Mommy’s Boy
I am a MILF. Yes, the mommy whom guys love to fuck.
Unlike the fakers who used #milf on their porn to get hits, I am the real deal. Kids under my belt, a housewife dressed in lingerie, and a career woman who gave up promotion for her family.
A MILF by day, cougar by night. Fun-loving, kind, smart, and loves to laugh. Hotwife, looking for her pervert friend byeontae chingu 변태 친구. FWB, Open relationship, and NSA, unless you wanna tie me up. [East-Asian only]
Adding to my dating profile some more tongue-in-cheek vibes and cute, sexy pics, funny snipes, and comments — that was how I worked it. Laying the bait to catch some yummy fish. When I started, my highest score was more than ten thousand likes on Tinder in less than a month. The fish kept coming, but only a few made the type cut. And less would I chat with and point to my Insta, and from there, we’d have sexy fun.
They lapped it up. My pics and vids, and they gave their personal shares. If time permitted, I wanted to video sex because that was how I got my high and a guarantee they weren’t some catfishes. And when summer came, my added my promise that maybe, just maybe, we could meet in Korea and seal the deal if we kept in touch and matched.
I’d never knew a Milf commanded such power. If I had known, maybe H and I would have started this open relationship earlier. Empowered by my curves and the adoration of young men and their kinks, I was ready to catch me some fish.
“Mommy, how I love to fuck you.” Some would say. “It is my dream to fuck a Milf.” Others would say too.
Friend of my son, stepson, nephew, or a more sick imagination rolling in your head. It’s psychological, something we choose to ignore because it gets to a messy grey area that would make this so wrong.
You step into the house and see me in my apron, moving around the kitchen, stirring and frying at the stove.
“Mom…”
Delicious smells rising from my pots and pans while you creep in, wrapping your arms around my waist. I gasped at your tight-back hug and smile. Your lips are planted on my neck as you breathe in my clean scent of body soap and the shampoo of freshly washed hair. My wavy curls tickle your nose, and my giggling and soft struggles make you grow hard. The lace and silk of my lingerie feel like cool water running through your fingers.
You make me drop what I’m holding, dragging me to the kitchen counter, and slapping my ass hard as you push me to face the table.
You fantasize about it often.
Sometimes you lift my lingerie and greedily eye my T-panty slicing my ass cheeks into two equally large bites. You squeeze my large tight butt and slam your body, hip, groin, and legs against mine. Then, you make a sudden thrust, and I feel you in that motion.
I am trapped as you grab my arms behind my back — hot breath against my neck. You take a bite, I moaned. You push down your pants, dick springing up, hard between my ass and brushing my thighs. A quick brush of skin to skin, and you enter, defiling me in the one place where mouths are fed — the holy shrine of family life.
It is kinky. Damn, my kind of byeontae 변태 because you’re my type of guy. This is definitely on my list of acts I’d like to do repeatedly with the young fishes I find.
Who doesn’t like food and porn? Or better yet, food porn. Another idea that I loved and also on my list of to do.
The first guy who called me mommy rubbed me the wrong way. Despite being high on sexual fumes, that word was enough to bring me back to earth.
He was twenty-four, still in college in Southern Cal, and visiting Seoul. He was under my age range by a year — my sweet spot of twenty-five to thirty-five. Anything younger my guilt sat on my shoulder, nagging about rights and wrongs.
The devil was in disguise with the gleeful laughs from H and the guys I knew. Egging me on to conquer the younger, the better. They have no problem fucking girls that young, so why shouldn’t I do the same?
“So long as they are legal.”
“They are adults. They know what they are doing.”
“Do you think they don’t fuck?”
“This is awesome! Now, you’re a real MILF!”
“Hahaha…Mama’s boy.”
“Suck up those young men’s energy…”
And damn, this guy, this twenty-four-year-old was eye candy. Hard to resist. Easy enough to be one of those K-pop idols. Smooth-faced, with floppy hair over his beautiful almond eyes, tall, long-legged, and defined chocolate abs and lean chest. The first thing he asked when we met on Ometv was if I was a milf and what was with my shades.
Told him I couldn’t trust the people on that app, and he said, as did everyone else, that I could trust him. Still, I kept my sunglasses on because the guy before him was just as cute, except he was hiding in a dark room, and I had suspiciously felt he was filming, which made me skip him with a flick of my fingers.
You would have thought I’d learned my lesson for the day, but the horniness was running in my veins, and I had to get those feelings out, or I’d never be able to walk out of the house without stripping every guy I saw.
He took his clothes off quickly as I did my flasher dance in black lace, stripping off layer by layer. His hand went to his pink erection as I pulled out my purple dildo and gave it a good lick and suck.
My saliva dripped down my rubber sword. He gasped as he watched my dildo go in and out of my mouth. My puppy-pink tongue was licking, swiping left and right.
“What is your favorite position?” I asked, my voice dropping low.
“Doggy. Cowgirl.” He jerked hard. “You’re a mom…you’re a fucking mom. Slut!”
“Yeah…” I winced. “Slut…I love sex…” I pounded into my wet pussy.
“Fuck you! Fuck!” He moaned.
“Yeah…fuck…” I grinned.
“I WISH I WAS YOUR SON, AND YOU BIRTHED ME, AND I’M FUCKING YOU!” His eyes rolled back. “FUCK YOU! I’LL FUCK YOU HARD! MAMA BITCH!”
“Woah…” I froze. This dude wanted me to be his real mom. Giving birth to him, and then he fucked her? Now, that was seriously messed up.
Fingers wet in my pussy juice. To say I was shocked was taking it lightly. He was going on, jerking away happily, mumbling those foul words, not realizing that I’d stopped.
“What did you just say?” I said, lusty voice returning to normal. My mind fog cleared, and I felt weird. “You want me to be what?”
He stopped and finally opened his eyes. Those dilated black irises darted to me as if he was seeing me for the first time. “You birthed me…”
And my ears were still bleeding from the — “wish I was your son and you birthed me and I’m fucking you” words. He had mommy issues, and my curiosity was peeking over the cloud.
The dude was twenty-four, which makes him about two decades younger than me. I hesitated earlier when he told me how old he was and now this was why. But, the devils were speaking in our ears as we assessed each other earlier. The sex thrill was too much to resist.
“What the hell?” He said. When we first met, he asked how old I was, and I vaguely told him I was a cougar. “I’m horny. I have a girlfriend.”
“I’m married,” I told him.
“So?” He said that whatever I said didn’t matter so long as I had boobs and a vagina.
Twenty minutes later, seconds after his revelation, as we were in the throes of vid sex, I wondered if it was time to regret it. But I’d already shown him everything to see, and that silver lining to my peak was within sight. Like him, I was horny, and my needs wanted to be met. Since when did I become so casual with sex and flashing my body as if I were taking a walk in the park? When did I arrive at this point?
“You don’t like it?” He mustered a voice, still rubbing his dick, and I couldn’t help but watch the fine body and that pumping motion, making my guilt dissipate.
This was so screwed up. Technically, I could birth a guy like him if we were counting time. I could be one of those young moms who got pregnant out of wedlock. Anything was possible, but of course, I wasn’t blood-related. Don’t even know his name. So, should it matter?
“I’m not your mother,” I said with that firm voice a mom would use. I hated myself for doing that. I watched him squirm but sensed the sexy danger racing through his sudden bright eyes.
Damn. This guy had issues. And I had too because I was on a lust high and wanted that release.
“I know…” he said, closing his eyes and hand jerking back hard; his cock was slapping. “You’re not my mama. Is that okay? You’re my slut.”
“Yes…I’m a slut. Bad slut,” I said, falling back into character.
Terrible me. I’m letting this pass. All wrongs made right by this chance to fuck a guy like him. I’m a terrible person. Whatever. The hunter was on. I was after my prize.
Objectification was legit if both parties agreed to it. My fetish would be served.
“Bad dirty mama…I’ll fuck you bitch. Fuck you so hard, you’ll cry for me.”
“Sure…I’m a bad mama, but I’m not your mama…” I replied, my voice taking a serious tone.
He laughed. “You’re my bad bitch. Slap your ass. I wanna hear it.” And so I did because slapping was my pain and pleasure, and as he laughed and commanded more, I complied because what was good for him was also good for me.
And, it ended quickly, that Happy Ending. I got to watch him cum. Sprayed in gloop like a gurgling fountain.
We smiled and said our goodbyes. The boner was over, and I’d blocked him after, which I’m sure he did too. A one-time sin was more than enough.