Page 55 of Yearn
I grabbed the counter with one hand, knuckles white. With the other, I cupped her breast, unable to stop myself. My fingers squeezed, greedy and rough, kneading like I’d been starving. Her nipple hardened instantly under my palm, dark peaks begging for my mouth.
She stroked me faster. “You like that?”
“God—yes, yes. Don’t stop.” I awkwardly bent over and let my lips close around one nipple, sucking hard, then biting just enough to make her gasp.
Letting go of my balls, I tongued one nipple slow, savoring its weight, then grabbed the other breast and teased its peak with my thumb.
“Look at me. Please, Mommy.” My voice was guttural, almost unrecognizable. “Look me in the eyes while you make me come, Mommy.”
Her gaze lifted—dark, wide, trembling—and it destroyed me. “Come for me, Baby. Make Mommy proud.”
“God, yes.”
“Make a mess all over Mommy’s hand.”
I snarled. “That’s it. That’s what I needed. You seeing me. You knowing this cock is yours. You’re my everything. Everything.”
Her strokes blurred now, furious and wet, obscene squelches filling the air.
“Fuck! I’m going to cum,” I warned, voice breaking. “I’m going to cover you, Mommy. Are you ready for your boy to make a mess all over you?”
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
“Fuck yes.”
Cum poured from the slit, slicking her hand, dripping down her wrist. My cock throbbed in time with my heart, ready to explode.
Her lips parted, silent, but she didn’t stop.
She squeezed tighter.
I roared.
My body locked, spine arched, balls pulling high into my palm as the first jet erupted. More hot semen shot out, thick and violent, splattering her wrist, her blouse, streaking up my abs in white arcs.
“Fuck!” I bellowed, slamming my hips into her fist. “Take it, Mommy! Take it all!”
Another spurt followed, then another—endless, messy ribbons of cum striping her hand, her silk, dripping to the floor. My cock throbbed against her strokes, every squeeze dragging more from me, painting her in filth.
I couldn’t stop.
Even when my knees buckled, even when my chest heaved like I’d run ten miles, she kept pumping, milking me like she wanted every drop.
Owning me.
More cum spilled over her knuckles, down my shaft, coating her palm in slick white. My thighs shook. My balls ached, but the relief was mind-shattering, a storm tearing me open.
“More,” I begged, voice hoarse. “Please, Mommy—milk me dry. Don’t stop until I’m empty.”
Her fist obeyed, stroking slower now but still firm, dragging every last pulse out of me.
And then the last bit of cum oozed thick and slow from the swollen crown, dripping onto her fingers, onto the floor between us.
Chapter ten
Critical Condition
