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I awoke from a drunken sleep to the slow thrusting of a cock in my pussy. It was a nice size cock. It was thick enough and long enough to fill me completely. Half asleep and still under the influence of alcohol, I pumped my ass back, driving it deeper.

The room was dark. It reeked of stale alcohol, sweat, and sex. The sheets were bunched under me. They were moist with perspiration and other bodily fluids.

I had that clammy feeling I always have after drinking too much. My body was sticky and uncomfortable. I felt nauseous. But the cock felt good.

“Mmm! That’s right, Sweetie! Nice and slow! Make it last!”

He mumbled something incoherent. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t looking for sweet nothings to be whispered in my ear.

Who did it belong to? Who was I fucking this time? I wasn’t discriminating when I was drinking. A cock was a cock!

My ‘date’ groaned. His hand tightened on my tit. He pumped slowly in and out of my hole. He mumbled something again.

My pussy was gooey and a little sore. Whoever my bedmate was for the night, he gave me a good pounding. I love that kind of fucking, a little rough. I don’t need foreplay, just stick it in me and pound me until I scream for you to stop!

Where the fuck was I? More importantly, who was I fucking this time?

It didn’t matter what he said. His cock in my pussy was all the communication I needed!

I leaned forward to get him deeper. He slid in effortlessly, filling me completely. He moved slowly in and out of my hole. At least he wasn’t one of those Energizer Bunnies. They were usually wham, bam, thank you, ma’am! This guy had a big cock and knew how to use it.

“Yes! Yes! Just like that!” He was good! He knew how to mix the tempo from slow and languid to hard thrusts that pushed me across the bed.

Many times, I promised myself to stop getting drunk and picking up strange men. It was dangerous and was ruining what was left of my reputation.

I make that same promise all of the time. Then I get the itch, and it usually ends like this. If I were a man with as many and varied sex partners as I have had, people would call me a stud. But I’m a 40-year-old divorced Black female, and they call me a slut. I resemble that remark.

I’ve been single since my ex-husband abandoned us 10 years ago. He came out as gay. He said he tried to hide his real nature from me to lead a normal life. Then he met his life partner! It did wonders for my ego to know the man I fucked for ten years was thinking about some guy fucking him the entire time!

A psychiatrist would have a field day with me. I went through the emotional gamut of rage and denial. I even suggested we tried to make a go of it. I would share my husband with his new lover. My ex would have none of it! He and his partner wanted a committed relationship.

That sent my self-esteem right into the toilet. He would rather get fucked than fuck me, his wife!

My 21-year-old son, Caleb, became the anchor in my life. I leaned heavily on him emotionally as I tried to find my footing again. He reassured me that the fault lay with his father, not with me. We never discussed my lifestyle though I’m sure he was aware of my sluttiness.

I sometimes come home after a night out too drunk to undress and get in the bed. My son had to do it. Early on, when I realized Caleb was undressing me and putting me to bed, it was embarrassing. No son should have such intimate knowledge of his mother’s body.

By the time he left for college, I had accepted it as our new norm. My ex-husband was gay and being fucked by his male lover. I was a slut, trying to reaffirm my womanhood by fucking all comers, pun intended! And my then 18-year-old son undressed me and when necessary cleaned me up and put me to bed. I was a mess!

I guess I could use the excuse of struggling to raise a son alone and my ex leaving me for man as an excuse for my promiscuity. I won’t. I am what I am because of me. No excuses!

My ex left us in reasonable financial shape. Early on, he and I set up a college fund for Caleb. Even after he left, he continued contributing to it. I got the house, a cash settlement, and child support until Caleb either graduated college or turned 21, whichever came first.

It’s my loving son, Caleb, who keeps me from falling totally into the pit of alcoholism and sexual degradation. With him in my life, I teeter around the edge, but I haven’t fallen in. Yet!

The closest I came was when three guys chatted me up in my favorite watering hole. Like most neighborhood bars, everyone knew everyone else. Not precisely a Cheers but close to it. This night these guys were celebrating one of their birthdays. The booze was flowing. I was sucking up the booze and flirting outrageously.

One of the guys suggested we head out to the motel to continue the party. Another girl, Sue, and I took them up on their offer. She and I spent the night being fucked by the guys. It was a whorish, slutty experience. In addition to both of us being airtight, a cock in our ass, mouth, and güvenilir bahis pussy, at various times during the night, Sue and I ended the party by eating each other out.

The guys loved it! They stood around the bed, stroking their cocks and whooping and hollering like they were at some kind of sporting event!.

It was my first taste of pussy. Particularly, cum filled pussy. I liked the taste. I also liked the softness of another woman’s body. Sue and I left the motel best friends.

She and I still hook up from time to time. Occasionally, when she can get a babysitter for her three kids, she’ll spend the night. I guess that makes me bisexual.

But eating pussy will never replace the incredible feeling of a hard cock sliding into my eager pussy. Or the aroma of a man’s pheromone loaded sweat. I like eating Sue’s pussy. She introduced me to tribbing, which I’m thoroughly hooked on!. But I still love being fucked by a man!

The bozo behind me snoring sounded like a buzz saw at a lumber mill. His semi-hard cock is pressed between the cheeks of my ass. I tried to recall if he fucked my ass and couldn’t. It didn’t matter. I became a three-hole slut years ago.

I must be at his place. I never take my ‘dates’ home. Despite my predilection for alcohol and strange cock, I never wanted a series of ‘uncles’ in Caleb’s life. Also, my house is my refuge from what I’m becoming.

I lifted the arm off me. The body at the other end of the arm made snuffling sounds and scooted closer. His cock pressed against my ass. It was semi-hard. It felt good pressing against my hole. But I needed to pee. Maybe afterward, we could fuck again. I slid across the bed and sat up.

A brass band started playing the Anvil Chorus. I hold my head in my hands, waiting for the pounding to stop. My stomach roiled. My bladder demanded attention.

The pitch-dark room spun as I stood. I was like a Wallenda on a tightrope with my arms extended for balance. I took a few tentative steps. My pussy was tender. Whoever this clown was, he really pounded me. My bladder screams. I need to find the bathroom soon

In the dim light, I see the outline of the bedroom door. I carefully place one foot in front of the other as I make for the bedroom door. The Wallendas would have been proud!

The hall is familiar. The bathroom is where it should be if I were home. I moved quickly to the bathroom. Barely in time, I squat on the toilet. A thick stream of urine erupts from my urethra. The relief I feel is almost as good as sex. Almost!

I glance around as I pee. This is my bathroom. I made it home last night. Then who is that in my bedroom? Did I break the eleventh commandment? Thou shalt not bring strange cock home when Caleb is home.

Vignettes like stills from a movie flash in my head. Me sitting at the bar, my legs crossed high, showing off lots of thigh. I’m a Huntress on the hunt. The tools of my trade are my great legs and outsized breasts.

I’ve never considered myself good looking. I’m a big girl at 5′ 9″, and somewhere north of 200 pounds. Well, north of 200!

One date told me my breasts were so big, I always looked like I was going to overbalance and fall on my face. 40E will get you comments like that! I remember his cock sliding between them, his cum spurting on my face.

My face is moon-shaped. My eyes are close-set and large. My nose looks like a lump of meat slapped on my face as an afterthought. My lips are big enough to cool soup and suck cock. My hair is incongruously strawberry blonde. It and my mocha skin are genetic hangovers from centuries of miscegenation in the bayous where I was raised.

Was it that guy, the one who fucked my tits and came on my face, who was in my bed? No! That was last week in that motel on the highway. The bastard wouldn’t even drive me home! He dropped two twenties on the nightstand for cab fare.

My breasts ache. Somebody bit my nipples. I pat myself dry. I stand and flush the toilet. I grab the aspirin bottle from the medicine cabinet. I pour a handful, toss them in my mouth, and wash them down with hands full of water from the sink’s water tap.

The hall is brighter. The sun is coming up. I need to get this bozo out of my bed and my house.

I walk into my bedroom and flip on the light. My bed is empty. It hasn’t been slept in. For a moment, I’m confused. I must have slept in Caleb’s room. What the fuck?

I stumble down the hall, using the wall for balance. I flip on the light in my son’s room.

He’s naked. He’s on his back with one arm thrown over his face. His body is lightly muscled and hairy. His skin is like a heavily tanned White man. His belly’s flat with a hint of a six-pack. His legs are muscular. His soft cock is draped across his thigh. Even soft, it’s thick and long. He is my son, Caleb!

I stuff my fist in my mouth to stifle a scream. My stomach roils, and I want to vomit. I couldn’t have fucked my son. Had I sunk that low?

Another vignette appears. I’m still in the bar. Caleb is sitting next to me, smiling. türkçe bahis We clink glasses in a toast. We’ve made several toasts.

“You should have gone with your friends for Spring break instead of spending your holiday with your old mom.”

“Momma, I graduate this June, I decided to spend time with you before I go off into the cold, cruel world.”

I struggled with his pending graduation. Last two summers, he interned with a company in Capital City, some 200 miles from here. He accepted a job with them. For the first time in my life, I was going to be alone.

Being alone terrified me. With Caleb gone, there would be no anchor to keep me from falling deeper into the pit of degradation.

“Don’t you worry about me! Your father left me set financially. My part-time work gives me spending money. I’ll be fine.”

My friends bought us drinks. The people at the bar were friends and family. They knew of and in most cases, were witness to my sluttiness. However, like Apple Annie in the old movie, they treated me like a queen when my son was around.

Caleb and I got stumbling slobbering drunk! In retrospect, I now realize that the drunker we got, the more handsy we got. We couldn’t stop touching each other.

“Get your hands off my thigh!” I slapped Caleb’s hand away.

“Well, you shouldn’t be sitting with your legs crossed so high.” He points at my legs crossed at the ankles. My skirt has ridden up. I make a half-hearted attempt to pull it down.

“That doesn’t give you an excuse to grab my thigh and try to look up my skirt.”

“Momma! Do you know how many times you came home drunk, and I undressed you? I’ve seen you naked!”

It was apparent Caleb was no neophyte when it came to drinking. He was matching me a shot for shot

“Well, yes! But that was different.” We were always open with each other. More besties than mother and son.

At some point during the evening, I end up sitting with my legs spread and Caleb’s knees between them. His knee pressed against my sex. Even drunk I knew this was going too far.

“Come on! We had better get out of here! You’re starting to treat your old mother like one of your dates.”

“Momma, for tonight, you are my date!”

Caleb didn’t know it, but his words were prophetic.The bartender called us an Uber.

“Mom! Pull your dress down!”

My skirt had ridden up when I crawled across the backseat of the car. We laughed at my silky black thong. I struggle to pull my dress down and gave up. I felt all warm and fuzzy.

“Hey! I paid a lot of money for these drawers! It’s wasted if no one sees them.”

Caleb slapped me on my butt. He pushed me into the back seat. The palms of his hand were on my ass cheeks. His thumbs were between my thighs. My ass tingles. Did his hand linger on my behind? Did his thumbs touch my sex?

The scene swirls around me. I had the sense of wellbeing that alcohol gives you. I leaned my head on Caleb’s shoulder. His arm was around my waist. It felt good to be with him.

We’re cuddled like lovers in the back of the Uber. Caleb’s hand cupped my breast. I push it away. He slapped my hand and cupped my breast again. I giggled and left it there.

“Boy, you ain’t touched these old jugs since I weaned you at four years old.”

“I touch them all the time when you came home drunk!”

“You didn’t?” Drunken outrage welled in me at the thought my son felt me up.

“No, I didn’t,” he laughed. “But I wanted to!”

Laughing I push away from him, I sit up in the back of the car. My skirt is around my waist. The driver is ogling me through the rearview mirror.

“So, you breastfed me?” Caleb’s hand is on my thigh. It feels hot and sweaty.

“Yes, you know that! Why do you ask?”

“Is that where I got my titty fetish from? You breastfeeding me?”

“I don’t know about your titty fetish. But these jugs grew while I was pregnant with you and never went down.”

We were laughing and talking like the best friends we were. We have always been comfortable with each other. It some ways, we was more like good friends than mother and son.

Another vignette. Caleb’s head is on my bosom. One tit is out. His lips felt warm and moist on my nipple as he nurses in his sleep. He’s snoring. I caress his close-cropped hair. His father may have done a number on us, but we have each other.

It was rough raising a boy as a single parent. It was made more difficult by trying to explain his father’s homosexuality. He struggled to understand it. His feeling for his father went from hate to grudging acceptance.

Caleb’s hand rested on the inside of my thigh. I lean back against the seat, trying to stop the spinning. I cover his hand with mine. The street lights are like camera flashes as the Uber speeds down the boulevard taking us home.

The car hit a rough patch of road. I wake up. My hand is flexing on Caleb’s cock. He groans. His hand is under my dress cupping my sex. His index finger is sliding up and down my vaginal crease. It’s wrong, but it feels güvenilir bahis siteleri good. What the hell is going on?

“Stop! You’re bad!” I titter and push his hand away. He stops sucking my nipple and mumbles something incomprehensible. His drool runs down my cleavage. Incongruously I think of a guy who pissed on me.

I woke up in another No Tell Motel. My’ date’ for the night was standing over me, relieving himself. He sprayed his warm piss over my face and naked body. I recall drunkenly protesting. But I didn’t stop him.

When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. I reeked of stale piss. I said I teetered on the edge of the pit of degradation. That morning I was sure I slid into it. I hated myself for liking the way my date degraded me.

When I woke up again, the Uber is stopped in front of my bungalow. The driver is leaning over the back seat, watching Caleb finger fuck me. My hand clutches my son’s cock. In a drunk’s uncoordinated way, I push my son’s hand away.

What the fuck? I was making out in an Uber with my son! The events of the night continue playing back. We’re are in the foyer. My back is against the closed door. My dress is around my waist. Caleb’s hands cup my ass. His cock is grinding into me.

“I love you, momma!”

“I love you too, baby! But we need to stop this!” My actions belie my words. My hand is between us. I’m unzipping his pants.

Caleb’s hands are inside the elastic of my thong. He pushes then down over my hips. I giggle as he struggles to push them over my ass. I help him push them down. I step out of them and kick them across the foyer.

“There, mister! They’re off! But I have to pee!” I pushed him away and run across the foyer. My pencil skirt is around my waist. He tries to follow me. His pants are around his knees. He trips and falls.

We laugh like idiots. I watch him shuck his pants and struggle to his feet. He looks silly with his cock hanging out of the slit of his shorts like an elephant’s trunk. He sways, trying to maintain his balance.

I barely make it to the bathroom. Caleb is leaning against the door, watching me pee. I grin at the kinky eroticism of my son watching me take a piss.

His cock forms a significant bulge in his boxers. His sweat moistened t-shirt clings to his sculpted body. He has a swimmer’s long, lean body. I’ve attended some of his swim meets. He’s good!

“Hey, you! Give your old mother a little privacy!”

I had a funny feeling in my belly. It’s the same feeling I have with my dates. A sense of anticipation.

“Remember me? I’m the guy who used to undress you!”

“That doesn’t mean you can watch me pee! Get out of here!”

“Hurry up, momma! I got to go!” He touches his bulge. I moisten my dry lips.

His cock is big. Maybe not as large as some I have had but big enough. His father had a big cock also. It filled me totally. I came almost continuously when he fucked me. Did Caleb’s father get anything out of it? Or was he just going through the motions?

“Use the upstairs bathroom!”

I forced myself to look away from my son’s cock. I reeled off a wad of toilet paper. I pat myself dry while Caleb leaned against the door sill watching. I levered myself up. My pussy is still wet but not from peeing.

“I’d never make it!” He pushes me to the side. He pulls out his cock.

“Pull the seat up, damn it!”

I push by him and flip up the toilet seat. Caleb’s hand clutches the base of his cock. It droops from his hand. He weaves as he waits for his cock to soften so he can pee.

“Now who is watching who pee?”

He leers at me. I realize my skirt is around my waist. My son is looking at my pussy. I have a strange thought; at least I shaved! I always shave for my dates.

“Watch it!”

Caleb starts to pee, missing the toilet. He swings his cock like a fireman with a hose, trying to aim. I grabbed his dick and pointed it at the toilet. It felt simultaneously hard and pliable. It pulsed in my hand.

Caleb’s arm snaked around my bare bottom. He stroked my ass as I held his cock. His hand felt warm on my ass. Somehow it was comforting. He finished peeing. I shake off the last drops.

“Thank you, momma!”

Caleb kissed my cheek and squeezed my ass. I stuffed his cock back in his boxers. I pointed him toward the door. I gave him a shove and smacked his ass.

“Get your drunk ass to bed!”

“Child abuser,” he chuckles. He stumbles, turns, and starts down the hall.

I slipped off my pencil skirt. There’s a moment of confusion when I saw I had no panties on. I smiled as I recalled taking them off in the foyer. I unbuttoned my blouse and hung it on the hook on the door. A thud and a groan sent me scurrying into the hall wearing only my bra, thigh highs, and 5″ CFM heels.

Caleb was sitting on the floor. His back was against the wall. His legs were sprawled in front of him. He had a bemused look on his face, and he was rubbing the back of his head. Maternal instinct fought through the miasma of drunkenness. My baby was hurt!

“Are you okay?” I squatted in front of him.

His eyes were weak and watery. He moved his head back and forth. Then he stared between my legs. I looked down. My pussy was open. My son was ogling my inner pinkness.

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