Nothing But the Best

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It is two in the afternoon, the appointed hour. Traffic growls and blares on the busy street. The mass of faceless passers-by ignore the woman in beige at the sidewalk cafe. Nor does she pay them any mind. Her apparent lack of enthusiasm should not be mistaken for ennui, however. A subdued smile shimmers around her painted lips, and she sips at her martini to calm herself. He is late, but that’s not unusual. Regardless, no matter how many times she’s done this, the flutters in her belly never fail to appear. One look from him, and they will vanish.

He doesn’t disappoint. She isn’t sure whether she saw him first. From a half block away, his piercing blue eyes are already on her, burning a hole through the throng and causing the nipples to tighten and peak inside her bra. She realizes she’s been slouching, and straightens herself, brushing off some imaginary lint. She glances down to check the lie of her breasts. He deserves nothing less than the best.

Marching straight toward her, he seems larger than life. The strong cut of his face and the dark silk suit and power tie make women turn their heads. His jet-black hair and the disobedient wisp that falls perennially over one eye draw a second look from most that squeezes a little juice from their pussies. Just like it does to hers.

But she knows she doesn’t need to worry about all those others. He is hers. Not that he doesn’t enjoy a motley of lovers. Inevitably, they are all transient, however. One night, maybe a week. A couple lasted a few months. She doesn’t bother remembering their names. She is the only one that he will never leave.

He has never spoken her name. Her name is Claire.

With a nonchalant air, Claire takes another sip as he approaches. Hidden under her brow, she keeps her eyes up. She never tires of looking at him. She lowers her glass, forcing herself to tear her eyes away for only the last teasing second. He bends at the waist, cupping her jaw and lifts it to overpower her lips with a kiss that goes on and on, as if sucking the very core of her soul to the surface. Her hands fist on the table, and a cool wetness saturates her panties.

She gasps for breath when he finally releases her. He backs away, only a few inches, and gives her the boyish grin that never fails to open the spigot between her legs.

“Hi, Mom.”

Claire nods and acts interested while he fills her in on what he’s done over the week since they last met, his work, his women, the steep, rocky cliffs he climbs hand-over-hand on most weekends. He seems charming and affable. But he is a man, single-minded, vainglorious, and hard. In a few minutes, maybe more depending on his mood, he will leave a handful of twenties under her glass, take his mother’s arm, and lead her down the street toward the posh hotel room he’s already paid for. Sometimes they don’t make it that far. He may whisk her into a dark, foul-smelling alley, shove her against a rough brick wall and pull her panties to the side to fuck her ruthlessly. Maybe they’ll meander into a boutique where he’ll lower her to her knees in the dressing room to take his pleasure from her mouth. He’s her boy. She will be fine with whatever he wants.

He was so cute the first time. She had noticed the way he had begun looking at her sometimes. He would make a suggestive remark, then laugh it off nervously. Sniffing his stained sheets before washing them, she knew he’d been with several girls. None had stayed long, and she could guess why. That awkward age around twenty is rough on everyone — no longer a child, but unsure exactly what it means to be a grownup. He had always been a smart, shy kid, and his last growth spurt had left him gangly with serious skin problems. After she’d helped him clear up his skin, his confidence was still unsteady.

Her husband — his father — had decided long ago that younger women fed his ego better than his wife could. That’s not to say that Claire was unattractive. With careful eating and diligent exercise, she managed to hang onto her looks through middle age without medical assistance. Her many lovers complimented her sexy butt, her hefty boobs, and especially those shapely legs that had always given her pride. But those same lovers never seemed to be enough. The sex was certainly satisfying. Yet the shallowness of her affairs left her wanting. They lacked a sense of connection.

So when her son’s timid overtures grew more bold and more frequent, she figured to kill two birds. The right moment came soon after. He had progressed to vaguely immodest touches that might be written off as affectionate or ‘accidental’. Massaging her shoulders while she cooked. Rubbing her feet in front of the TV. A casual sweep of his hand across her butt as he passed. His fingertip grazing the side of her head as he pushed a loose hair behind her ear. With each, she recognized a yearning in his eyes.

After dinner, she was rinsing off the dishes. Reaching across in front of her for a toothpick from the windowsill, his arm made contact taksim elit escort with her unrestrained breast. As if nothing was untoward, she kept scrubbing the plate while he withdrew slowly, brushing his entire forearm across the front of her blouse, nuzzling the swell of her shapely teardrop. At the final moment, he felt her soft flesh drag across his open palm. His reflexive whimper was all she needed.

Turning off the water, Claire spun around and glared at him. He stared back, terrified as a mouse cornered by a cat. Without a word, she peeled off her rubber gloves and took him firmly by the hand to lead him up the stairs to his room. Although her husband was on another of his extended ‘business trips’, she calculated that their bedroom would be too intimidating. If this worked, there would be opportunities for that later.

It was a typical boy’s room, smelly and dank. Dirty clothes were piled on the unmade bed. Half-finished models and books were strewn about. She recalled that when he was much younger, she had hauled him to this room in much the same way to punish him. A few times that had included modest spankings. She briefly mused on the possibility that she might induce him to return the favor.

A vague scent of semen wafted to her. She assumed he masturbated. Had he fantasized about her, she wondered? Her mouth watered at the thought of licking her son’s sweaty balls, and drinking from his cock.

“Mom? I’m sorry!” he whined. “I didn’t mean to —”

A finger to his lips cut him off.

In a quiet, steady tone, she told him, “Don’t ever be afraid of anyone. Especially not a woman. If you see something you want, take it.”

He gawked at her, stunned. She waited for her words to sink in.

“Do you mean…?”

“If someone objects, then you can apologize. But if you’re waiting for an invitation, you will live a sad and disappointed life.”

The seconds seemed like minutes while he gathered his courage. She didn’t move. With tentative, faltering motions, his hand rose to the buttons of her blouse. His nervous, Pacific-blue eyes were vigilant for any sign of protest from his mother. She returned an impassive gaze while, one-by-one, he released each button. It was perhaps the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced. Her nipples grew aching and hard, desperate to be touched.

There was a moment of indecision when he reached the last button above where the blouse was tucked into her skirt. She was thankful that she hadn’t bothered with a bra when he chose to push the shirt off her shoulders, pulling her arms back and forcing her chest out. He gasped at the sight of her bosom, the soft, porcelain flesh streaked with dainty, spidery blue veins. He gave her a questioning look, and she replied with a shallow nod. He lifted her heavy mounds in his big, soft hands. Claire sucked in her breath and closed her eyes, uttering a sibilant, “Yes…”

Emboldened, he tightened his grip, and she thought that she might come on the spot. Then he bent to her, taking one nipple and then the other between his rough lips, and she squeezed her thighs together. Within the limited range of her arms, she managed to get her hands around his head, holding his greedy mouth to her and recalling how she had enjoyed suckling him much like this as a babe in her arms.

While his mouth adored her breasts, he grabbed both of her big cheeks. An appreciative moan escaped him as his fingers kneaded her firm ass. Moving around her leg, he caressed the outside of a thigh, gradually shifting to the more sensitive inside. His fingertips drew feathery strokes up and down her velvety skin. He seemed hesitant to venture close to her prize.

“What are you afraid of?” she demanded.

He stood and gazed into her stern brown eyes. “I…I’m afraid I might lose the respect of the woman who means more to me than anyone in the world.”

Tears clouded her eyes. She bit her lower lip to stop it from quivering. It has been said that men lead lives of quiet desperation. A mother’s life is a river of bittersweet broken hearts.

His eyes closed when her soothing hand caressed his cheek, saying, “You’ve always been a good boy.”

Like a flash of lightning, she slapped him. When he gaped at the baffling change, she sneered, “That’s the reward that good boys get.” She paused, glaring at him while his rage gathered. With haughty contempt, she asked, “Is there anything else you want from me before I go?”

Her heart was pumping wildly. A fierce determination tightened his jaw. The hint of a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. Clenching her arms in a startling iron grip, he lifted her to her toes and pulled her into a kiss that staggered her with its passion. His lips seized her, his aggressive tongue invading her mouth.

No one had kissed her like that in years, if ever. The strength drained from her body. She surrendered, and his arms wrapped around her, crushing her to his lean, young physique. His mouth taksim escort forced her back until she dangled helpless in his arms. Her breasts were alive and aching. Her pussy wept for joy.

Without warning, he hooked his arm under her knees. He lifted her and laid her gently on his bed. His beautiful blue eyes kept a steady gaze on her face while he patiently — and with surprising expertise — removed her clothes. When he was done, his wandering eyes caressed her naked form.

“You are gorgeous,” he said reverently.

Claire had never wanted any man more. Her breasts yearned for the return of his mouth. Her empty gash craved his hard cock. She couldn’t wait to feel it gushing inside her.

Opening her thighs and cocking her heels up on the side of the bed, she extended inviting arms to him. With that easy, boyish smile he often wore, he combed his fingers through the trimmed vee of dirty blonde curls. She rotated her hips, pushing her sex toward him. She needed his touch, his manly firmness. Why wasn’t he getting undressed?

He knelt by the bed, his big hands pushing up under her thighs, lifting them further back and wider. With his face only inches from her gaping pussy, he breathed in the scent of her, closing his eyes blissfully. The flat of his tongue pressed to her swollen flesh and she whimpered as the wet, raspy surface swiped up along the outer edge. Her other puffy lip received the same. Back and forth he went, his warm, excited breaths titillating her clit, his marvelous tongue circling her need but never quite touching. She began to wonder whether he was like too many of her lovers who had regarded the clitoris as only a mythical beast.

“Please…” she begged in a gravelly voice when she could stand it no longer.

The response was swift and sure. He assaulted her pussy. His tongue and sucking lips ravaged her labia, her seam, and her oh-so-grateful clit. His fingers screwed into her cunt hole, fucking her briefly before turning up inside to massage her second favorite spot. Her demanding breasts enjoyed the attentions of his broad free hand. The sparse stubble on his young cheeks scraped her inner thighs, adding to her delight.

She was overjoyed to discover that she had reared such a powerful lover. Even discounting the decadent thrill of their wickedness, her son was unearthing passions that she had thought were long dead. His sensitivity surpassed any man she’d held between her legs. The overwhelming exhilaration of his touch merged with the intense love that only a mother can know. She gave in, clawing at the sheets and arching above the bed, releasing a gurgling scream as her body lit up in a euphoric burst of pleasure.

Her son drank eagerly from his mother’s flowing pussy. When her body began to relax and return to earth, he kissed and nuzzled her bottom, as though worshiping at the shrine of his birth.

When she saw him peeking through the bush over the top of her mons, her finger beckoned. He stood and dropped his worn jeans, staring at his mother with a lust that made her belly tighten. His cock sprang up when he pushed his tidy-whities down. She licked her lips in anticipation. She would have him spurting in her mouth soon enough. For now, she needed him inside her. She scooted back on the sheets, her fingers spreading the scarlet lips to signal her desire.

Like a stealthy lion converging on its kill, he crawled to her across the bed, a ravenous look in his eyes. Her arms encircled his chest, pulling his weight down onto herself. Twisting up one side, she reached underneath to guide his cock.

Electricity shot through her when she touched it. Her son’s erection. He was going to fuck her. His own mother. How many legends warned of the dangers? Apprehension churned within for the first time. Had she let her own sexual frustrations pull her beloved son into a web of debauchery? Would he grow to despise her after this lecherous moment? Would she be just another notch on his bedpost like she’d experienced with so many men?

The head of his cock spread her folds. She gasped, relishing the exquisite fullness as he glided easily into her depths. At the same time, Claire feared the worst that could result from this illicit coupling.

Their pelvic bones touched. He gazed into her eyes, his fingertips stroking the hair above her ear.

“I love you, Mom.” His warm, loving kiss made all of her misgivings evaporate in an instant.

She smiled, relieved, and straightened the wayward hair above his eye.

“I love you, more than anyone on this earth,” she said.

The lock of hair fell back. She laughed.

He fucked her. Slow and sensuous at first, his energy increased little-by-little, encouraged by her litany of “Fuck me. Fuck me. Harder. Yes…” She pulled her knees back almost to her chest, and he locked his arms around them, grabbing her tits and squeezing hard as his cock pounded her cunt ruthlessly. She was astounded at his fortitude, but later learned taksim eve gelen escort that he had come only a short time earlier, masturbating to a fantasy of fucking his beautiful and sexy mother.

With animal ferocity, his cock reamed her, his hips slamming down onto her pussy over and over. Tingles started flaring up in her ass. No, Claire thought. I can’t…I’ve never had a…not while… oh, my God!

The orgasm surprised her with its suddenness and its intensity. Her heart and her brain and her cunt and his relentless cock were all united in one colossal explosion of love that sparkled like diamonds under her skin. She shook uncontrollably, her body consumed in ecstatic rigor.

Her fingernails dug into her son’s back, and the sting combined with the powerful contractions in her pussy to ignite his balls. He lunged brutally, then again, and roared in glorious agony with the hot semen pulsing through his cock. The warmth spreading deep in her cunt set off another smaller, though no less satisfying climax. Joyful tears filled her eyes.

Seven years had passed. Her son was still the greatest lover she had ever known, and he kept finding ways to surprise her. He had taken her advice to heart — ‘Don’t be afraid of anyone’. With his good looks and fearless attitude, he had grown a small business into a financial powerhouse.

The divorce had been mutual. Claire was left with a quite comfortable life and a good man who loved her like no other. Although she had plenty of offers, none of the men she’d dated compared with her son. His unpredictable weekly calls — sometimes more often — kept her more than satisfied.

Her reverie is broken when a fire truck screams by, sirens and horns blaring. As the noise recedes, an unexpected combination of words startles her.

“…asked her to marry me.”

“Wh-what did you say?” She hasn’t been paying attention as she should have. He can’t. No, he wouldn’t.dare…

“Ah! There she is!” He grins ear-to-ear and stands to hug a stunning young woman who just walked up.

In her open-toe heels, the girl is only an inch or so shorter than her son, with thick, wavy auburn hair falling almost to her little boobs. They’re only half as big as his mother’s. And her hips, they’re not nearly curvy enough. He likes full, womanly hips and butts. He told her so. The girl’s legs have a nice shape, but they’re too thin. And that face. Well, she guesses it is pretty enough. But that skin is so pasty, and those blue eyes are too light, not deep and enchanting like her son’s.

Claire’s stomach turns to see the long, passionate kiss between her son and the girl. She recognizes how the skinny little strumpet seems to melt in his arms, the same way that she does when he kisses her like that. What an unbelievable slut. He can’t seriously be considering marriage to this trifling bit of fluff. He deserves better.

He introduces the girl. “Mom, this is Marie, the woman I told you about.”

She vaguely remembers hearing the name. It was just another in a long list of his brief affairs, so it didn’t seem important. Now she wishes she’d listened more closely.

The girl extends her slender hand. Claire responds with a cold-fish shake. But when she tries to quickly withdraw, the girl clasps her hand and holds it for a second longer. She’s taken aback by the impudence, and gives the girl a huffy stare. The girl is gazing at her with a look of such adoration that she is immediately ashamed of her own jealousy.

Her son seats the young woman and orders another round of martinis. There’s no engagement ring, she notices. So, it isn’t a done deal. On second look, she realizes that the young woman carries herself with a certain gracefulness, and she seems well mannered. Not entirely unattractive, either, although she wonders what he sees in this one that’s different from all the others. What would make her marriage material? Perhaps she’s a gold-digger who has snared him with a pregnancy? That was the mother’s one regret with her son, that she could never give him a child. A grandchild would be a blessing. But not at the price of her son’s freedom.

Then his mother remembers why she was meeting him — to get a good fucking, maybe a little spanking, or at least a mouth or an ass full of her son’s come. This ‘Marie’ complicates matters. She assumes that they’ll have to wait for the next time. But will there be a ‘next time’? Will he still need her — or even want her — after he’s married? Her heart sinks.

She decides that she needs more information before she makes a volatile situation even worse.

Maintaining an aloof air, she says, “My son tells me you’re engaged, Marie. Have you set a date?”

Her son answers. He seems uncommonly timid. “It’s a little complicated.” He turns to the girl. “Perhaps you should explain, Marie. This was your idea, after all.”

Why on earth would a woman even think twice about a catch like my son? Claire wonders. She waits for Marie’s answer, pondering ways she might sabotage this little dalliance before any wedding could occur.

The young woman’s earlier self-assurance has evaporated. Her hands are coiled into tight fists. She lowers her eyes, unable to meet the older woman’s piercing gaze. Stammering, she glances nervously between mother and son.

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