Forbidden Feast

Chapter 1: A Dangerous Temptation

I’m Igor, a tall, dark-haired guy with a decent, slightly toned build and a big, smooth-shaven cock that’s gotten its fair share of attention. My wife, Olya, was turning a year older, and we decided to celebrate her birthday at my parents’ countryside house—a sprawling, cozy place with plenty of room for mischief. I arrived early to help set up the festive table, figuring it’d be a quiet afternoon of prep. But I didn’t expect to walk into a storm of temptation.

My mom, Marina, was the only one home when I got there. She’s a short woman, but her body is a fucking masterpiece of raw, unfiltered curves. Her massive, natural breasts strain against anything she wears, bouncing with every step. Her big, cellulite-laden ass is wide and heavy, the kind of ass that demands attention, paired with a surprisingly tight waist that only accentuates her hourglass figure. Her big, beautiful eyes always seem to hold a mischievous glint, and her rough-around-the-edges, almost trashy personality only adds to her raw appeal. She greeted me fresh out of the shower, her damp hair clinging to her neck, wearing nothing but a thin robe that barely covered her.

“Hey, Igor, you’re early! Gimme a sec to throw somethin’ on,” she said with a smirk, her voice rough but playful as she padded off to her room. I tried to focus on unpacking the groceries, but my mind was already wandering. When she came back, I damn near dropped the bag of potatoes. She was in sheer lace lingerie—black, barely-there fabric that hugged every curve. Her tits were practically spilling out, heavy and round, the dark nipples visible through the material. Her ass, fuck, it was a work of art, jiggling slightly as she moved, the lace thong disappearing between those thick, meaty cheeks.

“Ma, what the hell are you wearin’?” I asked, my voice hoarse, trying to play it off like I wasn’t already getting hard just looking at her.

“What, you don’t like it? Thought I’d make myself comfortable while we cook. Ain’t no one here but us,” she shot back, bending over to grab a pot from a low shelf, her ass sticking out like an invitation. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Through the thin lace, I could see the outline of her pussy, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. My cock twitched in my jeans, and I cursed under my breath.

“Igor, c’mere, help me with this. Can’t reach the damn thing in the back,” she called out, dropping to all fours to dig deeper into the cabinet. Her ass was right there, inches from me, the thong barely covering anything. I could see the faint dampness on the fabric, and my blood ran hot. I knelt beside her, squeezing into the tight space, my body pressed against hers. My hip grazed her ass, and I felt the heat radiating from her.

“Fuck, Ma, there’s no room here,” I muttered, but I didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

“Oops, sorry, hun,” she said with a fake little gasp, her hand ‘accidentally’ brushing against my crotch as she shifted. My cock was already rock hard, straining against my jeans, and her touch sent a jolt through me. I reacted on instinct, my hand sliding to her inner thigh, feeling the slick wetness there. She was dripping, her pussy practically begging for attention through that flimsy lace.

“Damn, you’re soaked,” I growled, my fingers tracing the outline of her pussy, feeling her shudder under my touch.

“Don’t act like you ain’t enjoyin’ this, Igor. I see that bulge,” she teased, her voice low and husky, pushing her ass back against me. That was it. All restraint snapped. I yanked her thong aside, exposing her glistening pussy, and fumbled with my zipper, freeing my throbbing cock. I didn’t even think twice—I positioned myself behind her, still on the kitchen floor, and slid into her with one hard thrust. She was so wet, so fucking tight, her pussy squelching around me as I filled her up.

“Fuck, Igor, yes!” she moaned, her voice raw as she braced herself against the cabinet. I gripped her wide hips, pounding into her, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing in the spacious kitchen. Her ass jiggled with every thrust, and I couldn’t get enough of the sight. She trembled beneath me almost instantly, her pussy clenching around my cock as she came, panting and swearing under her breath.

I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. I grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her up roughly. “Get your ass to the couch,” I ordered, dragging her toward the corner sofa in the kitchen-dining area. She stumbled along, still reeling from her orgasm, but there was a wicked grin on her face.

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” she spat, but her eyes were hungry as I tore off her lace bra, her massive tits spilling free. I buried my face in them, sucking and biting at her nipples while she writhed under me. I pushed her down onto the couch, spreading her legs wide, and entered her again, this time in missionary. Her pussy was still dripping, welcoming me back as I fucked her hard, her moans growing louder with every thrust.

“Harder, you prick! Make me cum again!” she demanded, her nails digging into my back. I obliged, slamming into her until she screamed, her second orgasm hitting her like a freight train, her body shaking beneath me. I was sweating, panting, so close to the edge myself, when my phone buzzed on the counter. It was Olya.

I grabbed it, not slowing down, and held my cock near Marina’s face as I answered. “Yeah, babe, what’s up?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady while Marina, still catching her breath, wrapped her lips around my shaft, giving me a sloppy, desperate blowjob. Her mouth was warm and wet, and I had to bite back a groan as Olya’s voice came through the line.

“I’m on my way with Dad and Mom. We’ll be there in five minutes, Igor. Everything ready?” Olya asked, her tone casual, oblivious to the fact that her husband was getting sucked off by his own mother.

“Yeah, all good here,” I managed, my voice tight as Marina worked me over, her tongue swirling around my tip. I hung up, looking down at her. “They’re almost here. Get dressed, now.”

She just lay there, spent, her eyes half-lidded. “Fuck off, Igor, I can’t even move,” she mumbled, a tired smirk on her lips.

I slapped my cock against her cheek, frustration and lust boiling over. “Don’t test me, Ma.” But I couldn’t hold back. I shoved my cock back into her mouth, fucking her face hard and fast, desperate to cum before the car pulled up. She took it like a champ, gagging slightly but not pulling away, and I exploded just in time, my cum spilling across her lips and chin as I pulled out, both of us panting.

The phone buzzed again. Olya. “We’re here. Open the gate.”

Marina wiped her face with the back of her hand, staggering to the bathroom to clean up, while I adjusted myself and headed to the door, my heart still racing. This was just the beginning of one hell of a birthday party.