Chapter 36: Mmmm
The deep, velvety black of the night had softened to a charcoal grey, the barest suggestion of light seeping around the edges of the heavy curtains. The room was silent save for the steady, slow rhythm of Lori’s breathing, a gentle rise and fall beneath the cream-colored duvet. The scents of last night—lavender, sex, drying semen—had mellowed into a musky, intimate perfume that clung to the sheets and the air.
Colt had been awake for nearly an hour, lying perfectly still beside her. He was hard, had been since the first faint stirring of consciousness. It was a constant, low-grade throb that centered him in the pre-dawn stillness. His left arm was draped over her waist, his hand resting possessively on the swell of her hip. She slept on her stomach, her face turned toward him, lips slightly parted, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow like spilled wheat.
Beneath his palm, through the thin cotton of her nightshirt, he could feel the heat of her skin. His fingers traced idle patterns, dipping into the valley of her waist, skating over the curve of her flank. His focus, however, was lower. His right hand was beneath the covers, his fingers slowly, meticulously working her open.
She had gone to sleep with him inside her, a fact that never failed to send a primal surge of ownership through him. He’d slipped out hours ago, but the evidence of their union had leaked onto her thighs and the sheets, a dried, tacky map he could feel under his fingertips. Now, he was preparing her anew. He used a blend of her own residual wetness and a generous amount of saliva, circling the tight, wrinkled furl of her anus with a relentless, gentle patience. He pressed the pad of his middle finger against it, feeling the powerful internal clench of her unconscious resistance, then the gradual, fractional yielding as the muscle fatigued and relaxed under his persistent attention. Out. A slow, shallow penetration with one finger, then two, scissoring gently, stretching the sensitive tissue. She murmured in her sleep, a soft, protesting sound that morphed into a sigh as her body, smarter than her mind, recognized the familiar intrusion and began to lubricate itself for him. He could feel the internal flutter, the involuntary softening. He added more spit, working it into her, his own breath coming quicker now. His cock, trapped against her thigh, pulsed angrily, leaking a smear of pre-cum onto her nightshirt.
He shifted, moving with the glacial slowness of a predator not wanting to startle its prey. He drew his left arm from around her and carefully hooked his hands under her hips. He lifted her, just enough to slide a pillow beneath her pelvis, tilting her ass upward into a subtle, inviting presentation. She didn’t wake, only sighed again, deeper this time, and settled into the new position. He peeled the duvet down to her knees, exposing her to the cool morning air. Her nightshirt was rucked up around her waist, revealing the full, pale moons of her ass, the glistening, pink pucker he’d been diligently preparing, and the darker blonde curls of her pussy beneath.
He positioned himself behind her on his knees. The sight never got old. In the grey light, she looked like a offering. He spat into his palm again, slicking his length thoroughly, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. He guided the swollen, purple head to her entrance, pressing against that incredible tightness.
He pushed.
There was that same initial, breathtaking resistance, a ring of muscle clenched in sleep. He held steady, pressure constant, unyielding. He watched her face in the dim light. Her eyebrows drew together in a faint frown of sleep-disturbance. A soft whimper escaped her lips.
“Shhh,” he breathed, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. “Just let me in, Mom. Open up for me.”
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of her, and increased the pressure by a fraction. Her body gave. The head of his cock popped past the guardian ring, sinking into impossible, gripping heat. A low groan was torn from his throat. She was so tight inside, a velvet fist clamped around just his tip, her sleeping body unconsciously resisting the invasion.
He waited, trembling with the effort of his restraint. After a moment, he withdrew an inch, then pushed forward again, gaining another half-inch. It was a conquest measured in millimeters, a slow, relentless reclamation of territory his body considered its birthright. With each tiny advance, her inner muscles would spasm, then reluctantly relax, accepting him. He fucked her like this for long, exquisite minutes, a slow-motion penetration that felt like it would never end. The only sounds were their breathing—his ragged and controlled, hers soft and punctuated by little sleep-sounds—and the wet, sucking noise of her ass stretching to accommodate him.
Finally, his hips met the full, magnificent swell of her backside. He was fully sheathed, buried to the root in her sleeping body. The feeling was incomparable. This was possession in its purest form. She was utterly vulnerable, utterly trusting, her mind adrift in dreams while her body served his need. He stayed there, immobile, savoring the deep, throbbing heat, the way her passage rippled around him in slow, sleepy pulses.
He began to move. A shallow withdrawal, then a slow, grinding re-entry. Then another. He established a lazy, hypnotic rhythm, a pendulum swing of flesh inside flesh. His hands slid under her nightshirt, roaming over the warm skin of her back, tracing her spine. He leaned down, kissing her shoulder blade, nuzzling the nape of her neck where her hairline was soft and downy.
This was how she woke. Not to an alarm, not to the first calls of the meadowlarks outside, but to the deep, full sensation of her son’s cock moving inside her ass, and to the soft press of his lips on her skin. Consciousness returned in a warm, syrupy wave. Sensation first—the pleasant, stretching ache, the weight of him on her, the security of his body covering hers. Then thought. A slow, smiling realization.
“Mmm,” she hummed, her voice thick with sleep. She pushed back against him, a slight, welcoming undulation of her hips. “You started without me.”
He stilled, lifting his head. “You were sleeping so pretty. I didn’t want to wake you.”
She turned her head, her cheek against the pillow, and her blue eyes, still cloudy with sleep, found his in the gloom. A slow, radiant smile spread across her face. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated contentment. “This is how I want to wake up every day for the rest of my life.”
He kissed her temple. “You can.”
He resumed his slow strokes, a little deeper now that she was awake and participating. She clenched around him deliberately, and he hissed in pleasure. “Fuck, Mom. Do that again.”
She obeyed, milking him with internal muscles made strong from years of this same act. She reached a hand back, groping until she found his hip, her fingers digging into the hard muscle there, pulling him into her with every thrust.
“How long?” she asked, her voice a dreamy murmur.
“A while,” he admitted. “I’ve been in you for… maybe twenty minutes? You were so deep asleep. Your body took me so good. Just opened up and swallowed me.”
The image his words painted sent a fresh jolt of arousal through her. Her pussy, neglected and aching, throbbed in time with his strokes in her ass. “I love that. I love knowing you can just… take me. Whenever. However. Even when I’m dead to the world.” She pressed her face into the pillow, her words becoming muffled. “I’m your living fleshlight. Your warm, sleeping hole.”
Her dirty talk, especially in her morning voice, was a trigger he couldn’t resist. His thrusts lost a degree of their languor, gaining purpose and power. The bedframe began a soft, rhythmic creak of protest.
“Need to taste you,” she said suddenly, twisting under him. “Baby, stop. I need your cock in my mouth. Right now.”
He withdrew from her ass with a soft, wet sound, immediately missing the intense heat. She rolled onto her back, looking up at him with luminous, hungry eyes. In the greying light, he could see the faint, dried remnants of his last load still speckling her hairline. The sight was a powerful aphrodisiac.
She pushed at his chest. “Lay back.”
He obeyed, settling against the headboard. She crawled over him, a lush, warm vision in her disheveled nightshirt. She didn’t bother to pull it off; she simply shoved the hem up around her waist as she settled between his spread legs. Her eyes locked on his cock, glistening with saliva and her own juices, standing thick and proud from a thatch of dark hair. A bead of clear pre-cum welled from the slit. She leaned down, and before taking him in her mouth, she extended her tongue and licked it away, a slow, deliberate cat-like swipe.
“Mmm,” she purred, savoring the salty, clean taste. “Morning wood taste is the best.”
Then she took him. Not just the head, but a solid, deep half of his length in one smooth, practiced motion. Her lips stretched into a perfect ‘O’ around his girth. Her eyes fluttered closed in apparent bliss. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, hard, creating a vacuum that made his toes curl. Her tongue swirled around the underside of his shaft, pressing against the sensitive frenulum.
“Jesus, Lori,” he gasped, his hands fisting in the sheets.
She began to move, establishing a rhythm that was both tender and voracious. She’d suck him deep, until the head nudged the back of her throat, hold him there for a count, letting him feel the gentle constriction, then pull back with a slick pop, only to dive down again. One of her hands cupped his balls, rolling the heavy orbs gently, applying just enough pressure to make him groan. The other hand worked the base of his shaft in tandem with her mouth, a twisting, pumping motion.
She lost herself in the act. This was her meditation, her worship. The world narrowed to the weight and taste of him, the sounds he made, the way his abdominal muscles clenched under her other hand which now rested on his stomach. She loved the slight gagging sensation when she took him too deep, the tears it brought to her eyes. It felt like sacrifice, like devotion. She glanced up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, burning with arousal, watching her with a mixture of awe and lust.
“You’re so good at that,” he muttered, his voice strained. “The best fucking mouth.”
She released him with an audible, wet sound. A string of saliva connected her lower lip to his glistening crown. “I’ve had a lot of practice on this cock,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, even as her eyes sparkled with sin. “Twenty years of loving you, two years of sucking you. I know every inch. I know what makes you buck. I know what makes you beg.” To prove her point, she focused her attention solely on the hypersensitive head, her tongue flicking rapidly over the slit, then flattening to lap at the corona.
He swore, a stream of filth that made her pussy clench. “Yeah? You gonna make me beg now, Mom?”
“Maybe,” she teased, then swallowed him deep again, taking him to the root this time. Her nose pressed into his pubic bone. She held him there, her throat working around him, until he was writhing, his hips lifting off the bed involuntarily.
“Gonna come,” he warned, the words tight. “Gonna fill that pretty throat.”
She pulled off, breathing heavily. “Not there. Not yet.” She stroked him fast and firm, her small hand a blur. “You said you wanted to paint my face again. Like last night. Do it. Cover me. Mark me for the day.”
The command, coming from her, shattered the last of his control. His orgasm boiled up from his balls, unstoppable and torrential. He didn’t have time to aim. The first violent spurt shot across her cheek, hot and thick. She cried out, not in protest, but in triumph, turning her face into the jet.
“Yes! Oh God, yes, give it to me!”
The second rope painted her lips and chin. The third caught her in the eyebrow, the white fluid dripping onto her eyelid. He kept coming, the volume seemingly endless, painting stripes across her face and neck. She held still, her mouth open, catching some on her tongue, her eyes squeezed shut as it splattered her eyelids and forehead. The final pulses were weaker, oozing onto his own stomach and her clutching hand.
He collapsed back, spent, breathing in great gulps of air. Lori remained on her knees, a statue glazed in his seed. She carefully, reverently, opened her eyes. The world was blurred, sticky. She swiped a finger through the mess on her cheek and brought it to her mouth, sucking it clean with a loud, appreciative pop.
“Breakfast,” she whispered, a happy, sated smile on her ruined face.
He laughed, a breathless, exhausted sound. “You’re insane. You’re perfect, but you’re insane.”
She crawled up his body, careful not to smear the mess on his chest. She straddled his hips, her damp, sticky nightshirt between them. She leaned down and kissed him, deep and slow, letting him taste himself on her lips and tongue. “I want to go back to sleep,” she murmured against his mouth. “And I want you back inside me. My ass is feeling empty and lonely.”
“It’s gonna be sore,” he said, his hands coming up to cradle her sticky face.
“I hope so,” she replied simply. She rolled off him, onto her stomach again, rearranging the pillow under her hips. She presented herself to him once more, the glistening, used entrance beckoning. “Put me back to sleep, baby. Fuck your mom’s ass until she dreams of you.”
He was already hardening again, a testament to his youth and virility. He moved behind her, his cock, semi-hard and smeared with his own drying cum, finding her cleft with an unerring instinct. He didn’t need to prep her this time; she was still loose and slick from his earlier occupation and the recent anal intrusion. He pushed in, and this time her body welcomed him with a hungry, wet gasp, sheathing him in one smooth, deep stroke.
She groaned into the pillow, a sound of profound contentment. “That’s it. All the way. God, you fill me up so good.”
He began to move, not with the desperate pace of his climax, but with the same slow, deep, rocking rhythm he’d used while she slept. It was a comforting motion, a lullaby of flesh. His hands rubbed her back in slow circles. “Go to sleep, Mom,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
And she did. The combined effects of her recent orgasm, the deep, rhythmic penetration, and the sheer emotional safety of his presence pulled her back under. Her breathing deepened, slowed. The little conscious tensing in her body melted away until she was pliant and loose around him, her sleep utterly trusting.
Colt kept his pace, a gentle, endless piston motion. He watched her sleeping face, turned toward him, painted with his essence. He watched the way her lips parted with each of his deeper thrusts. He felt the complete surrender of her body. This was the core of it. This was what they had built. Not just the frantic couplings, the filthy talk, the explosive finishes. But this. This profound, peaceful joining in the quiet heart of the morning. He was fucking her, claiming her, branding her from the inside out, and she was at perfect peace, dreaming whatever dreams a woman so thoroughly loved might dream.
The sky outside lightened from grey to a pale, watery blue. The first bird began its tentative song. Colt didn’t stop. He maintained the slow, deep rhythm, a human cradle rocking her in the most intimate way possible. His own arousal was a steady, low hum now, a background note to the overwhelming feeling of rightness. He would keep this up until she woke naturally, or until the demands of the ranch forced them from this bed. He was her son, her lover, her guardian, and for now, her slow, sure lullaby. His hips moved in a timeless cadence, a silent promise in the gathering light. She was his. In every way. Even, and especially, in sleep.