Drunk MILF Mum

Rob had just turned eighteen and the summer before college stretched out in front of him like an invitation. His father, Michael, worked two weeks on and two weeks off as a project manager for an engineering firm that sent him overseas. The arrangement paid well enough that the house was comfortable and Maureen, Rob’s mother, never had to worry about money. What it did mean was that for half of every month the house belonged to Rob and his mum alone.

Charlie, Rob’s best mate since year nine, came round most afternoons when the weather was too hot for anything else. They sprawled on the sofa with controllers in their hands, the television glowing, the air conditioning humming. On the day everything changed they had already been talking for twenty minutes about which girls from their old school they would still fuck if given the chance. Charlie’s voice dropped a little when he said, “Your mum though. Proper MILF. That red lipstick she always wears, the way her tits sit in those tops. I’ve wanked over her Facebook photos more times than I can count.”

Rob felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. He had never looked at his mother that way, not consciously, but the words landed and stayed. “Show me the photo,” he said.

Charlie pulled his phone out, scrolled, and turned the screen. Maureen stood in a short black skirt and a low-cut blouse, lipstick bright as fresh blood, cleavage deep enough to lose a hand in. Rob’s cock twitched inside his shorts. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Charlie grinned. “I want to smell her worn knickers. Proper dirty ones. You game?”

Something reckless and hot slid through Rob’s chest. “Yeah. Come on.”

They went upstairs quietly even though the house was empty. In the laundry basket they found three pairs of Maureen’s panties. Charlie lifted a black pair, held it to his nose, and inhaled. “Christ. Smell that.” He passed them over. Rob pressed the damp gusset to his face. The scent was sharp, salty, unmistakably cunt. His cock hardened fully. Charlie took the pair, shoved them into his pocket, and left with a quick “Cheers, mate. You know what I’m doing with these.”

Alone, Rob went back to the basket. He took the remaining two pairs and the open-crotch ones he found deeper in the drawer. Underneath the lace he discovered two vibrators, one slim and pink, one thicker and curved. He lifted the thicker one to his mouth and sucked, tasting faint plastic and the ghost of his mother’s pussy. Then he sat on the edge of her bed, phone open to the same Facebook photo, and wanked until thick ropes of cum spattered across the black panties he had wrapped around his cock.

When Maureen came home later that afternoon she was already dressed for a birthday lunch with her badminton friends. The skirt was shorter than anything Rob remembered her wearing in public. The blouse gaped enough that he could see the edge of a quarter-cup bra and the soft swell of her tits. Red lipstick again. High heels. Stockings. She looked like she was heading out to get fucked rather than celebrate a birthday.

“I’ll be late,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

The second the taxi pulled away Rob was back in her room. Fresh panties from that morning sat on top of the basket, the gusset still wet and sticky. He licked them, sucked the vibrator, and came hard into the fabric while staring at the photo of his mother smiling with her tits half out.

She returned just after three, leaning heavily on the taxi driver’s arm. The man muttered that she had had more than a little wine. Rob helped her inside. On the sofa she collapsed with her head in his lap, skirt riding up to show stocking tops and the soft white flesh above them. Her blouse had come partly open. Rob could see the dark circles of her nipples through the thin bra.

He undid another button. Her breathing stayed deep and even. He cupped one full breast, felt the weight of it, pinched the nipple until it stiffened. Maureen murmured in her sleep, “Michael… harder… suck them.”

Rob’s cock was rock-hard against the side of her face. He slid his hand down between her legs. The panties were soaked. He pushed two fingers past the lace and into the hot, slippery cunt underneath. She moaned louder. “Finger-fuck me… need your cock… need to be filled.”

He kept working her, thumb brushing her clit, until her hips started rolling. Then she woke properly, eyes unfocused, voice thick. “Rob? What… oh God.” She didn’t pull away. Instead she stared at the bulge in his shorts and whispered, “Dad’s away until Saturday. I can’t wait that long. Take me upstairs.”

In the bedroom she watched him strip. When she saw he was still wearing her cum-stained panties she laughed, low and dirty. “You filthy little bastard. Wearing Mummy’s knickers. Get them off and fuck me.”

She lay back, legs spread, stockings still on, heels still on. Her cunt was shaved smooth except for a neat landing strip, the lips swollen and shiny. Rob pushed the head of his cock against the entrance and sank in with one long thrust. She was so wet he slid to the root without resistance. Maureen’s head tipped back. “Fuck, you’re bigger than your father. Fill me. Harder.”

He fucked her in long, deep strokes, watching his cock disappear into the pink hole that had given birth to him. She came first, cunt clenching hard enough to milk him, crying out with language he had never heard from her mouth. “Yes—fuck Mummy’s cunt—give it to me—fill me with that thick teenage cum—”

Rob held on until the second orgasm ripped through her, then drove deep and unloaded. Thick jets of spunk flooded her. When he pulled out a slow river of white followed, sliding down over her arsehole. Maureen scooped some onto her fingers, tasted it, then bent and licked the last drops from the tip of his still-hard cock.

“Again,” she said. “I want more.”

She sucked him until he was rigid once more, lipstick smearing along the shaft, then rolled onto her hands and knees. Rob fucked her from behind, hands gripping the soft flesh of her hips, watching the way her arse jiggled with every thrust. He came a second time inside her, then a third time later that night after she had coated her lips with fresh red lipstick and kissed him until he could taste his own cum on her tongue.

The next two weeks while Michael was away became a blur of constant fucking. Maureen taught her son every filthy thing she had ever wanted. She let him eat her for hours until her thighs shook and her juices ran down his chin. She deep-throated him until tears streamed from her eyes and spit hung in strings from her chin. She rode him facing away so he could watch her arse bounce and her cunt stretch around his cock. She wore the open-crotch panties and nothing else while she cooked dinner, then bent over the kitchen counter so he could take her while the pasta boiled.

Charlie came round one afternoon when Maureen was out shopping. Rob told him everything. Charlie’s eyes went wide, then hungry. “Invite me next time. Proper threesome. Your mum’s cunt and my cock at the same time.”

When Maureen returned Rob told her. She bit her lip, already wet at the thought. “Tomorrow. Your father’s still away. Bring him.”

The following day Charlie arrived early. Maureen met them both in the lounge wearing only stockings, heels, and the brightest red lipstick she owned. Her tits hung heavy and free, nipples already hard. Charlie dropped to his knees without a word and buried his face between her thighs. Rob stood behind her, pinching her nipples, whispering how much of a slut she looked with her son’s best mate tongue-fucking her. She came on Charlie’s face within minutes, thighs clamped around his head, cunt pulsing.