Mother Dearest (Tags inside)

Madison Baker reclined in her favorite lounge chair—the one that offered a view at the quite street. She stretched and basked in the early morning sun that warmed her tanned skin, daydreaming about wrapping her son in a hug the second he walked through the door. By now it had been three weeks since he moved out, and the middle-aged woman knew her son's habits. He'd pull in to the driveway, a little homesick, not wanting anything to do with partying or trying to find a girl, and lounge around in his old room reading a book or making small talk, which suited her incestuous plans just fine.

The single mom had developed an unusual desire after she became divorced. Her former wife opened her up to many different kinks, including domination. Now separated, and consequently recoiling from the lack of stimuli, her eyes fell on the boy she had raised. "I wonder if Brandon actually has a girlfriend?" she said, watching the vacant street. "That'll complicate matters..." A coffee mug sat on table in the middle of the living room, though it had been weeks since it held a morning brew. Instead, alcohol billowed and stank the four corners of the house.

Head in the clouds with depraved thoughts, she headed towards the bathroom, hips swaying confidentially if a little wobbly. It was almost like preparing for a date. The thought alone made the futa feel like a teenager again, boosting her confidence and swell of her chest. She stopped in front of the mirror overlooking the sink and posed. What posed back was a large-breasted, wide-hipped minx. All those hours of yoga had payed off, she thought. She inhaled so that her breasts jutted out from her low-cut top, easily the size of watermelons with the smallest amount of sag. A heart-shaped bottle sat near the sink. Madison wasted no time and decided to spray her chest.

Next she lifted her short skirt, revealing a pair of frilly black panties trying its best to contain two balls the size of grapefruits. They ached with backed up seed, and they could grow to greater thresholds if not careful. A 20 inch flaccid penis hung low past her skirt, ending around her ankles. A fashionable pink sock stretched over the girth of her exposed member that hid her blunt, purple glands.

The doorbell rang just as she was fantasizing about the finer points of her plan. It took her a second to realize that annoying chime for what it was. A declaration. "Oh, he's here!" she said, flattening the skirt. She took one last glance. "All the young futas let it hang out like this…I'm sure it'll be fine." She shook the thought from her mind and nearly raced down the hallway, cock swinging, the worry pushed away.

Brandon could've walked in—he had the key, but thought it would be more polite to wait. He hadn't seen his mother since moving out, which was the time that the divorce went through. "Hope she's hanging in there," he said, adjusting his black rimmed glasses. "She always fell back on drinking when shit went south for the winter. Maybe it's for the best if she's a little drunk," he murmured.

Life had treated Brandon well enough; he had lost a little weight and toughened up since working out in the evenings to wind down after acting at the local theater. Even had a few girls—and one hung futa—flirt with him. But he never had the desire to go through with it, futa or otherwise.

The door opened and the young man was instantly wrapped in a powerful hug, head stuck between his mother's breasts. "Welcome back sweetie!" she said, cock twitching and brushing his leg. Even the most burly wrestler would've had problems breaking free from the embrace. Then the smell of perfume and alcohol hit Brandon like a heavy curtain, tickling his nose and centering in his crotch.

"Hey mom!" Brandon mumbled into the boob flesh, wiggling like a trapped fish, "I can't breath!" His voice seemed even more confident and commanding since moving out, but at that moment it reverted to a squeak.

Madison smirked and released her prey, posing with her hands on her wide hips. "What do you think of the new look?"

Brandon fixed his crooked glasses and stared, dumbfounded by his mother's appearance. "Well," he started, trying not to stammer, "I see you're really putting yourself... ou

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