Holstered, Again

When she at last starts to pulse in my mouth and throat, her fingers tighten on my skull. She growls with arousal, but it is one of restraint, of intense self-discipline. “One last hard slap, faggot, and then you're gonna get another serving of milk!”

So-warned, I wrap my arms around her hips fully and cling tight as she thrusts. Her hips slap against my cheeks with an incredibly loud, sharp crack! Pain swells fast through my face as her balls force themselves smoothly onto my tongue.

I don't need to be told what to do, now. I swallow around every millimetre of Mom's thick rod, my throat conforming to her shape. I caress her jewels with my tongue, sucking Mom's balls lovingly, just staring at the trimmed hair at her base.

Her cock so deep inside my mouth and throat, I physically can't attempt to make eye contact, but it doesn't matter, now. Now, I simply exist to receive Mom's milk, and I happily take it. I can feel every pulse in the bottom quarter of my throat.

Holding my breath through eighteen pulses, I swallow around her continuously until it subsides. She holds herself deep, for a few added swallows, and I assume she's looking down at me. “That's it, faggot, always swallow four additional times.”

“Milk a cock thoroughly when someone holsters in you like this,” Mom says, her tone warm, but instructive, teaching me, her fingers now stroking my scalp lovingly. “There's a good slut. Good little whore. Moan one last time for me now, bitch.”

As Mom pulls herself back, I moan obediently, draining air from my lungs as her cock slides up my throat. I gasp for air, as soon as her crown ceases to block my airways, renewing eye contact with her as soon as I'm able to look up at Mom, again.

“Fuck. So fucking good, slut,” Mom sighs in pleasure, as her crown passes through my lips one last time. Her cock sways in front of me, and I blow gently, drying her off and kissing her helm. She strokes my hair, watching me show appreciation.

“I need to make dinner. I will allow you to suck my cock while I am working on that, but only if you take proper position,” she orders. Mom motions toward the oven when she says proper position, ensuring that I know exactly where I belong.

Since she's not using the oven for dinner, tonight, I'm to kneel in front of it, between her and the counter. Logical enough, somewhere she'll be able to have her cock in my mouth without having to worry about inconvenient positions as I work.

Author's Note:
Here the story converges in Chapter 15: Mom Makes Dinner.