Harsh Irrumatio

“Now, since you're so fond of taking as much of me as you can, and you've shown you can be trusted to suck a cock,” Mom says, “I think I should test to see how well you can take be used hard. Pat my thighs if you are feeling overwhelmed, slut.”

“Am I clear?” she asks firmly, and I pat her thighs simultaneously, delicate but unmistakable, and Mom nods, “Good, fag.” Her fingers stroke my scalp for a moment, before her delicate touch turns to an iron grasp. I take a deep breath, readying.

Mom waits until I've inhaled, my lungs flooded in her warm, aromatic musk. She yanks my head forward as she slams her hips forward, burying herself to the hilt in one slam. I grunt faintly around her, swallowing as Mom's hips slap my cheeks.

Her other hand slides into my hair, and she curls her fingers in a coiling grip on my hair. A harsh yank and I groan in pain as Mom wrenches my head up her cock and then yanks me forward as she thrusts, slamming herself to the hilt once more.

I can tell she is being careful to avoid harm, and not pulling my hair out, but each slap of her hips to my cheeks still stings. I moan for her, taking it as Mom rams me, as she establishes a rhythm. I wouldn't call it breakneck, but it's fast, and fierce.

“That's it, faggot, show Mom you can take a pounding,” Mom growls with arousal, her hips snapping forward, each time a wrench of her fingers yanks my head forward. I moan around her, as loud as I can, but I steadfastly refuse to pat her legs.

I can take it. I am taking it. It'll leave my cheeks a bit reddened, but I am a masochist, and I do like being slapped. Mom's dark, rich brown eyes remain focused on mine, even as she's ploughing me with every gram of muscle she physically can.

“Fuck, yes, you little slut!” Mom growls, louder than before, her pleasure richer in the air, hammering me as hard as she's able. “Fuck, you're tight!” Given how massive Mom's cock is, she probably never has to worry about anyone being loose!

Her eyes flutter down at me as she sees my face reddening under her bombardment, and groans. She takes a deep breath, watching her hips smack my cheeks as she continues using me, roughly, “Fuck, might be going a little too fiercely, hm?”

“Squeeze if you would like me to curb my enthusiasm a little, slut,” Mom commands. I hesitate, but then gently squeeze, pressing my palms more firmly into her hips for just a moment. She nods briefly, but not curtly, as my squeezing relaxes.

“Good, faggot,” Mom says, “I do not want you harmed. I want the only pain you feel to be the pain that you will welcome.” Her hips immediately snap to a new cadence, her balls slapping into my chin, as her hips cease slapping into my cheeks.

Her grip remains ironclad, offering me no way off her cock, but I don't want one. The flavour of her drowns my taste buds, and I moan in earnest, because Mom legitimately tastes good. I slide my palms around, to gratefully caress Mom's glutes.

Even with the shifted rhythm, Mom's pace doesn't alter. She slams her thick shaft down my throat with a ferocious force, and a relentless swiftness. I can feel my throat conform to the shape of her, as she slams herself down toward my stomach.

I swallow around her, the moment her crown enters my throat, until her nuts hit my chin. I moan for her, each time she's withdrawing, controlling my head directly instead of pulling my hair. Her grip is iron and velvet, strong, yet comforting.

I feel steadied, as much as I feel used and stuffed. Her eyes remain focused on mine, as aroused as alert, the way she would look at me when I had the cold or the flu. I realise, even as she is using me for her pleasure, she's still being herself. Mom.

Even while enjoying herself, I'll face severe discipline afterward, somehow, if she feels I was not letting her know I needed her to ease up. The Word of Mom, and the Word of Dad, are law in this household. Breaking the law has real consequences.

“You feel so good, faggot!” Mom growls the words with arousal, slowly relaxing into using me, “You feeling all right, slut? Not feeling overwhelmed on Mom's cock?” I moan in answer, then offer a thumb's up with both hands, for reassurance.

“Gods, you're so built for this, you little whore!” Mom sighs with earnest pleasure, her hips slamming forward, driving her meat down my throat. I can feel her body relaxing into the sensation, into the gratification, of simply relaxing, using me.

I don't let my mind wander, I simply let it fill with the sensation of Mom's cock ploughing my throat. I maintain our eye contact, as Mom continues to look down into my eyes. It's nice, knowing Mom likes eye contact, while using me like this.

For two hours, Mom's hips sway forward, her motions transitioned from sharp snaps to a smooth but ferocious swaying. Her relaxation is palpable under my palms, as I knead the muscles of her ass. The moan filling my ears is clean, melodic.

I would be smiling, were I able around so massive a serving of meat as this. I can feel her heat bubbling slowly while she hammers in. Her muscles flex, relentless and durable, a demonstration of Mom's sheer, utterly remarkable, endurance.