Chapter 4: Midnight Awakening
The house was a tomb of shadows, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator. Chris swam up from a dreamless sleep, his mind fuzzy, to a specific, urgent warmth. A wet, deliberate suction surrounded his cock, drawing him from softness to throbbing rigidity in three steady pulls.
He gasped, his back arching off the mattress. The faint light from the hallway outlined a familiar silhouette hunched at the foot of his bed. Sandy brown hair, sharp features in profile.
“Mom,” he breathed, the word a sleep-thickened exhale.
Diane didn’t answer. Her mouth was a busy, focused instrument. She used her tongue in firm, flat strokes along his underside, then swirled the tip around the head, collecting the bead of pre-cum that had already welled. She swallowed him deep, her throat working around him until his hips jerked involuntarily. She pulled off with a wet pop.
“You were hard in your sleep,” she stated, her voice low and matter-of-fact. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Dreaming about your afternoons?”
He shook his head, still disoriented. The torn-out pictures of women on his walls watched, their smiles ghostly in the dark.
“Doesn’t matter.” She crawled up the bed, her body a heavy, warm presence in the cool room. The scent of her night cream, a cheap lavender lotion, mixed with the sharper smell of her arousal. She was already naked. Her skin felt astonishingly soft against his. She settled beneath him, her hands guiding him to straddle her hips.
“Come on,” she said, her green eyes catching the sliver of light. “I can’t sleep. You’re going to fix that. Get on top. I want to look at you.”
He positioned himself, his hardness pressed against her damp mound. She reached between them, her fingers slicking him with her own wetness, then guiding him inside. He sank into her with a slow, seamless glide. She was incredibly hot, a snug, velvet sheath that drew him in to the root. A sigh escaped her, a release of genuine tension.
“There.” Her hands came up to grip his bony hips. “Now move. Don’t make me do all the work. Fuck your mommy like this.”
He began to rock, establishing a rhythm that was less frantic than with Marissa, deeper than with Lena. This was a steady, grinding pace, the kind that built a slow burn in his gut and a mounting pressure behind his balls. The bedsprings creaked a soft, familiar complaint.
Diane watched his face, her expression unreadable. One hand left his hip to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing under his eye. It was almost tender. “You look so young like this,” she murmured. “My boy. My baby boy with his baby cock in mommy.”
Her other hand slid between their bodies, her fingers finding her clit. She rubbed quick, tight circles as he thrust. Her breath hitched. “Good. Right there. Just like that.”
Her legs came up to lock around his lower back, anchoring him, pulling him deeper with each stroke. The intimacy of the position, her body open and accepting beneath him, sent a confusing jolt through his chest. He leaned down, instinctively seeking the curve of her neck, the familiar smell of her skin.
She allowed it for a moment, her hand moving from her clit to tangle in his sandy hair. She held his head against her as he drove into her, his pace becoming more urgent.
“That’s it,” she encouraged, her voice a husky whisper next to his ear. “Make your mommy feel good. You’re the only one who can. The only one who knows how.”
Her internal muscles began to flutter, a faint, spasmodic pulse that tightened around him. Her breathing grew ragged. “Don’t stop. Chris, don’t you dare stop.”
He didn’t. He pistoned into her, the slap of their skin loud in the quiet room. Her climax built visibly, a tension coiling through her belly, her breasts shaking with each impact. It broke with a sharp, choked cry that she muffled by biting into his shoulder. Her body convulsed around him, a series of intense, rhythmic clenches that milked his length.
He groaned, the sensation almost too much. He slowed, trying to let her ride it out.
But before the last tremor had faded, her hands were pushing at his chest. “Off. Get off, now.”
Confused, he pulled out of her, his cock slick and glistening. She rolled onto her hands and knees with a grunt, presenting her broad backside to him. The sight was brutally carnal—the pale expanse of her back, the deep curve of her waist, her ass high and open, glistening with both their fluids.
“From behind,” she ordered, her voice regaining its steel. “I’m not done. And I want it harder this time.”
He knelt behind her, aligning himself. He pushed in, the entrance still loose and slick from her orgasm, but the angle was new, deeper, more demanding. He gripped her hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, and set a punishing pace from the first stroke.
This was different. This was not about intimacy or looking at him. This was about use. The bed slammed against the wall with a rhythmic thud. Diane buried her face in his pillow, her cries muffled but relentless. “Yes! Fuck! Just like that! Harder!”
He obliged, his own control fraying. The hollow ache in his chest was replaced by a building, mindless urgency. The sounds were obscene—the wet slap of flesh, her guttural moans, the groan of the bedframe. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the small of her back.
She came again, a shorter, sharper peak that made her knees buckle. He held her up, never slowing his brutal rhythm. “Again,” she demanded, her voice strained. “Make me come again.”
He lost count. Time dissolved into a haze of sweat, heat, and the raw mechanics of friction. Her demands became fragmented, animalistic. His world narrowed to the sight of her body yielding to his, the smell of sex and lavender lotion and spent arousal thick in the air. His own release coiled, a serpent of pressure in his lower belly, but he fought it, focusing only on her command.
Finally, after a third or maybe fourth climax that left her trembling and slick with sweat, she sagged forward, her arms giving out.
She lay panting, her cheek pressed to the damp sheet. "Alright," she managed, her voice raw. "Last time. Do it now. Fill your mom's horny cunt up with it." She pushed herself back onto her knees, a clear invitation, a final demand.
He drove into her without hesitation. This was the permission he’d been waiting for, the release from the brutal discipline of holding back. He went as hard as he could, each thrust a frantic, full-body punctuation to the night's long sentence.
The pressure shattered. A hot, surging wave erupted from the very base of his spine, traveling up his shaft in a pulsing torrent. He groaned, a sound torn from somewhere deeper than his lungs, as he unloaded into her. He felt the distinct, flooding sensation of his sperm jetting deep inside her, filling the well-used channel.
She whimpered, a high, tight sound of pure pleasure. Her body clenched rhythmically around him, milking every last spasm from him as she took his sperm. They stayed locked together until he was spent, until he was soft and slipping from her.
He collapsed beside her, his chest heaving. The room smelled of salt and sex and lavender. After a minute of silence, broken only by their slowing breaths, he spoke into the dark. "Aren't you afraid of waking Marissa?"
Diane let out a soft, breathy laugh. "Marissa sleeps with industrial-grade earplugs. Has since college." She rolled onto her side, facing him. Her hand came up and patted his cheek, the gesture almost affectionate. "You were a good boy tonight. A very good fuck toy."
She leaned in and kissed him, not on the lips, but firmly on the forehead. Then she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. In the faint light, he could see the thick, pearlescent trickle begin its descent down her inner thigh. Her pubic hair was matted and sticky with it.
She stood, a tall, solid shape in the gloom, and found her robe on the floor. She didn't bother to wipe herself. She simply tied the robe closed and padded to the door, the soft sound of her footsteps receding down the hall.