age called out, his sun-bleached hair falling across one eye as he approached, gripping two gleaming fishing poles that caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. It was his cousin, Chuck, whose was built much like Tate, but a year older at 19.
"Hey, Chuck!" Tate replied, feeling the sticky summer heat plastering his own shirt to his back.
"I was just headed over to the river to do some fishing. The water's crystal clear today, and I spotted some fat rainbow trout from the bank. Wanna join?" Chuck asked, his eyes sparkled with excitement.
"I should probably get my tent set up," Tate sighed, gesturing toward his family's campsite where equipment lay scattered across the pine-needle covered ground.
His mother had been keeping close tabs on his every move since they got there and looked over at him.
"Your father will get your tent up, darling," Amber chimed in, "Just go have a good time."
Tate and Chuck made small-talk as they navigated the winding dirt path to the riverbank, their boots crunching on fallen twigs and smooth river stones. The rushing water sparkled like liquid diamonds in the afternoon sun as they cast their lines with practiced flicks of their wrists.
"So...you finally turned 18, huh?" Chuck asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned closer, the musky scent of his cologne mingling with the earthy smell of the river.
"Yeah, about a month ago," Tate answered, watching his red and white bobber dance on the rippling surface.
"You must be psyched to be getting all that mommy-meat this year." Chuck stated.
Tate's brow furrowed, his stomach tightening. "Mommy-meat?" he asked, the fishing pole suddenly slippery in his sweaty palm.
"Yeah, a tent full of mommy-meat. It's a tradition that happens when a male family member turns 18. The big white tent they always set up behind the oak grove," Chuck explained, licking his chapped lips.
"I've never heard of that," Tate confessed, feeling his pulse quicken. "What is it exactly?"
"Do you ever notice how when we do the family hike every year the moms never come along? How they always have some excuse ready?"
"Yeah," Tate answered, suddenly recalling the annual family hike that took about four hours, along a winding path that snaked up through the mountains and ended at a crystal-blue swimming hole where sunlight danced on the surface.
Although Tate had never really thought much about it, Chuck was right...the moms in the family always stayed behind, their perfume lingering in the air long after they'd waved goodbye.
"The reason they stay behind is...so all the moms in the family, including Grandma Ruth, can set up that white silk tent and gang-rape the boys in the family when they turn 18. It's sort of a tradition, I guess," Chuck explained, his pupils dilating as he stared intently at Tate.
"Gang-rape?" Tate's voice cracked, the word hanging between them like a physical thing.
"Well, no...not really 'gang-rape.' I mean, you can't really rape the willing, right?" Chuck laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"But...they have sex though?" Tate whispered, feeling his shorts tighten uncomfortably.
"Fucking wild sex, dude...like you wouldn't believe. It was like being in a cage with a bunch of sex-hungry animals. Wet lips, grasping hands, gigantic tits everywhere you look. They're gonna fuck you, dude...suck on your dick and balls until you're completely drained, you name it...they do it all," Chuck warned him, his fishing pole forgotten as sweat beaded on his upper lip.
Tate stood there speechless for a moment, his mouth hanging open as his cousin's words sank in like stones dropping into a still pond. His heart hammered against his ribs while sweat trickled down his spine, dampening the waistband of his shorts.
"You did this with them last summer?" he finally asked, his voice barely audible over the rushing river.
"Yep, right after I turned 18," Chuck nodded, his eyes glazing over with the memory. "The year before me it was Charlie," he added, referencing his older brother who had since disappeared to some ivy-covered college campus across the country. "The year before that, they initiated Aunt Morgan's son Eric."
Tate's mind raced like a hamster on a wheel. His mom's whispered promise before they'd left—her glossy lips brushing his ear as she'd promised he wouldn't return home a virgin—suddenly took on a whole new meaning. He shifted uncomfortably, his erection straining painfully against his zipper.
"You'll know for sure if it's going down tomorrow if you get a surprise in your sleeping bag tonight," Chuck shared, his tanned face breaking into a knowing grin that revealed perfect white teeth.
"What type of surprise?" Tate asked, leaning forward, his fishing rod forgotten in his trembling hands.
"Well..." Chuck paused dramatically, running his tongue across his bottom lip, "it's a surprise, so I don't wanna give it away. But don't worry, dude," he winked, punching Tate's shoulder, "you'll fucking love it!"
The whole family sat around the crackling pine-scented fire that night, laughing and sharing stories that echoed through the darkening forest.
Tate couldn't take his eyes off the luscious tanned legs of each mother as they crossed and uncrossed them in the dancing orange light. They were all strong in a feminine way, their thigh muscles taut beneath smooth skin, made to harness around a rutting male. He marveled at how they were freshly shaved to gleaming perfection, causing the skin to shimmer wonderfully in the hypnotic glow of the campfire.
Amber, Morgan and Jane huddled together like a coven of sex witches, their eyes glinting with feral hunger in the dancing orange firelight as they whispered and giggled behind manicured fingers.
Tate couldn't hear what they were saying over the hypnotic crackle and pop of the resinous pine logs, but he noticed how their mascara-rimmed gazes kept drifting down to the prominent nine-inch bulge tenting his khaki shorts like a circus pavilion.
Morgan leaned in close to her sisters' ears, her swollen milk-heavy tits threatening to spill out of her low-cut white tank top. "Do you think his teenage dick is rock hard under there right now?" she asked in a hushed, conspiratorial tone that made her ruby lips quiver. "Throbbing and drooling pre-cum for our hungry mommy-holes?"
"Mmm-hmm, definitely," Amber purred, running her pink tongue across her glossy crimson lips until they glistened wetly in the firelight. "Look at that massive outline straining against the fabric. My boy's a grower, not a shower. Nine thick inches, ladies - rigid and ready to split us open."
Jane looked at each other suspiciously. "He's been 18 for a month now, and you seem to know an awful lot about his cock already."
A wicked Cheshire-cat grin spread across Amber's heart-shaped face, dimpling her flushed cheeks. "I haven't fucked him, but…let's just say Tate and I shared some special mommy-son bonding time on the backseat during our drive up here."
The sisters burst into peals of throaty laughter that echoed across the campsite like wind chimes in a summer breeze, their titanic titties jiggling like bowls of sun-warmed strawberry jello beneath their sweat-dampened cotton tops. "Oh my God, Amber, are you sure you didn't fuck his virgin cock already?" Morgan squealed like an excited eighth-grader at her first boy-girl dance, her muscular thighs clenching together beneath her frayed denim cutoffs, creating a visible camel toe that darkened with moisture.
"No, we just dry-fucked against each other until we both came," she confessed with a shameless wink that crinkled the corners of her sapphire eyes. "Although if you ask my soaking pussy, it'll tell you there was absolutely nothing DRY about it. I had to change my thong as soon as we got here—it was so drenched you'd have though I just stepped out of a Jacuzzi."
The women erupted into another round of raucous laughter at Amber's explicit confession. The husbands' faces swiveled in their direction, bushy eyebrows raised quizzically above bloodshot eyes.
"What's so funny over there?" John called out, his deep baritone carrying across the crackling campfire.
"Oh nothing, honey!" Amber sing-songed in a lilting soprano, her glossy crimson lips curving into a deceptively innocent smile, not feeling a single twinge of guilt despite her incestuous, unfaithful ways. "Just swapping recipes for tomorrow's dinner!"
The men shrugged their broad shoulders and turned back to their bottles of Budweiser, clearly not interested in discussions of crockpot casseroles or slow-cooker pot roasts.
As soon as their attention was diverted, the sisters huddled closer, their chestnut, honey-blonde, and auburn heads nearly touching as they resumed their hushed, conspiratorial whispers that hissed like steam escaping a pressure cooker.
"God, I can't wait to get my hands on that barely-legal cock," Morgan groaned, squeezing her glistening tanned thighs together so tightly
that her cutoff denim shorts creaked. A warm gush of wetness flooded the crotch of her lace-trimmed Victoria's Secret panties, creating a dark, visible stain. "To think it's never been inside a woman before..."
"He's gonna pump so much thick, pearly cum," Amber sighed dreamily, her sapphire eyes glazing over with lust as she twirled a honey-blonde strand around her French-manicured finger. "When they're that age, their heavy balls are constantly full to bursting with hot teenage sperm."
"The virgins are always the horniest," Jane added, her erect nipples visibly drilling into her leopard-print bikini top like diamond-cutting lasers, creating two prominent peaks in the thin fabric. "So eager and excitable. The moment you wrap your wet lips around that throbbing purple head, they nearly explode down your throat!"
Morgan nodded vigorously. "There's nothing better than sucking a teenage boy's rock-hard cock and having him lose control almost immediately, grunting and humping your face while he empties those swollen, aching balls down your hungry throat."
"And they can get it up again in minutes," Amber pointed out, fanning her flushed cleavage dramatically with splayed fingers. "Ready for round two...three...four... FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!"
Tate sat rooted to his rough-hewn log bench, his untouched chocolate-dripping s'more forgotten and oozing between his trembling fingers, as he strained to eavesdrop on his aunts' and mother's raunchy conversation. Even without hearing the actual filthy words, their giggling, husky tone and the way they kept eye-fucking his crotch with mascara-rimmed gazes made his massive cock throb painfully against his zipper, pulsing out a steady stream of warm, sticky pre-cum that dampened the front of his khaki shorts.
A short distance from their camp was a small cinder-block building with showers. One by one his Aunts, mom and silver-haired Grandmother went over to get cleaned up, their heavy breasts
bobbling beneath thin cotton shirts and their thick round asses wagging hypnotically with each step. Then, they retired to their nylon tents with knowing backward glances.
Tate finally extinguished the campfire, watching the last ember fade to black before retreating to his own tent. Inside, his small battery-powered lantern cast elongated shadows across the nylon walls.
As he peeled off his sweat-dampened t-shirt and shimmied out of his khaki shorts down to his navy boxers, his eyes kept darting to the sleeping bag. Chuck's words echoed in his mind.
The forest-green bag lay flat and undisturbed on his air mattress, its zipper gleaming in the lantern light. "That lying bastard was just messing with me," Tate thought bitterly, clicking off the light with a frustrated snap.
The moment he slid into the sleeping bag, something silky brushed against his bare calf. Tate froze. Heart hammering, he fumbled for the lantern switch and yanked out a massive white bra with intricate lace embroidery along cups.
His trembling fingers discovered more treasures: a pair of cream-colored satin panties with a delicate bow at the waistband. Before he could even lift them to his face, the unmistakable scent of feminine arousal—tangy, sweet, and primal—filled his nostrils.
"Holy shit…smell that pussy!" he thought, his insides tingling with excitement.
Digging deeper, he unearthed a black lace thong, a pale pink G-string, and three more enormous silky bras in various colors, each cup large enough to fit over his entire head. The lingerie had been artfully arranged within his sleeping bag, the fabric still radiating warmth as if freshly peeled from the curves of their voluptuous MILF owners.
The panties exuded an intoxicating cocktail of musky feminine essence mingled with expensive floral perfume, making the teen dizzy as the pungent smell of pussy assaulted his senses.
Tate nearly jumped out of his skin as the metallic rasp of his tent zipper cut through the silence. He frantically crammed the silky undergarments back into his sleeping bag, heart hammering against his ribs.
His mom's pretty face appeared in the widening gap, her glossy lips curved into a knowing smile as she crawled inside on all fours. The nylon floor crinkled beneath her weight as she sealed them in together, the zipper's teeth locking with a final decisive click.
Amber wore white thermal long Johns that clung to every luscious curve of her voluptuous body like wet paint. Her enormous breasts swayed pendulously beneath the thin cotton with each movement, clearly unrestrained by any bra. Her hardened nipples pushed against the fabric like fat cherries, creating two prominent peaks that drew his gaze like magnets.
"Your father's already snoring like crazy," she giggled, her voice honeyed and intimate in the confined space. "At least he'll scare the bears away."
"True," Tate agreed with a nervous smile, his mouth suddenly desert-dry.
"Why aren't you in your sleeping bag, darling?" his mother asked, her concerned tone contradicted by the predatory gleam in her eyes. "It's starting to get chilly out."
"I was…uh, just getting ready to actually," he managed, painfully aware of the lingerie hidden inches away.
"Good. I'll join you," she suggested, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You can keep me warm while we talk."
Tate hesitated, his pulse throbbing visibly at his throat, but his mom smiled reassuringly, perfect white teeth gleaming in the dim light. "Don't worry... I'm not here to take your new toys away," she giggled, the sound tinkling like wind chimes. "Just bring them out for a minute, so we can get in."
Not really surprised that she knew about them, the boy did as his mom asked and crawled into his sleeping bag. Amber did the same, her body radiating heat as she squeezed inside his comfy bag with him, filling his nostrils with her intoxicating perfume.
"Stay on your back," the mother whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear as she draped a smooth, toned leg across his thighs. The soft swell of her oversized breasts pressed against his chest like warm pillows. "There now... this is cozy," she purred, her lips barely an inch from his neck.
Tate's throbbing erection strained painfully against his boxers, the purple head peeking out from the waistband and leaking clear pre-cum onto his taut stomach. Being in the same sleeping bag with his voluptuous mother was intoxicating - her soft, pillowy tits conforming against his heaving chest like warm dough while the scorching heat from her moist crotch branded his hip through the thin cotton of her thermal underwear.
He watched, mesmerized, as her delicate fingers dangled one of the massive brassieres above his flushed face, the intricate lace pattern casting spidery shadows across his features in the dim lantern light.
"My goodness, would you look at the size of this bra!" she whispered huskily, her glossy pink lips parting as she squinted at the tag. "44 H-cup. Those are some seriously huge knockers! Any idea who this belongs to, darling?"
"I-I'm not really sure," the boy stammered, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, one shoulder lifting in a nervous shrug.
"That's your Aunt Jane's bra... and these are her panties," Amber purred, plucking a barely-there black thong from the pile with her manicured fingertips.
She dragged the silky fabric deliberately across her son's quivering lips and flushed cheeks. "Can you smell her sweet pussy, baby? Can you smell the tangy juices she deliberately left there for you to sniff?"
"Yesss," the teen sighed, his eyelids fluttering closed as he inhaled deeply, drawing the musky, slightly salty feminine essence deep into his lungs.
"Holy moly, look at this absolute monster!" Amber gasped, her eyes widening as she extracted another enormous brassiere from the collection. The massive cups, adorned with delicate floral embroidery, cast a shadow over the boy's face as she dangled it above him.
"48 double J cup! I bet those puppies hang down to her belly button. Any guesses who this belongs to, sweetie?" she teased, before pressing the silky garment completely over his face like a mask.
"Grandma?" came his muffled reply, his hot breath dampening the fabric as he marveled at how the enormous cup engulfed his entire head from forehead to chin.
"Bingo, baby boy," his mom responded with a throaty giggle, sliding Ruth's lacy white panties beneath the cup and grinding the gusset firmly against her son's flaring nostrils. "And don't her panties smell absolutely divine?"
"God, yes!" the boy moaned enthusiastically, his hips involuntarily bucking upward.
"They've been hugging her warm, fragrant pussy all day long, baby," she whispered, her hot breath tickling his ear, "and she's probably secreted her thick, creamy juices right into the fabric."
The boy's ass rose instinctively upward in an excited fuck-hump motion, his spine arching like a drawn bow as his throbbing boner flexed visibly beneath the thin cotton of his boxers, the purple head glistening with pre-cum.
His mom's silky-smooth leg slid across his trembling thighs, firmly pressing him back against the crinkly sleeping bag.
"Down, tiger!" she giggled, her voice like warm honey in the lantern-lit darkness. She delicately plucked Ruth's lace-trimmed undergarments away with her manicured fingertips and dangled a different matching set above him—coffee-colored satin with intricate floral embroidery.
"Mmm, look at this sexy pair. These are Aunt Morgan's bra and panties, baby. I bet you've been aching to smell her pregnant pussy," Amber moaned, her pupils dilating as she brought the visibly stained crotch of her sister's panties to his flaring nostrils.
"Oh, wow!" the boy gasped, his eyelids fluttering closed as he inhaled his Aunt Morgan's strong feminine scent—a heady mixture of tangy musk and sweet hormonal secretions unique to pregnancy.
"Her and I have the same bra size," the mother revealed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she draped the two identical bras over her boy's flushed face. "We both wear 38 GG-cup bras, darling. Feel how soft they are," she breathed, methodically rubbing the silky cups against his wonder-stricken features, the fabric still warm and slightly damp from wear.
"Our big heavy tits have been stuffed inside these cups all day long, baby. All that wonderful flesh just pushing and heaving against them, leaving behind our scent and warmth just for you."
The mother pushed the silky cups aside with her manicured fingers, revealing her son's flushed face beneath. His dilated pupils fixated on
the canary-yellow panties she dangled tantalizingly above him, the delicate fabric swaying hypnotically from her perfectly polished index finger.
"I bet you remember these particular ones, don't you, darling?" she asked, her glossy lips curving into a knowing smile that made her cheekbones more pronounced in the dim light.
"Those are…um, the ones you had on today," he answered, his voice cracking slightly as his throat constricted with desire.
"That's right," she purred, "the sheer ones that were stretched across my swollen pussy lips during our long car ride. Do you remember how you could see the outline of my wet slit through them, baby? How the fabric clung to every fold and crease?" she asked, rotating the panties so the gusset caught the lantern light.
"How could I forget?!" Tate exclaimed, his cock twitching visibly against his stomach.
"And here's the thong portion," she continued, producing a thin strip of yellow fabric, "that was wedged deep between my ass cheeks, rubbing against the puckered ring of my asshole with every bump in the road."
She stretched the elastic between her thumbs, displaying the damp center panel. "The very one you were grinding your throbbing erection against when we dry-fucked each other on the back seat. Remember that exquisite moment, darling?"
"Uh-huh," Tate responded, his engorged member now leaking a steady stream of pre-cum that pooled in his navel. He was so fucking turned on it felt like his skin might burst into flames.
"That made me SO wet," she whispered conspiratorially, "absolutely drenched. The crotch of these panties must smell incredibly potent after marinating in my juices all day."
She lowered the visibly stained gusset deliberately toward her boy's flaring nostrils. "Are they strong, honey? Do they reek of aroused, hungry pussy?"
The tangy, musky aroma of his mother's intimate secretions was so powerful they made the boy's head swirl like he was riding a carnival ride. The complex bouquet of salt, sweetness and something primal flooded his senses completely. He was too overwhelmed to form words, so he just nodded vigorously, his eyes rolling back slightly.
Amber boldly slid her hand down and traced a fingertip along his shaft, her nail leaving a trail of goosebumps. "If you fucked a wet pussy, that's exactly what your dick would smell like afterward—all that tangy sweetness coating every inch."
She inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring. "Isn't it absolutely wonderful? Like honey and salt and something primal all mixed together?"
"Yesss," Tate answered, his voice barely a rasp as his hips involuntarily lifted toward her touch.
Amber slithered on top of her son like a venomous anaconda gliding through dense, steamy jungle foliage, smothering the trembling teen in a heaving sea of glistening, jiggling 38GG tits and overheated MILF flesh that radiated feverish warmth against his goosebump-covered skin.
Her silky, lotion-scented thighs clamped around his narrow hips like a vise as she settled her fiery, pulsating crotch directly over the steel-hard, nine-inch fuck muscle pressing against his quivering abdomen. The paper-thin, moisture-darkened cotton of their underwear remained the only flimsy barrier separating their throbbing, aching sexes.
"Close your eyes, sweetheart," she purred, her glossy cherry-red lips brushing the sensitive shell of his ear, sending electric shivers racing
down his arched spine like lightning bolts. "I want you to imagine sinking this thick young veiny cock into a hot, clinging pussy dripping with nectar. Picture yourself thrusting deep into the sensitive coral-pink folds, spreading them open like a blooming flower, making them grip you tight like a silken fist."
Tate squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering against his ribs like a tribal drum as he vividly imagined his mother's explicit scenario. His purple, mushroom-shaped cockhead nudging apart dewy, swollen petals and sinking inch by delicious inch into scorching wet heaven. The slick, ribbed walls fluttering and clenching around him like a hungry mouth.
"Ooh yes, just like that," Amber moaned appreciatively, her voice dripping with honeyed lust as if reading his forbidden thoughts. "Now feel the velvety flesh squeezing your throbbing shaft from all sides as you drive yourself to the hilt, until your heavy, cum-filled balls are nestled against a juicy, perfectly rounded ass."
The teen's narrow hips bucked upward involuntarily, his sweat-slicked body acting on pure animal instinct as he dry-humped his mother's barely covered mound with desperate, urgent thrusts. He could feel the searing heat of her copious liquid arousal soaking through the thin fabric like hot syrup, could smell the ripe, intoxicating musk of her maternal excitement filling his flaring nostrils.
"You'd explore every sensitive inch of a tight cunt with the bulbous head of your cock," she continued, her voice a throaty rasp in the darkness, her hot breath tickling the fine hairs inside his ear canal. "Stroking over the swollen ridges that feel like velvet-covered speed bumps, prodding the spongy tender spots that ache for your touch like bruised fruit, grinding against the throbbing little pleasure button at the apex that swells and pulses like a tiny heartbeat..."
Tate whimpered, his diamond-hard erection jerking against her damp cotton-covered mound as a pearly bead of pre-cum bubbled from the slit before trailing down his purple shaft.
His balls felt swollen to the size of duck eggs, churning with a massive load of creamy white sperm as they pulled tight to his body, the wrinkled skin of his scrotum contracting visibly.
"A pussy would grip you so snug, darling, like a silken glove custom-made for your thick teenage meat. Clenching and rippling with tiny muscular spasms, milking your cock for every drop of hot seed," she promised, punctuating her words with a sensual figure-eight grind of her hips that made her enormous breasts slosh against his upper chest.
The boy groaned gutturally, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest like a wounded animal. His nerve endings crackled with electricity like live wires in water as he teetered on the razor's edge of climax.
All rational thought evaporated from his hormone-flooded brain, replaced by a single primal need - to rut into a woman's welcoming heat, to pump her full of his virile cum until it overflowed like honey, to mark her as his forever.
Tate's hips jerked upward erratically, his nine-inch cock throbbing almost painfully against his mother's barely covered mound as the forest-green polyester sleeping bag rustled beneath them like autumn leaves. A crimson flush crept up his sweat-slicked neck to his chiseled cheekbones as he realized how wantonly he was grinding against her like a rutting stag in mating season.
"S-sorry," he stammered, his baritone voice cracking with embarrassment as his movements stilled beneath the oppressive weight of her gigantic boobs. "I didn't mean to…"
"Shh, it's okay baby," Amber cooed reassuringly, her glossy cherry-red lips curving into an indulgent Mona Lisa smile that made her emerald eyes sparkle like precious gems. "That's just your body's natural instinct taking over. It knows exactly what it needs to do."
She punctuated her words with a sensual figure-eight roll of her child-bearing hips, her slick honey-drenched folds gliding along his granite-hard shaft through the gossamer-thin cotton of their undergarments. "See? Mommy's hips are moving too, in perfect counterpoint to yours like a well-rehearsed tango. It's like they were made to fit together like puzzle pieces."
Tate groaned like a wounded animal as she began undulating against him in an ancient primal rhythm as old as time itself, the sleeping bag crinkling in time with their synchronized movements like wrapping paper on Christmas morning. He could feel every scorching inch of her velvet-soft skin through their sweat-soaked underwear, could feel her molten center parting to cradle his throbbing cock like a custom-tailored silk glove.
"That's it, just like that," Amber purred approvingly, her voice honeyed and thick with desire like warm maple syrup. "What a good boy, thrusting your hips in just the right way like you were born for this. You're a natural stallion."
Her milky-white thighs clenched around him like anacondas as she matched his pace, grinding her dripping honeypot against his pelvis with increasing urgency. "Imagine you're driving that big, beautiful battering ram so deep, spreading mommy open like a blooming flower, hitting the very back of my needy, quivering cunt."
The teen whimpered like a newborn puppy, electric pleasure zinging up his spine like Fourth of July fireworks as his mother's filthy words painted a vivid Technicolor picture in his hormone-addled mind - her velvety coral-pink walls fluttering and clenching around him like a
hungry mouth, squeezing his aching purple-headed shaft from base to tip as he plunged into her welcoming heat over and over like a piston.
He could almost feel her cervix kissing the mushroom-shaped head of his cock, imagining the textured ridges stroking him like a thousand tiny tongues coated in liquid fire.
"Unghh, mom," Tate choked out, no longer caring how desperate or wanton he sounded, too lost in the exquisite friction, in the mind-melting pleasure radiating from his groin like a nuclear reactor.
His trembling hands flew to his mother's undulating hourglass hips, gripping the taut globes of her perfectly rounded ass through her thermal underwear as he rutted against her like a wild mustang, the sleeping bag bunching and twisting around their writhing bodies like a cotton-poly cocoon.
"Tomorrow, I'll have something else special for you," Amber stated, her cherry-red lips curving into a secretive smile that didn't quite reach her glittering eyes. "I want you to get up and go on the hike like you normally would every year. However, after about a half-hour, I want you to tell your father you're not feeling well, then come back to camp, ok?"
"Why do you want me to do that?" Tate asked, his voice cracking with lingering desire.
"You'll see, darling. Just do it exactly the way I told you and everything will go as planned," she whispered, sealing her promise with a lingering kiss to his forehead that left a perfect lipstick imprint.
As Amber began extricating herself from the sleeping bag, she turned back to Tate with a coquettish grin, her fingers toying with a strand of chestnut hair. "Oh, and one more thing, honey... I need you to make me a very special promise before I go."
Tate swallowed hard, his heart still hammering against his ribcage from their illicit dry-humping session. "What kind of promise?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"I want you to promise me that you won't touch this beautiful, hard cock tonight," she purred, trailing one lacquered nail along the straining ridge of his erection. "No matter how badly it aches. No matter how full and heavy your balls feel."
Tate's eyes widened, a whimper catching in his throat at the thought of denying his throbbing teenage meat any relief after being worked into such a desperate frenzy. "But...but why?" he protested weakly, hips twitching involuntarily as her fingers teased the weeping slit.
"Because I want you absolutely ravenous with need tomorrow," Amber explained, her voice dripping with honeyed promise. "I want these big, cum-filled balls—" she cupped his swollen sack through the thin cotton, "—churning with so much hot, virile seed they feel ready to burst."
The boy groaned helplessly, head lolling back against the pillow as his cock jerked in her grip, another pearly bead of pre-cum oozing from the tip. The thought of his heavy testicles getting even more achingly full, the skin drawn drum-tight around their massive load, made his stomach clench with a delicious ache.
"Oh god," Tate choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as a shudder rippled through his overheated body. The idea was pure torture—and yet the masochistic part of him thrilled at the challenge, at proving to her that he could be a good boy and obey. "I promise I won't touch it," he said hoarsely. "No matter what."
"That's my perfect angel," Amber purred approvingly, pressing a lingering kiss to his damp brow before slowly untangling herself from his quivering form. The sleeping bag rustled as she slithered out, cool air rushing in to replace her feverish warmth.
Tate's nine-inch cock flexed involuntarily like a divining rod seeking water as he watched his mom crawl toward the tent door on all fours, her luscious heart-shaped ass swaying hypnotically with each feline movement. The paper-thin white thermal fabric stretched taut across her plump, volleyball-sized cheeks, clinging to every dip, dimple, and curve like shrink-wrapped cellophane.
His hungry teenage gaze zeroed in on the visibly darkened patch between her quivering thighs where their combined sticky juices had soaked through during the feverish dry-humping session, the musky scent of feminine arousal still hanging heavy in the pine-scented air like invisible aphrodisiac perfume.
Amber paused at the entrance and peered back over her shoulder, her glossy cherry-red lips curving into a predatory feline smile. She noticed her son's rapt attention glued to her retreating derriere like a starving man eyeing a feast. Her emerald cat-like eyes glittered with wicked promise in the golden lantern light, holding his gaze for a searing moment that felt like an eternity before she slithered out of the tent and into the velvety star-spangled night with a husky "Sweet dreams, darling" that dripped from her tongue like warm honey.
The zipper rasped like sandpaper against wood as she sealed the forest-green flap behind her, the sound abnormally loud in the ensuing tomb-like silence.
Tate released a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his thundering heart still jackhammering against his ribs like a pneumatic drill and his granite-hard cock throbbing in time with his racing pulse.
He could feel his heavy balls pulsing with unspent pearly seed, already growing more swollen and achy from his sacred promise of denial, the skin stretching tighter with each passing second like an overinflated balloon ready to burst.
With a frustrated groan that rumbled from the depths of his parched throat, Tate flopped onto his side, desperately trying to ignore the insistent nine-inch flesh tower straining toward his quivering navel like a heat-seeking missile.
Every microscopic nerve ending still crackled and sizzled like a downed power line from his mom's expert teasing, his feverish skin radiating heat like molten lava beneath a paper-thin crust, glistening with droplets of perspiration that trickled down his heaving ribcage.
The intoxicating aroma of her feminine arousal—musky, sweet, and forbidden—clung to the inside of his flaring nostrils like invisible tendrils, making his head swim deliriously in a whirlpool of incestuous desire while his rigid, purple-veined pole twitched against his concave stomach, leaving sticky trails of pearlescent pre-cum across his taut abs.
Technicolor fragments of their illicit encounter flickered through his hormone-saturated, sex-fogged mind in exquisite frame-by-frame slow motion: The scorching volcanic heat of her slick, velvet folds gliding along his granite-hard length through the gossamer-thin barrier of sweat-soaked fabric... Her honeyed voice whispering directly into the whorls of his ear canal, painting vivid pornographic masterpieces with her filthy maternal words…
Her warm, mommy-milkers pillowed against his heaving chest like down-filled cushions, nipples rubbery-hard and prominent even through her threadbare cotton top…
Tate's free hand twitched reflexively toward his angry, throbbing cock—the veins bulging like roadmaps beneath the taut, paper-thin skin—before he caught himself with a breathless curse that hissed between his clenched teeth. He'd promised his beautiful mother he wouldn't touch it no matter how badly it ached, no matter how full
and heavy his testicles felt, swollen to the size of ripe plums in their hairless sac.
He needed to be a good, obedient boy for her, to prove his worthiness of whatever forbidden, taboo delights she had meticulously planned for tomorrow's forest rendezvous.
Keeping that sacred vow, however, was going to be the ultimate Herculean test of his teenage willpower. Especially with his rumpled sleeping bag still littered with his female relatives' lingerie. His grandmother's massive beige brassiere with its industrial-strength underwire. His aunts' lacy thongs still carrying their distinctive feminine scents, and his mother's silky yellow panties, the gusset still damp with her maternal essence.
Tate's sleepless night stretched like an eternity of exquisite torture, his swollen member throbbing with each heartbeat as he tossed and turned in the confines of his sleeping bag.
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of sizzling bacon and fluffy pancakes dripping with maple syrup, all the family members except the voluptuous matriarchs were prepared for the annual hike.
"Everyone ready to conquer Bear Ridge Trail?" Tate's father John asked, adjusting his sweat-wicking cap. "Have fun exploring nature's wonders!" Tate's buxom Grandma Ruth called out, her voice honey-sweet as she planted a lingering kiss on her own husband's weathered cheek like the devoted wife she pretended to be.
Tate trudged along the pine needle-covered path, just as his mother had instructed him to do— glancing back to see his mom, gran and two aunts waving and staring at him with unmistakable hunger in their eyes, their erect nipples straining against the thin fabric of their tight t-shirts like ripe berries atop the impressive mountains of their heaving bosoms.
His mom had told him to remain with the group for precisely thirty minutes, and it was the longest half-hour of his adolescent life, each second ticking by with excruciating slowness as his mind raced with forbidden anticipation.
"Hey, dad..." Tate finally mumbled, clutching his stomach theatrically, "I'm not feeling well at all—kind of queasy and light-headed. I think I'm gonna head back to camp before I puke all over the trail."
"Alright, kid. Do you need me to come with you?" John asked with fatherly concern, completely oblivious to the throbbing bulge in his son's hiking shorts.
"No, I'll just follow the marked trail back. I'll be fine on my own," the boy answered, trying to keep the eager tremor from his voice as beads of anticipatory sweat formed on his forehead.
"See you in a few hours or so then," his dad waved dismissively, then rushed to catch up with the others who were already disappearing around a bend in the forest path.
Tate eagerly hurried back down the pine-needle-carpeted trail, his pulse thundering in his ears as he turned the half-hour hike into a breathless fifteen-minute jog. Sweat trickled down his flushed face, dampening his t-shirt and making it cling to his lean torso.
When he arrived at the deserted campsite, the crackling embers of the morning fire still glowing orange, his mom, voluptuous aunts and curvaceous grandmother were nowhere to be found. He frantically checked their perfume-scented tents, pushing aside silky nightgowns and lacy undergarments, but still didn't find them.
When he went to his own tent, the canvas flapping gently in the mountain breeze, he found a hand-written note taped to the door, his mother's looping cursive immediately recognizable:
"Tate, Come down to the river, then follow it upstream until you find my red bra attached to a stick. There you'll receive further instructions. Love, Mom. "
Tate quickly scrambled down to the riverbank, his sneakers slipping on moss-covered rocks as the crystal-clear water bubbled and frothed beside him. He followed it upstream as his mom had instructed, the sun filtering through the emerald canopy above, dappling his skin with golden light.
After about ten minutes of walking, he spotted a flash of crimson against the verdant foliage – the scarlet lace of his mother's sexy push-up bra dangling from a gnarled branch. His trembling fingers discovered another note pinned to one of the silky cups:
"Hi, baby, You're almost here! You're almost to paradise! Walk back into the woods. You'll come to a giant boulder. When you get to the other side, you'll see our tent. See you soon! Love, mom. "
For several minutes Tate trudged through the dense, pine-scented forest, sweat trickling down his flushed neck before finally coming to the moss-covered granite boulder his mother had described. Standing nearly twelve feet tall, its craggy surface glistening with morning dew, it was far too massive to climb over, so he carefully navigated around it, his sneakers crunching on fallen twigs.
It was then he spotted a spacious crimson tent nestled between two ancient oaks, its waterproof fabric gleaming like fresh blood against the emerald foliage. If they were seeking absolute privacy, this
secluded clearing was perfect—nearly a half-mile up the mountain from the campground, hidden from any hiking trails.
As the trembling boy approached the tent, he noticed four pairs of women's shoes arranged meticulously outside the zippered entrance—his mother and grandmother's designer hiking boots, and his aunts' matching sneakers. His pulse quickened as he detected the unmistakable sound of hushed, throaty whispers and sultry giggles emanating from within.
"Mom?" Tate called, his adolescent voice cracking with anticipation.
Suddenly, the tent door unzipped with a slow, deliberate rasp, and the boy's eyes widened to saucers as he beheld his mother on all fours, completely naked, her tanned skin glistening with a fine sheen of arousal. "Hi, baby...you found us!" she beamed, her plump lips glistening with freshly applied cherry gloss.
Tate marveled at the way her heavy, milk-white udders hung down pendulously, swaying hypnotically with each breath, their rosy nipples fully erect and jutting from huge areolar rings.
Beyond the rounded globes of her naked ass, he could see his beautiful silver-haired Grandma sprawled on her back, legs splayed invitingly. Her ginormous breasts spread across her heaving chest like massive pillows of creamy flesh, topped with areolas the size of the pancakes he'd eaten that morning.
"Get those shoes off and get in here, gorgeous boy!" Ruth demanded, her voice husky with desire as she beckoned him with a crooked finger, her wedding ring glinting in the filtered sunlight.
The teenager certainly wasn't gonna argue. He kicked off his mud-caked hiking shoes and crawled into the tent, the thick canvas floor cushioning his trembling knees.