At the same time, Mary Beth took the other into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she applied a powerful vacuum that made the delicate blue veins beneath the surface bulge, trying to suck his seed right through the paper-thin skin.
With expert precision, the mother compressed her lips around the taut cord of his vas deferens, visible through the translucent, rooster-wattle skin of his scrotum.
Darrell whimpered into Clara's dripping cunny—slick as a freshly butchered hog and twice as fragrant—as his mama worried that sensitive tube like a half-starved bluetick hound with the last hambone, sending jolts of exquisite agony straight to his core that made his toes curl like wood shavings in a hot fire.
She bit down harder, a feral growl rumbling up from her ample bosom that jiggled like church picnic pudding. The boy's muffled cries vibrated deliciously against her mother's throbbing clit, swollen purple as a June plum and twice as juicy.
Clara ground down onto his face with renewed vigor, her powerful thighs quivering like freshly-made lard as she smothered him in her musky essence, relishing the desperate sounds that bubbled up through her slick folds.
"That's it, baby, sing real pretty for your Gran," Clara rasped,. She undulated her wide hips—spread like a washboard across his face—to smear her pungent arousal across his features until his skin glistened like a glazed ham. "Ain't no sweeter music than a young buck's whimpers while his nuts are bein' gnawed on like corn on the cob at a summer picnic."
Darrell's back arched like a rainbow after a thunderstorm, straining against the hemp bonds that bit into his raw ankles like hungry timber rattlers. His cock—angry as a stepped-on copperhead—jerked and wept pearlescent tears against
his belly while his ma tormented him with teeth and tongue, expertly stoking the fire in his loins hotter than a blacksmith's forge while denying him the sweet relief of release.
Mary Beth released his spit-slick sack from her mouth with an obscene pop that echoed through the root cellar— a silvery thread of saliva stretching between her lips and his glistening, puckered skin.
"Sweet Lord in Heaven he's tasty!" she gasped, then dove back in with renewed hunger, laving the angry red seam with broad swipes of her long tongue that left fiery trails across his most delicate flesh.
At the same time, she walked her fingers up his quivering taint, which twitched like a rabbit's nose under her touch as she sought out his hidden entrance.
Darrell gasped wetly into Clara's fragrant pussy-mask as his mama's spit-slick finger found his clenching rosebud—pink as a spring dogwood blossom and twice as delicate—and pressed inside with shocking ease. The honey-thick oil let her breach him to the second knuckle in one smooth glide, his virgin passage yielding to her intrusion like warm churned butter.
"Hoo-wee! Ain't he tighter'n a tick's ass stretched over a June bug back here!" Mary Beth crowed gleefully as she pumped her crooked finger in and out of his fluttering heat, which gripped her digit like a drowning man clutching at driftwood. "Gonna milk his prostate like a prize heifer's udder till he's buckin' and spittin' up a storm!"
Pleasure sharp and scorching as a branding iron dipped in lye, radiated out from the intrusion. Darrell's untried passage clenched and rippled around her skilled finger like a silk purse being cinched tight, trying instinctively to expel the foreign object that violated his most private place.
But there was no escaping his mama's relentless touch as she stroked over a walnut-sized gland inside him that made his vision white out like a blizzard on the prairie.
He sobbed brokenly into the yawning pink entrance to his Gran's vagina —overwhelmed by the intensity of sensations that ricocheted through his body like buckshot in a tin shed.
Drool leaked from the corners of his stretched mouth, clear as spring water, to mingle with her abundant juices as she used his face like her personal saddle horn.
"Aw, listen to him mewlin' like a newborn calf separated from its mama," Clara cooed, her voice syrupy as molasses in January, reaching back to fist his sweat-dampened hair—yanking it hard.
Her pendulous breasts swayed like water balloons fit to burst as she rocked her hips faster, grinding down with the determination of a flour mill stone. Her swollen clit—purple-red as a turkey's wattle—pulsed against his upper lip like a second heartbeat. "Havin' his sweet spot milked for the very first time like a spring heifer. You're doin' a fine job of educatin' him, Mary Beth."
Darrell's eyes rolled back in his head until only the bloodshot whites showed beneath fluttering lids. His entire world narrowed to the searing ecstasy radiating from his groin—hot as a lightning strike on dry kindling—as the depraved women feasted on his balls like a pair of half-starved hogs jostling for a prime spot at the slop trough.
The teenager's hips jerked helplessly as Clara nibbled along his seam, her teeth scraping the hypersensitive skin like a rusty plow over fresh-tilled soil.
She chuckled around his wrinkled sack—now shiny as a wet river stone—the vibrations making him shudder and clench like a mule with a burr under its saddle. "Look it him dance," she cackled, "Like a worm on a hot griddle spittin' and fryin'!"
"Mm-hmm," Mary Beth hummed, her tongue— slick with spittle—licking a long stripe up his taint, now red and raw as a freshly skinned rabbit. She tongued at where his balls met his body, flicking the tip along that magic spot that made his eyes roll back like marbles on a tilted floor. "It's like a fiddle string, you pluck it just right and he sings so pretty for us, high as a jaybird in a lightning storm."
They giggled wickedly around his tender flesh—now mottled purple-red as a summer bruise—clearly delighted by the desperate, animalistic noises they wrung from him with each flick of their talented tongues.
Humming in wanton approval that rumbled like distant thunder, they lapped at his balls and chewed on his sack with the enthusiasm of starving hounds on a ham bone, each trying to outdo the other in tormenting his most vulnerable flesh.
Clara's gnarled fingers tightened in Darrell's sweat-matted hair, yanking his head back until his neck muscles strained. She hauled his face deeper into her sopping cunny—a cavernous maw pink as sunrise and slick as a buttered skillet—grinding her swollen lips against his mouth until his teeth cut into his own gums. "C'mon now, sugar, suck Gran's fat clit like a greedy calf on its mama's teat," she growled. "Do it real good and I'll soak you to the bone—hose that cute face down with sweet girl-nectar thick as maple syrup in January!"
Darrell had no choice but to comply, his head locked in place by her iron grip—fingers like oak roots digging into his scalp until tears pearled at the corners of his bloodshot eyes.
He sealed his trembling lips around the angry purple-red bud of her clitoris, the engorged flesh hot as a coal from the cook-stove and hard as a buckshot pellet against his tongue. He suckled it gently at first, hollowing his stubble-roughened cheeks like a starving calf, then with greater intensity as Clara's feral growls—deep as a mountain lion's warning—turned to high-pitched keens of pleasure that pierced his eardrums like rusty nails.
He lavished her pulsing clit with attention, alternating between flicking the sensitive underside with the tip of his tongue and wrapping his lips tight around it, nursing like a babe desperate for mother's milk after a day's neglect.
The tangy essence of her arousal flooded his senses, tinged with sweat sour as week-old buttermilk and the cloying sweetness of the spiced oil that clung to his throat like molasses . It filled his mouth and smeared across his cheeks—leaving trails sticky as pine sap—marking him as hers more permanently than a cattle brand.
Tirelessly, Clara rode his face with abandon, her mountainous tits rippling and undulating above him like wheat fields in a summer gale. Her ragged moans bounced off the earthen walls as she chased her pleasure on his lips and
tongue with the single-minded determination of a bloodhound on a fresh scent.
"Oh f-fuck!" she stuttered as her climax crested like a tidal wave after an earthquake, her body going rigid as sun-baked clay above him, thighs clamping around his ears like a bear trap sprung on unsuspecting prey. "You gonna turn gran's cunt to cream, baby boy—sweeter'n honey from a hollow oak and twice as thick!"
A gush of hot fluid—scalding as fresh coffee and sharp as pickle brine—flooded Darrell's mouth as her urethral slit gaped wide like a catfish's maw, unleashing a geyser of pungent ejaculate that sprayed his tonsils with the force of a barnyard hose.
He gulped it down desperately, Adam's apple bobbing like a cork on floodwater, nostrils flaring wide as je struggled to swallow fast enough.
It seemed to pour out of her forever, relentless as a spring cloudburst, soaking him to the bone just as she'd promised, baptizing him in her pungent juices that clung to his skin like honey on a hot biscuit.
Clara's spine arched like a drawn bow as she howled, "SWEET FUCKING HELL!!" Her voice shattered the air—a feral, guttural sound that tore from somewhere deeper than her throat.
Her massive tits quaked violently, slapping against her rib cage with wet, meaty thuds as her entire body convulsed in savage, uncontrollable spasms that threatened to snap Darrell's neck between her vice-grip thighs.
Clara shuddered and bucked through the aftershocks, her meaty thighs quaking like mounds of strawberry jelly on a sun-warmed plate, grinding against his open mouth until the last honey-thick drop had been wrung out like sap from a maple tree.
Only then did she release her bruising grip on his cornsilk hair—leaving angry red welts across his scalp like fresh plow furrows—and dismount on legs wobbly as a newborn colt's, staggering back with the unsteady gait of a woman liquor-drunk on pleasure.
"Lord have mercy," she panted, fanning herself with a hand as her pendulous breasts heaved like twin sacks of feed corn, dark-brown nipples protruding hard as rusty railroad spikes against the landscape of her chest. "I ain't been tongue-fucked like that in all my born days. This young buck's got a mouth on him sweeter than blackstrap molasses on a January mornin'."
Mary Beth pulled her finger from Darrell's fluttering hole with a slick pop, the sudden emptiness making him clench around nothing. She gripped his angry, weeping cock and angled it towards the low cellar ceiling, the purple head straining skyward like a flagpole.
Her pretty teeth flashed in a wicked grin as a delightfully naughty idea took shape, eyes sparkling with mischief beneath her drooping lids. "Ma, you hold his pecker straight up like a maypole," she instructed, "and pull them legs back 'til his knees are 'bout touchin' his ears. I'm fixin' to mount him like a prized bull at the county fair and ride him into next Tuesday!"
Darrell's eyes flew wide as harvest moons as his grandma folded him near in half like a pocketknife, pushing his knees up by his ears until his body was bent like a green sapling in a hurricane.
His heart thundered against his ribs as he stared at her gigantic, low-hanging titties jiggling and swaying above him, the dusky nipples hard as buckshot and aimed right at his bulging eyes.
Darrell gaped up at his Gran's pretty face as she grasped his ankles in her hands and hauled his legs up and back until his knees were nearly touching his ears. The sudden movement made his throbbing cock bob and sway, the rigid shaft slapping against his sweat-slicked belly with a meaty thwack.
He felt obscenely exposed, splayed wide like a dressed chicken, his most vulnerable parts on lewd display. Blood rushed to his head at the inverted angle, making him dizzy. Or maybe it was the sight of Clara's sagging, veiny udders swinging hypnotically above him, the dusky nipples like thimbles crowning each pendulous tit, close enough to suck.
She flashed him a grin as she reached between his spread thighs and gripped the base of his straining cock, angling it straight up.
"Oh, that's perfect! Hold him just like that, Ma," Mary Beth instructed, her voice thick with anticipation as she swung a plump leg over his hips and positioned her dripping cunny right above his bulbous cockhead.
The first brush of her slick, swollen folds against his sensitive glans made Darrell shudder and gasp. Sparks of pleasure shot up his spine as she rubbed the plush lips of her pussy up and down his length, coating him in her fragrant juices.
She caught the flared head on her opening with each pass, sending bolts of bliss zinging to his core. "Oh, sugar, you got the prettiest purple mushroom tip," she purred, circling her clit with the shiny dome, gasping each time it bumped that sensitive bundle of nerves. "Gonna feel so good stretchin' momma's tight little pussy open."
Clara cackled, her rheumy eyes gleaming with wicked delight as she took in the sight of Darrell's manhood jutting up from between his splayed thighs, harder than a railroad spike and flushed an angry purple from tip to root. "Lordy, look at that fat knob on the end of his pecker," she crowed, giving his shaft a squeeze that made him buck and whimper. "Swole up like a poison toadstool after a summer rain. Fit to burst, I reckon."
"He takes after his mama in that regard," Mary Beth purred, reaching down to spread her glistening pussy lips wide, giving them both an unobstructed view of her own throbbing clit, the plump bud an almost perfect miniature of her son's bulbous glans.
It pulsed in time with her thundering heartbeat, slick and shiny with her dripping arousal. "See? We're like two peas in a pod down there, 'cept his is more the size of a damned eggplant compared to my little grape."
Clara cackled, leaning in for a closer look, her breath washing over Darrell's upturned face. "Sure enough, you could be twins from the waist down," she marveled, eyes sparkling with unholy glee. "Proof the boy's got Hatfield blood runnin' hot and thick as blackstrap molasses in his veins."
Darrell flushed at the lewd comparison, his face burning hotter than a cast iron skillet fresh off the cook-stove. It was bad enough being trussed up tighter than a spring chicken and subjected to all manner of depraved indignities. But
to hear his own kin enthusing over the familial resemblance between his privates and his mama's unmentionables - why, it was almost more than a God-fearin' boy could bear.
He didn't have much time to dwell on that particular blasphemy before his ma was sinking down onto his aching cock in one slow, smooth glide, her molten heat engulfing him like a furnace.
"Ohhh momma!" the boy's breath shook, his back arching like a bow as her velvet walls rippled and clenched around his girth, squeezing him tighter than a boa constrictor's coils.
His eyes rolled back, lids fluttering, as she took him half-way to the hilt.
"Lord have mercy!" Mary Beth gasped, eyes fluttering shut as she savored the delicious stretch, her powerful inner muscles rippling along his shaft. "He's so dang big, I reckon I'm gonna have to work him in a bit at a time, like a hand in a tight glove."
"Squeeze what you got in there real good, girl," Clara urged, her fingers digging into Darrell's thighs hard enough to leave marks. "Milk him like a prize heifer till his pre-lube starts drippin' out to slick the way."
Darrell felt his mama's molten sheath flutter and clench around his girth, gripping him tighter than a boa constrictor's coils. The exquisite pressure made his cock twitch and jerk inside her, the sensitive head brushing a spot high up on her front wall that had her shuddering and moaning.
Honey-thick pre-spend began to leak from his slit, mixing with Mary Beth's secretions, easing the way as she sank down another inch, then another.
It was a deliciously slow, tight glide, her channel clutching him like a velvet fist as she took him to the hilt. Darrell's eyes rolled back in his head at the all-consuming ecstasy of her flesh yielding and parting to accept his thick intrusion. He'd never felt anything so perfect, so mind-meltingly good.
Finally, after an eternity, Mary Beth's plush bottom nestled against his swollen balls, the coarse hairs tickling his sensitive skin. She ground down on him,
undulating her hips in a sinful circular motion that made sparks dance behind his eyelids.
"Oh sugar, you fill me up so damn good," she purred, voice gone throaty with lust. "Splittin' me open on this fat cock like a ripe peach on the branch."
Then she began to move in earnest, using her grip on his thighs for leverage as she rose up until just the swollen head parted her glistening folds, then slammed back down to take him balls deep.
"Oh fuck, that sweet dick," the mother gasped a she set a relentless pace, riding him hard and fast, the wet slap of flesh on flesh echoing obscenely in the root cellar.
Darrell could only hang on for dear life, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the mat below, toes curling against his bonds as she used him like her own personal bucking bronco.
He'd never felt anything so intense, pleasure bordering on pain as his mama's tight, clinging cunny worked him over, squeezing and rippling along his shaft until he saw stars.
Darrell marveled at the way his mama's gigantic titties bounced and rippled above him as she rode his cock like a wild bronco, the heavy globes shaking and quaking with each roll of her wide hips.
The areoles, dark pink and wide as the largest grapefruit, crowned each heaving mound, their pebbled nipples standing proud as thimbles. He'd never seen a pair of breasts move like that before, the milky-white flesh jumping and rippling as if possessed by some unearthly force, blue veins visible beneath the translucent skin like lightning in a summer storm cloud.
"Lordy, Ma, them titties are bouncin' around like two piglets in a feedsack!" he gasped out, voice hitching as she slammed down on his cock with the force of a runaway locomotive, her slick inner walls gripping him tighter than a miser's fist. "Ain't never seen nothin' like it in all my days!"
Clara let out a wicked cackle, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, sweet boy," she crowed, quickly leaning over.
Before Darrell could blink, she pressed his face right between her own pendulous udders, the doughy mounds completely engulfing his head like warm sourdough rising around him, muffling his surprised yelp as effectively as a feather pillow over a dying man's face.
Her sweet scent filled his nostrils, pounds of alabaster meat sloshing around his awe-stricken face. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, could only feel the weight of her massive udders bearing down on him from all sides, smothering him in their soft, pillowy embrace.
"Gettin' them big ol' titties in your face is the best damn part of bein' a buck in his prime," Clara rasped, her voice filtering through the wall of flesh pressing on his ears like he was underwater in a warm, musky sea.
She reached down and gripped his hair, her fingers twisting the sweat-dampened strands, forcing his mouth against one dusky nipple. The pebbled peak scraped his lips. "G'wan now, suck 'em. Suck on them fat nipples like a newborn starvin' for its first meal."
Darrell latched onto the thimble-sized nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth with a hungry gasp that surprised even himself. His tongue swirled around the distended nub, feeling every ridge and bump against his taste buds.
He suckled it gently at first, then harder as he felt it stiffen and swell between his lips like a ripe berry ready to burst.
"Mmnggff," the boy whimpered, trying to draw more of her dusky, goose-bumped areola into his mouth, her warm, heavy orb molding to his facial features.
Above him, he heard Clara moan, a deep animal sound that vibrated through the heavy tit-flesh enveloping his head like a living, breathing cocoon of warm dough.
The teen lost himself in nursing on her breast, mind going fuzzy around the edges as he suckled and slurped like a starving newborn. The wrinkled areola puckered against his tongue and lips, while his hips bucked up into his mama's clenching heat.
Their rhythm fell into perfect sync, each downward plunge of her wide, childbearing hips driving his purple-veined cock deeper into her molten core, where velvet walls rippled and squeezed him like a fist in a silk glove.
"O-hhh, momma!" the teen whimpered, his voice muffled by pounds of pendulous tit-flesh as his steely meat was swallowed up by the very womb that bore him, her inner muscles fluttering and gripping him like a thousand tiny mouths.
The dual assault on his senses was too much to withstand. Darrell felt his balls drawing up tight against his sweat-slicked perineum, his shaft pulsing urgently inside his mama's rippling sheath, veins throbbing visibly along its considerable length.
He tore his mouth from Clara's nipple with a desperate gasp, a silvery thread of saliva still connecting his lips to her glistening teat as he fought for air.
Oh God, Ma, I'm gonna—" Darrell's voice cracked like a teenager's, his toes curling so hard they cramped.
Mary Beth suddenly yanked herself off Darrell's purple-headed cock with a wet squelch that echoed through the root cellar like a boot pulled from spring mud. His rigid member slapped against his trembling belly, angry-red and glistening with her honey, a single pearlescent bead forming at the slit.
His bloodshot eyes flew open in shock as Gran's pendulous, titties finally lifted from his face. Cool, musty air rushed into his burning lungs as he sucked in a desperate breath, blinking rapidly up at his mama's stern visage hovering over him like a vengeful goddess.
Her fingers reached down to encircle the base of his throbbing shaft, squeezing with the practiced precision of a woman who'd milked both cows and men her whole life.
Darrell whimpered like a kicked hound at the vise-like pressure, his narrow hips instinctively bucking upward, seeking the hot, velvet glove of her cunny that had stretched to accommodate his girth. But she held him firmly in place with surprising strength, her sharp fingernails digging half-moons into his taut skin, denying him the release his aching balls desperately craved.
Now you listen here, angel," Mary Beth growled, leaning down until her face was inches from his, her warm breath washing over his flushed cheeks like a humid summer breeze.
She plastered her huge, squishy tits against his heaving chest, the soft weights of them compressing his lungs, nipples hard as unripe persimmon pits dragging across his sweat-slicked skin. Her auburn hair fell in lank curtains around their faces, creating a private world scented with her musky arousal. "You ain't gonna spill a drop of that seed 'til you make your mama cream on this big cock a dozen or so times, y'hear? No woman wants a two-pump chump who can't last past the first tickle."
Pleasure shot up the boy's arching spine like a lightning bolt as his Ma leaned down further, sealing her lips over the galloping pulse in his neck, sucking hard enough to raise a ruby mark on his sweat-slicked skin that would linger for days.
Darrell shuddered violently as she licked a scorching path up to his earlobe, catching the tender flesh between her teeth.
"Your mama's pleasure comes first, boy," Clara agreed, her heavy udders dangling just above his eyes. Her fingers reached down to fondle his swollen balls, rolling them in her practiced palm like two ripe peaches ready for canning. "You keep that thick babymaker hard and ready, let her use this fine cock of yours like her own personal ridin' post 'til she's satisfied six ways to Sunday. You can give her all the cream fillin' she wants once you're good and glazed in her sweet honey like a fresh-baked donut."
Darrell's head spun at their filthy words, his heart galloping against his ribs like a wild mustang breaking fence, each thunderous beat sending blood rushing to his ears with a whoosh-whoosh that nearly drowned out their drawling voices.
Sweat beaded on his furrowed brow, trickling down his temples in salty rivulets that stung his bloodshot eyes as he looked up at his mama with a glassy, pleading gaze the color of Mississippi mud after a spring rain.
His angry purple cock—veiny and swollen to near-bursting—jerked urgently between her fingers, the bulbous head weeping pearly beads of pre-spend
that caught the dim light and glistened like morning dew on a poison mushroom, silently begging to sink back into her luscious heat.
But he managed to gasp out a shaky, "Y-yes, ma'am," his prominent Adam's apple bobbing frantically in his throat like a cork in churning water.
Mary Beth nodded at Clara, a wicked gleam in her kohl-rimmed eye, crow's feet deepening at the corners. "Let his legs down, Ma. I'm fixin' to get him in real deep now—all the way to his mama's womb."
Clara snatched up the rusty scissors and made quick work of the rough hemp ropes binding his ankles. The keen blades sliced through the frayed fibers like a hot knife through lard, each severed strand making a satisfying snap.
The cruel snare fell away in tatters and Darrell gasped as his feet hit the soft mat, pins and needles shooting up his trembling legs as blood rushed back into his numbed extremities.
He barely had a moment to catch his breath before his mama was on him again, straddling his hips with thighs like pale oak trunks. She reached between their sweat-slicked bodies, fingers encircling his jutting cock, which throbbed like a second heartbeat against her palm.
"Mmm, I'm fixin' to fuck the juice right outta my cunny with that big, rigid cock," said Mary Beth as she notched the fat purple head, swollen to the size of a ripe plum, at her entrance, swirling it through the glistening pink folds that hung like overripe fruit, catching the pearly drops of arousal that clung there like morning dew on a pitcher plant.
"Gonna ride you hard as a willow switch in a tornado," she growled teeth flashing in a feral grin that crinkled the deep ravines around her thin lips.
Then she sank down on him to the root in one smooth, devastating glide that seemed to last both an eternity and no time at all.
Darrell's back arched, his mouth falling open on a silent groan as her searing velvet sheath, ridged like the inside of a conch shell, swallowed him whole. She was hotter and wetter than before, like molten honey mixed with summer rain,
slick walls rippling along his length with pulsating contractions, squeezing him like a fist in a velvet glove soaked in warm oil.
"Oh sweet Lord in heaven!" he gasped, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the mat as she settled flush against him, the dimpled globes of her meaty ass nestling his balls like eggs in a nest.
He was buried deeper than he thought possible, her labial flanges spread around his cock-root like a greedy suction cup. Her womb kissed the tip of his cock like a hungry mouth, making him see stars that burst behind his eyelids like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Mary Beth braced her hands on his sweat-slicked chest, nails digging half-moons into his quivering pecs as she began to move, undulating her wide childbearing hips in a sinful rhythm old as Eve's first temptation.
She rose up until just the angry purple mushroom head parted her glistening, swollen nether lips, then slammed back down with a wet squelch like boots in spring mud, taking him to the hilt where her bare mons meshed with his wiry pubic hair.
"M-mama," Darrell whimpered, Adam's apple bobbing frantically, reduced to a shuddering, incoherent mess of jangled nerve endings, putty in her experienced hands. He'd never felt anything so intense, pleasure skirting the razor's edge of pain as she used him hard and fast, the obscene slap-slap-slap of damp flesh on flesh echoing off the cellar walls like wet laundry against a washboard.
"That's it! Fuck that prized dick hard, Mary Beth!" Clara shouted. "Turn that cunny to cream around him!"
She rode him like a wild mustang breaking fence, spine arched like a drawn bow, heavy breasts bouncing and slapping against each other with each punishing downstroke, rippling like churned buttermilk in a Mason jar, meaty thighs gripping his narrow hips like a logger's vise clamped on green pine.
Darrell squeezed his eyes shut, afraid that the mesmerizing sight of his mama's giant titties bouncing and rippling above him like pale mountains in an earthquake might trigger his release before she'd had her fill. Instead, he
focused all his attention on the exquisite sensations radiating from where they were joined, his throbbing cock engulfed in her molten sheath.
The searing heat of her engulfed him, as if his shaft had been shoved into a furnace stoked by the devil's own hand. Her slick walls, ridged and undulating, squeezed him tighter than a fist in an oil-soaked velvet glove, rippling along his length with pulsating contractions that had him seeing stars.
With each downward plunge of her powerful hips, he could feel himself butting up against a muscular ring at the very back of her channel, tugging and suckling on the engorged head of his prick like a hungry mouth trying to milk him dry.
Syrupy secretions flooded her passage, turning it into a swamp of foamy viscous honey that let him slide in and out with obscene wet sounds, suctioning and squelching.
Every time she lifted up, her inner muscles seemed to cling to him, clutching his girth as if loathe to let him go, only to swallow him back in with greedy abandon. It was pure ecstasy, the kind of pleasure a man might sell his soul for.
Darrell's whole body was ablaze with sensation, his nerve endings sizzling like live wires. Jolts of electricity shot from his groin, radiating out through his trembling limbs. His heart galloped against his ribs like a spooked stallion and sweat poured off him in rivers, painting his flushed skin with a sheen that caught the light.
He was drowning in his mama's cunny, happily suffocating in her clinging heat. If this was how he died, spitted on her stake like a pig at a luau, emptying his seed into her hungry womb, well, there were worse ways to go. He'd die a happy boy, completely wrung out and used up, sucked dry as a corn husk in a drought.
But Lord help him, he couldn't spill yet, not until he'd satisfied her thoroughly as the women had instructed. So he grit his teeth until his jaw ached, dug his fingers into the meat of her rolling hips, and held on for dear life as she used him hard, praying he could last.
Mary Beth arched her back and rolled her head on her neck, auburn hair whipping around her like autumn leaves caught in a dust devil. Her eyes were
molten whiskey, glowing with unholy lust beneath her heavy lids, boring into his very soul. She licked her lips, slow and obscene.
"Buck those fuckin' hips!" she spat, her tits bouncing so high they nearly slapped her in the face. "Make me soak you!"
Mary Beth shuddered and gasped as Darrell met her thrust, his steely shaft plowing her quivering depths, her eyes rolling back until only the bloodshot whites showed beneath fluttering eyelids veined like marble.
"Lord have mercy, boy, your cock's harder than a railroad spike, and hotter than a blacksmith's forge!" she moaned, her as she rolled her wide hips to grind her swollen, purpled clit against his sweat-slicked pubic bone. "Drillin' me so deep I can taste you in my throat and rubbin' me so good in all them secret places. Gonna make me cum buckets of sweet honey on this veiny fat pole!"
Clara cackled like a witch at a cauldron as she watched her daughter ride the boy like a prized stallion at auction, her rheumy amber eyes glinting with wicked delight. "Nothin' prettier than watchin' a young buck give a mama her due," she crowed as she squeezed Darrell's swollen, plum-sized balls. "You pound her good now, y'hear? Stir up her honeypot like butter in a churn and let her glaze you real thorough-like with that sweet momma cream till you're drippin'.
Darrell could only groan and nod, teeth gritted until his jaw ached like a rusted hinge as he fought back his own rising climax.
The tight, rippling heat of his mama's cunny gripped him like a silken vise dipped in liquid fire, milking his throbbing cock with each roll and clench of her powerful inner muscles that undulated like a python swallowing prey. He'd never felt anything so incredible, pleasure skirting the razor's edge of pain as she used him hard and fast, her weight pinning him to the cushioned mat like a butterfly to a collector's board.
"Gonna...gonna cum so hard on this young dick," Mary Beth panted, her breath hot as a July cornfield against his sweat-slicked face, picking up the pace until the lewd slap-slap-slap of damp flesh echoed through the cellar like wet laundry against a washboard.
Her fingers dug into Darrell's shoulders, blunt nails leaving angry crimson crescent marks on his pale skin. "Drain them big boy nuts right up in my womb like sweet cream in a butter churn!"
Darrell nearly bit through his lip trying to hold back, tasting copper pennies as his mama's molten sheath rippled around him like a fist in an oil-soaked glove, squeezing and fluttering with hungry contractions, her arousal flooding his shaft and balls, sticky as blackstrap molasses fresh from the kettle.
But he couldn't spill yet, not until she'd had her fill like a starving woman at a church potluck. So he bucked up into her with the force of a mule kicking a barn door, pile-driving his hips to work himself deeper than a well digger in drought season, grinding his pelvis against her swollen bud until it throbbed like an angry hornet sting.
"That's it, really give it to her…just like that!" Clara crowed, as she groped his balls roughly with fingers. "Hammer that cunny like a bent nail till she's cross-eyed and screamin' louder than a wildcat in a steel trap!"
Mary Beth's molten sheath clenched around her son's aching cock like a silken fist dipped in liquid fire, the muscular walls of her honey-slick cunny rippling and undulating along his veiny length with the hungry intensity of a starving python swallowing its prey.
He could feel her pleasure building like a summer thunderstorm gathering over a cornfield, the muscles growing tighter than a new leather belt, delicate flutters transforming into powerful rhythmic spasms that threatened to milk him dry as a sun-bleached cow skull.
Her breath came faster than a steam locomotive climbing a mountain grade, hot and moist against his sweat-slicked neck, little mewling cries like a newborn kitten escaping her throat as she ground herself down onto him with the determination of a flour mill stone, taking him impossibly deep into her quivering depths.
She was chasing her peak like a rabid hound after a three-legged rabbit, wild-eyed and single-minded as a revival preacher, using his trembling body as her personal pleasure tool with the expertise of a master carpenter.
Darrell felt the exact moment her orgasm overtook her like a flash flood through a dry gulch, starting from deep within her pulsating core. The mouth of her cervix undulated around his purple cockhead like a hungry fish gasping at bait, pulsing wildly as if trying to suck him in deeper than a well in drought season.
The muscular walls of her cunny clamped down like a blacksmith's vise on hot iron, rippling from base to tip like waves on a storm-tossed lake, squeezing and releasing in rapid flutters that threatened to drain him like sap from a tapped maple.
Her womb jerked and quivered above where he was lodged like a lightning-struck oak, as if gasping and shuddering with electric pleasure that could power a small town for a week.
Then she was gushing around him, a flood of hot liquid spurting from her quivering cunny like a broken dam after spring thaw, coating his groin with slick, honeyed essence that ran in rivulets down the creases of his thighs.
Her urethral honey hole gaped and quivered like a hungry mouth gasping for air, clear female essence squirting out in rhythmic bursts powerful as a stallion's stream to soak his balls and puddle on the mat beneath them.
Mary Beth wailed like a wildcat caught in a steel trap, her spine arching like a drawn bow ready to snap, tremors wracking her body from her flushed chest to her curling toes. Her pretty eyes rolled back until only bloodshot whites showed beneath lids fluttering faster than moth wings near a kerosene lamp, as the powerful contractions of her orgasm milked Darrell's iron-hard cock with the determination of calloused hands on a stubborn udder, trying to wring his seed from him like the last drops from a near-empty moonshine jug.
Tits rippled violently as she shook and shuddered above him, impaled to the hilt like a butterfly on a collector's pin, reduced to a writhing, incoherent creature of pure sensation, her skin flushed redder than a boiled crawfish.
Her slick walls pulsed and rippled like a gullet swallowing, bearing down on his shaft in fluttering waves that traveled from root to tip like ripples in a creek bed, as if trying to suck his climax out of him with the force of a twister pulling up fence posts.
Syrupy arousal gushed from her core thicker than blackstrap molasses in January, coating his thighs and belly in glistening streaks that caught the dim light like dew on morning spiderwebs, dripping down to form a tacky puddle wider than a dinner plate.
Her womb spasmed wildly as a seizure-struck rabbit, the greedy mouth of it kissing and suckling the head of his cock like a starving calf at its mother's teat, desperate to swallow him whole like a python with its prey.
Aftershocks rolled through her in electric waves like lightning striking the same oak repeatedly, and she jerked and twitched wilder than a headless chicken, grinding erratically against his pelvis as her body tried to wring every last pulse of pleasure from his steel-hard shaft that stood prouder than a flagpole on the Fourth of July.
Thick ropes of girl honey squirted from her gaping cunny with the force of water from a rusty hand pump, painting his groin and thighs slicker than a greased pig at the county fair, filling the cellar with the sharp musk of her spending that hung in the air heavier than woodsmoke in a sealed cabin.
Darrell gritted his teeth until his jaw ached like a broken hinge, every muscle clenched tighter than new rawhide in the summer sun, fighting against the urge to erupt like a geyser in Yellowstone Park.
His cock jerked inside her fluttering sheath like a fish on a hook, pulsing in time with her rhythmic contractions that milked him more insistently than calloused hands on the last cow of evening, pre-spend leaking from his cunt-smothered meatus like sap from a fresh-cut maple.
Clara knelt down beside her grandson, her face inches from his as he gazed up from between his mama's sweat-slicked breasts, heaving like twin hillocks in an earthquake. "Angle up more, boy," she rasped, her sweet breath washing over his flushed cheek like moonshine fumes from a freshly uncorked jug. "Rub that big purple knob right up against the front of her cunny, where it's all spongy-like. Bump and grind on that spot like you're tryin' to start a friction fire in damp kindling and she'll be squealin' loud enough to wake the devil from his Sunday nap."
Darrell did as instructed, tilting his hips to spear upwards like a determined trout fisherman, the flared head of his cock—purple as a summer plum and throbbing harder than a blacksmith's hammer—dragging along his mama's front wall with the deliberate precision of a plow cutting fresh furrows.
He could feel the difference in texture there, like a slightly raised patch of ribbed silk amidst the slick smoothness, puckered and swollen as a wasp-stung peach.
Mary Beth let out a guttural moan wilder than a she-wolf in heat when he hit it just right, her beautiful eyes rolling back like wagon wheels down a steep hill, fingers digging into his shoulders deeper than fence post holes.
"Ungh! Right there!" she panted, grinding down to meet his thrusts with the determination of a flour mill stone. "Oh sweet Lord, you're pluckin' my strings tighter than a fiddle at a barn dance, makin' me wetter than a crawdad hole after spring floods!"
Encouraged as a prize stallion at stud, Darrell worked his hips faster than a steam piston, making sure to hit that magic button—swollen now to the size of a ripe dewberry—with every bone-jarring stroke. The stimulation was intense as summer lightning, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through his groin like wildfire through dry brush.
He could feel his mama's molten sheath gripping around him tighter than a new leather belt, fluttering wildly as a trapped sparrow, honey flooding his cock and balls in a torrent slicker than axle grease.
"Gonna...gonna make me cum again!" Mary Beth babbled, her movements growing frantic as a cornered raccoon. "Gonna cream so hard on your cock!"
Darrell felt the precise moment she tipped over the edge, his mama's powerful cunny bearing down on him like a silken fist clenching around a rattlesnake's neck. She threw her head back until her auburn hair brushed the sweat-slicked small of her back, and wailed to the cedar-beam rafters, juices gushing out of her like a busted hydrant, drenching him in her sweet nectar that smelled of wild persimmons and forbidden musk.
Her whole body seized up and shook, quaking above him as if possessed by seven devils from the deepest pit, impaled to the root on his steel-hard cock that throbbed like a toothache in time with his thundering heartbeat.
She milked him with the ruthless efficiency of a butter churn on the last day before market, her inner muscles rippling in waves from base to tip, determined to drain him drier than a creek bed in August drought.
It took every last trembling ounce of willpower Darrell possessed not to spill himself into her pulsating depths right then and there, his balls drawing up tighter than new leather in January frost. He squeezed his eyes shut— fingers digging half-moon crescents into her fleshy hips, and fought against the rising tide of his own release that threatened to burst forth like floodwaters through a failing dam.
But Lord help him, she was rippling around him so sweetly, squeezing him like a velvet vise greased with honey, her sodden walls tugging on his penile flesh with the insistence of a starving babe at its mother's teat, each pulse sending lightning strikes of pleasure from his straining cockhead straight up his spine to explode like shotgun blasts behind his eyeballs.
"Ohhh, ma!" his voice quivered—entire body quivered like an aspen leaf in an October gale as the rising tide of his climax threatened to overtake him, swelling up from his groin with the unstoppable force of a flash flood through a bone-dry creek bed.
"I'm f-fixin to burst!" he stammered out between teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached, the corded muscles of his neck straining against his sweat-slick skin as he fought to hold back the scalding deluge for a few precious heartbeats more.
Without missing a beat, Mary Beth lifted one heavy, milk-pale breast and slapped it across the boy's flushed face with a meaty thwack, engulfing his sharp features in her pillowy flesh that smelled of lavender soap and warm woman-sweat.
"Suckle Mama's teat while you spill that seed, baby boy," she purred like a mountain lioness in heat, rolling her wide hips faster in figure-eight motions, taking him so deep he swore he could feel her womb kissing the purple crown
of his manhood like a hungry mouth. "Nurse real good and let it alllll go into Mama's hungry cunny."
Darrell latched onto the fat, raspberry-red nipple—thimble-sized and puckered tight as a drawstring pouch. He sucked like a starving newborn denied the breast for days, drawing the pebbled peak deep into his hungry mouth and suckling with hollow-cheeked desperation.
Her flesh-mountain smothered his face completely, blocking out all light and summer-afternoon air, filling his flaring nostrils with her heady musk of vanilla and forbidden desire.
He gorged himself on her doughy tit, slurping and lapping with a tongue rough as a barn cat's, scraping the sensitive bud with his teeth as the first molten stirrings of release coiled tight as a rattlesnake at the base of his tingling spine.
"That's it, really give 'er a good titty-suckin'," Clara rasped from beside him, her voice seeming to come from a hundred miles away through the smothering tit-flesh, like a distant train whistle through mountain fog.
Her fingers dug into his balls, tugging on his sack like she was trying to physically pull the cum up from his deepest roots, working his testicles like a farmhand milking the last drops from a reluctant cow's udder. "Suck as hard as a tic on a hound dog's ear and fill her cunny with that baby gravy thicker'n cornmeal mush!"
It was too much. With a hoarse cry that vibrated against Mary Beth's tit like a tuning fork struck against wet stone, Darrell's cock exploded like a geyser in Yellowstone, shooting off deep in his mama's rippling sheath that clutched him tighter than a miser's fist on payday.
His balls drew up painfully tight and pulsed as they emptied in long, agonizing spurts that felt like molten lightning being ripped from his very soul, pumping what felt like quarts of thick seed—pearlescent as moonshine and twice as potent—into her heavenly vise.
Pleasure like he'd never known racked his body, whiting out his vision like summer sun on fresh snow, every muscle from his curling toes to his straining
neck seizing tight as a bear trap on a trespasser's ankle. He thought he might pass out from the sheer intensity, the ecstasy bordering on pain.
Mary Beth milked her son through it, grinding down with the rhythm of a butter churn to capture every pearlescent jet of his molten release. Her greedy cunny suckled his purple-headed spurting tip like a hungry calf at the teat, rippling around him in flutters and clenches.
"Ooh, good boy. I bet that cream is sweeter than honey on a hot biscuit," she groaned, twisting his sweat-dampened hair in her fist to hold him trapped against her heaving breast like a fly in amber. "Fill me up till I'm sloppy with it with them babymakin' swimmers."
Darrell's starving lungs burned hotter than a smithy's forge for air, smothered beneath his mama's gigantic, milk-pale breast. Her rubbery teat pulsed between his lips like a living thing as he suckled it with the desperation of a newborn lamb, the spongy flesh completely filling his parched mouth like a ripe summer peach.
His cock—angry-red and veined as a prize stallion's—spasmed and jerked deep in her rippling cunny, spurting what felt like endless ropes of thick, hot seed potent as moonshine into her heavenly vise. The most powerful orgasm of his young life ripped through him with the unstoppable force of a thunderbolt splitting an ancient oak right down to its roots.
"Lookit him go off like a dang Roman candle on the Fourth of July!" Clara crowed gleefully, mashing his plum-sized, drawn-up balls with fingers. "Gushin' like a busted pipe after the first spring thaw, I reckon. Probably fillin' your honey-pot cunny to overflowin' with his pearlescent baby gravy."
"Ooh yeah, I can feel every last drop of it!" Mary Beth moaned, grinding down with hip-rolls smooth as churning butter to capture his hot load. "Shootin' so fuckin' deep it's ticklin' my womb! Lordy, I ain't never felt a man let loose in me so fierce."
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mary Beth eased up enough for Darrell to twist his head sideways and suck in a desperate, ragged gasp beneath her giant mound of titty that hung over him like a pale, veined avalanche of flesh.
The sudden influx of oxygen hit his starved brain like white lightning, making him dizzy as a newborn calf on ice, black spots dancing in his vision. He panted like a racehorse, chest heaving like bellows in a blacksmith's forge, sweat running in salty rivulets down his tomato-red face and pooling in the hollow of his throat.
"Mm, had himself a real good cum, didn't you sugar?" Clara asked, releasing his nuts.
Darrell lay there in a stupefied daze, his body limp as week-old lettuce and trembling like aspen leaves in an autumn breeze, caught in the juddering aftershocks of the most powerful climax of his young life. Their honey-thick voices drifted to his ears as if from across a misty holler, muffled and indistinct as creek-talk through cattails. Slowly, the words started to take shape, piecing themselves together in his pleasure-fogged brain like a jigsaw puzzle missing half its parts.
"Lordy, you sure did a number on him, Mary Beth," Clara chuckled, her voice raspy. "He's glazed and shinin' like a honey-baked ham—all glistenin' with your sweet nectar."
"Mmhmm, rode him hard and put him up wet," Mary Beth agreed. "Drained them bull-sized balls dry as August corn husks."
Their hands roamed over his prone form, mapping the hills and valleys of his sweat-slicked muscles with the possessive familiarity of prospectors who've struck gold in virgin territory.
He felt the wet drag of their long tongues lapping at his overheated skin like starved hounds cleaning the last scraps off a fresh-killed ten-point buck. Kisses rained down on him like summer hail on a tin roof, landing everywhere from his tomato-flushed face to his still trembling thighs that quivered like aspen leaves in October wind.
Luscious, matronly lips plump as overripe persimmons worked over his jaw, his salt-slick throat, pausing to suck purple-black bruises into the tender skin like a coonhound marking its favorite tree. A serpentine tongue dipped into the hollow of his collarbone, harvesting the salt of his sweat like a deer at a mineral lick.
Darrell groaned weakly as he felt heavy, milk-swollen breasts drag across his heaving chest and quivering belly, the hard pebbled nipples—pink as spring dogwood blossoms—scraping his sensitized flesh raw. The slick slide of the women's abundant curves slithered over him as they crawled about like she-panthers in heat, mapping every goosebumped inch of his prone form with hands, tongues and mouths, rubbing their musky scents into him like territorial wildcats marking a prized hunting ground.
He was too wrung out—limp as a rag doll—to do much more than lie there and take it, soaking up their lavish attention. His once-proud cock lay spent against his sweat-slick inner thigh, purple-headed and glistening with their mingled juices, still twitching with aftershocks like a half-crushed copperhead, too soon for it to stir with renewed interest despite the humid heat of their hungry gazes.
But he could feel their predatory eyes on it, hot and hungry as timber wolves eyeing a fresh haunch of frost-killed venison in the lean days of February.
"Give him a minute and he'll be rarin' to go again," Clara said with a wicked chuckle, her fingers dancing along the sharp ridge of his hip bone. "Springy as a fresh-cut hickory sapling, these young bucks. Mama ain't done with you yet, is she, boy?"
"No, ma'am," Darrell managed to rasp. Lord help him, but he knew with bone-deep certainty that the pleasure was just beginning. These depraved women—insatiable as locust swarms on summer wheat—aimed to keep him penned as their personal stud bull, using his trembling body for their wanton pleasure until they'd wrung him dry as a sun-bleached deer skull forgotten on a lonesome ridge.
Hours later, the blood-orange sun hung low in the hazy afternoon sky, casting long purple-black shadows across the dusty yard as Darrell helped his mama down from the creaking hickory wagon.
He ducked his head, hoping the sweat-stained leather brim of his grandpappy's hat would hide the deep crimson flush he could feel spreading up his sun-baked neck. Sweet Jesus in heaven, he could still smell her on his skin—that heady aroma of pussy-musk that clung to him like morning fog in a mountain hollow.
He could still taste her tangy nectar on his tongue, feel the phantom grip of her molten honey-pot squeezing his manhood tighter than a miser's fist clutching the last silver dollar in the county.
His daddy strode over from the weather-beaten porch, thick thumbs hooked in his faded denim overall straps, a grin splitting his leather-tanned face beneath the salt-and-pepper stubble that grew wild as crabgrass.
"There's my pretty wife," Lester declared in a voice rough pulling Mary Beth's frame into a bear-tight embrace, ropy muscled arms encircling her plush waist. "Ain't you a glowin' sight for these bloodshot eyes, sweet as honeysuckle in May."
Mary Beth tittered like a pink-cheeked schoolgirl caught behind the woodshed and swatted at his barrel chest, her cat-green eyes sparkling like dewdrops in the golden-syrup light. "Oh, go on now with your silver tongue, I'm a frightful mess after that bone-rattlin' ride. Probably got more dust in every crack and crevice than the drought we had last season."
Lester just chuckled and squeezed her tighter, his ham-sized hand sliding down to cup her generous bottom through her cornflower-blue skirts. "Naw, you're glowin' brighter than a lightnin' bug in June, prettier than a speckled pup under a red wagon."
Her cheeks blushed, but inside, a forbidden thrill hot as moonshine shot through her womb at the knowledge that it was her son's pearly spend still glistening like morning dew on her trembling thighs. His fingerprints purpling her milk-white hips beneath her sweat-dampened skirts. The delicious ache between her quivering legs was from the relentless poundin' of her boy's young stallion cock, not from the rutted wagon ride.
And the rosy glow her husband saw was the satisfied flush of a woman thoroughly fucked seven ways to Sunday, not the blush of a bashful June bride.
"What about you, son?" his daddy asked, turning to look at him, "Granny Clara work you hard out there at her place?"
Darrell's tongue felt thick and clumsy as he swallowed hard. He glanced at his ma as she stared back with eyes glittering like wet river stones, a dangerous
cocktail of amusement and raw hunger painted across her flushed face—like a mountain lioness just daring enough to drag him behind the weathered slat-board barn and mount him again right under her husband's oblivious nose.
"I...uh...y-yessir," he stammered, cheeks burning hotter than hickory coals.
Mary Beth saved him from his floundering like a skilled angler netting a thrashing catfish. "Darrell was a right blessin' today, weren't you, sugar? Strong as an ox pullin' uphill, that boy. You should've seen him wranglin' them preserves down in the root cellar."
His mama fixed him with a saucy wink, her eyes glinting mischievously in the fading sunlight. "Nearly popped them ripe peaches straight outta their jars with his big, strong hands. Thought for sure he was gonna splatter that sweet, sticky juice all over Mama's root cellar."
Darrell's face flamed hotter than the devil's pitchfork at her brazen innuendo, vivid sense-memories of spurting his own "sweet, sticky juice" deep in his mama's rippling honey-pot just hours ago flashing behind his eyes. Surely his pa would take one look at his tomato-red face and just know the shameful truth of how he'd rutted with his own mama like a bull in springtime, goring her with his thick meat until her eyes rolled back and her cunny gushed like a busted dam.
But Lester just let out a whiskey-raspy guffaw and clapped him on the shoulder, meaty palm nearly buckling his knees. "That's my boy! Helpin' out his mama like a man ought to. Reckon one day you'll make a fine husband, knowin' your way around a woman's cellar, if you catch my drift." He waggled his bushy eyebrows and elbowed Darrell in the ribs good-naturedly.
Mary Beth slapped her husband's arm with a scandalized gasp, her eyes round as harvest moons. "Lester Hatfield, you hush that filthy mouth!" she scolded. "Ain't no call to be corruptin' the boy's innocent ears with that kinda crude man-talk."
Darrell ducked his head to hide the strangled, hysterical laugh that threatened to burst out of him like a fox from a trapped hen-house. Innocent ears, his lily-white ass. His "ears" weren't the parts of him that had spent all day buried in
his mama's dripping honey-pot, learning the slick, searing folds of her cunny more intimately than a blind man reading Braille.
He knew the exact taste of her tangy cream and the velvety clutch of her innermost depths, could map the ridges and secret spots inside her that made her moan like a ghost-bit hound.
Mary Beth gazed at her son with sultry eyes that smoldered like hickory coals in a blacksmith's forge, a secret smile playing about her plump, kiss-swollen lips. "He sure did do a mighty fine job," she purred. "But there's still heaps of work left to do out at Ma's place. Gonna be needin' his strong, capable young body to perform at its peak condition."
She caught her son's eye and gave him a slow, meaningful wink, so quick he might've missed it if he'd blinked. But there was no mistakin' the wicked, hungry gleam in her kohl-rimmed eye, or the way her pink tongue—the same one that had traced every ridge of his throbbing manhood not three hours prior—darted out to wet her plump bottom lip before drawing it back in with a soft, wet sound like a boot being pulled from creek mud.
Darrell's pulse kicked into overdrive, thundering in his ears like a stampede of wild mustangs across the valley floor, his cock twitching in his sweat-dampened britches as he read her unspoken message loud and clear as a church bell on Sunday morning.
She wanted him again— craved the feel of his burgeoning manhood splitting her open like a ripe Georgia peach and stirring her molten depths. And Jesus wept, but he yearned to give her what she needed, to sheath himself in her clinging wet heat, pink and slick as freshly butchered venison, and rut like a bull in springtime till she milked him dry.
TO BE CONTINUED…