The little sleepover with two equally horny playmates the other day left my testicles drained and I mostly sleepwalked through the week. I woke up Saturday morning knowing I needed to mow a couple of lawns on what was promising to be a sweltering late-summer day. But then I remembered that one of the lawns belonged to hot Mrs. Candace Johnson. My morning wood surged, and my nut juice stirred. I headed for the shower.
The Johnsons were on my paper route and also had me mow their lawn. I sure didn't mind because Mrs. Johnson often was out by her pool wearing just barely enough to cover her ample breasts and her wide, firm ass. The blonde MILF Johnson was in her mid-thirties, had one son away at school, and a husband who worked away from home at least three weeks a month. Her mom and dad lived down the lane from her in an even more secluded and luxurious place overlooking the river.
Seared into my brain was peeping in on her and her husband banging away in their sunroom last Saturday night. It provided my lust-filled brain with even more fantasy fuel. I wondered if I’d be lucky enough to have another show soon. I put on a tight, short pair of cutoff jeans that barely contained my man-sized cock. When I sat down, one of my hairy balls usually slipped out of the fabric, giving anyone interested a peek at what this high school senior was packing.
By the time I finished the Johnson’s yard, I was a sweaty mess. I was sad that Mrs. J was not by the pool, but just as I was getting ready to leave, she pulled her Lexus into the circle drive, giving me a wave and a smile that could have lit up Manhattan.
“Tom, I am so glad I caught you before you left. I owe you something,” she said, parking the car and stepping out of the car wearing a bright yellow terry-cloth sundress and tall heeled sandals. “Come inside with me.”
I began to protest since I was so hot and sweaty, but she just waved me to come along. The sight of her shapely ass swaying across the front porch convinced me it was insane to protest.
Once inside the kitchen, she told me to sit on a stool at the island and offered me a cold drink. I wanted a beer, but settled on iced tea. The glass was sweating when she handed it to me.
“Thank you, Tom, for all your excellent work around here. Too many boys these days aren’t dependable. They're just fucking around, if you pardon my French," she said with a slight blush on her flawless cheeks. "But I know I can count on you.”
I sipped the tea and didn't know what to say, or do, next. She slid an envelope stuffed with cash my way.
"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. You are one of my best customers. I like helping you out," I said, then quickly added, "Especially since Mr. Johnson and your son are gone so much of the time."
She smiled at me before turning to the refrigerator. "Well, thank you, Tom. It’s lonely around here sometimes. A girl needs a man for certain things you know.”
She grabbed a beer from the bottom shelf, squatting so her hips spread wider and her ass cheeks pressed firmly against the tight-fitting cloth of her dress. She clearly had on no underwear. "It's getting hot in here; can I grab you something else?"
I declined and felt my cock surge. She pulled hard on the long-neck beer, pouring the sudsy fluid down her throat. A sultry gasp of "ahhhh" escaped her throat and she took a chair at the kitchen table, sitting about six inches lower than me. I watched her eyes go straight to my short shorts, where I was sure one of my testicles was on display. She smiled and took another drink. Was she trying to turn me on? I imagined those red hot lips sliding down my cock, which was straining behind the denim cloth.
"You know," she said quietly, sliding her hand up and down the sweaty beer bottle. "You remind me a lot of my son, Tim. Same long hair, same pretty eyes. Always reliable, always wanting to please me."
She stood and walked toward me. I could feel the heat between us. My teenage penis pressed against the zipper in my jeans.
"Tim used to take care of things when Lance was on the road all the time. He was my little man. That's what I called him," she said, closing the gap between us.
I reached down to straighten the leg of my shorts to give my swelling maturity some breathing room. I knew she knew what she was making me hard, and I was a helpless, horny teenager. I stared at her tits, nipples poking through the slight material of her yellow dress. She reached down with the bottle of beer and placed it between my legs, pushing it against my hardon, pulling it up to cool my steamy chest.
"Ahhh," I breathed out. "Mrs. J ..."
She interrupted me with a sultry reply, "I've told you not to call me that. Are you a bad boy? Or are you my good boy?"
Her legs were between mine and I could feel our skin touching. She pulled up her skirt to expose more of herself and I could see a beautifully trimmed blonde pubic bush.
"Good boy. I'll be a good boy," I said, barely able to breathe, but having enough strength to reach out and touch her hips and pull them closer.
"Good," she said. "Then call me Candi. Or, if you want, Thomas, my dear, you can call me Mommy, just like Timmy used to do when we were together." I almost came at the sound of that. Was she fucking her son!
She turned and began walking out of the room, taking care to loosen the straps of her dress and let it fall on the kitchen floor as she entered the sunroom where I watched her and her husband make love last week. I watched her wide hits slide back and forth as her heels clicked on the tile floor. I jumped down and followed, like a dog in heat, unbuttoning my pants to free my eight-inch ramrod. It stood straight up, my helmet reaching my tight, flat belly. Candi dropped down onto the white leather sofa and spread her legs, showing labia swelled with passion and a slight goo seeping from her vaginal opening.
"Come here, sweet boy. I want you on top of me," she said as I pushed my shorts down and kicked them off.
I looked her over from top to bottom. She was beautiful. Her green eyes drew me in. Her soft pillow-like breasts heaved in her enthusiastic excitement. She lifted her feet off the floor and onto the sofa, further parting her pussy and hips. My cock jumped in anticipation, and I yanked on my balls to keep them from overreacting. I stood over this MILF fantasy, our eyes locked, our sex organs flooded with blood, and I waited for permission.
"Oh, my dear little boy," Candi said. "Come to Mama."
I lowered myself softly onto her, angling my pulsing penis toward her undulating hips. She was soft and hard at the same time and my granite-hard head found her pussy lips, slipping past her labia and deep inside with little resistance. Her pussy was a snug fit for my thick cock.
"Oh, fuck," I cried, overwhelmed by the sensation of softness and tightness, warmth and smoothness. My mind was reeling as this fantasy of mine was coming true. "So, fucking good."
Candi pushed her hips harder toward me and my cock went deeper until it hit bottom. She was rocking in opposition to my thrusts. We slammed together and I held tight to her hips and ass as our sweaty bodies slid around. She grunted and pushed one of her ample breasts toward my face, tossing her legs over my ass to pull me even closer, deeper.
"Yes, yes," she cried from deep in her throat. "That's it my dear, dear boy. Keep fucking Mama, keep fucking me, Timmy. I need my boy. Ahh ... grr ... ohh."
Her cries of passion for her son did not stop me from burying my cock inside this wanton woman. Instead, they turned me on even more. Mrs. Johnson was dreaming of fucking her son -- maybe that's why they sent him away to school -- and I was doing it in his place.
"Mommy," I said, getting wrapped up in the fantasy. "Do you want my load? Do you want a big fucking load of cum? Is that what mommy wants?"
I kept thrusting, pulling my cock out and slamming it right back in between her tight thighs and into the depth of her vagina. I felt the bottom of her cunt, willing my cock to go deeper, deeper. I felt the familiar tug in my balls and knew whether she wanted it or not, this MILF was about to get flooded with my baby-making goo.
"Yes, Tom. Yes," Candi cried as she peaked herself in orgasmic bliss. "Oh my boy, I am cumming all over your dick. Keep doing it. Keep fucking me, baby. I need my baby's cock."
I could feel waves of contraction as her orgasm roiled her. I shifted my hips from side to side to rub her pubic bone and clitoris with my steel piston. Her legs squeezed me from the sides, and she bucked like a wild horse. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she grunted: "Fuck!! Fuck!! Fuck!!"
And I lost it. The juices in my testicles were unleashed and I felt them starting to rise through the eight inches of my tool.
"Here I cum, Mrs. Johnson," I said, remembering who I was banging. "Here is a load for you. Take my fucking cum ..."
Molten white juice cum spewed from my cock and emptied in this horny blonde's depths. I kept pumping and kept cumming.
"Oh, honey," she said softly. "You do me so good. You fuck your mommy so good."
I lay still for a minute as the last drops of semen squeezed from my cockhead. Her arms and legs relaxed, I rolled off of her and slipped onto the soft rug in the sunroom. Candi sat spread-legged above me and I saw my orgasmic fluid dripping from her, matted pubic hair glistening in the light.
"Tom, my boy," she said. "That was the best I've ever had. Thank you."
She stood and pulled her sundress over her head, smoothing it out over her sweaty breasts and broad hips. I was stunned but managed to pull on my shorts and headed for the door. She stood on the porch as I left, the sun hitting her dress and outlining her erect nipples and wet bush.
"Oh Tom," she said. "I am going out of town for a few weeks so there won't be anybody home. Not here and not at my parents' next door. Do keep an eye out on the property, will you, dear? I'll pay you when I get back."
I bet you will, I thought. I bet you will.
