Whitney climbs onto the bed, straddling his thighs in reverse cowgirl so he can watch her ass bounce as she sinks down onto his thick length. The wet heat of her pussy envelops him inch by inch, her inner walls fluttering and gripping. Later she drops to her knees, back arched, offering herself in doggy—Jason's hands knead her soft cheeks as he thrusts deep, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. She rolls onto her back, legs spread wide, guiding him back inside her slick, swollen cunt. Their eyes lock; she whispers, "I love how you fill me, baby." Knowing he's an ass man, she flips onto her stomach, lifting her hips, presenting her round, jiggling ass. Jason slides back in, groaning at the sight and feel, until he pulls out and paints thick ropes of cum across her smooth cheeks while she moans softly, reaching back to spread herself for him.
Now spent and satisfied, he kisses her shoulder. "Thank you, Mom." She smiles, warm and loving. "Anytime, sweetheart. Now go get ready for school."
The morning light filters through the half-drawn curtains, casting soft golden stripes across Jason's bed. He lies on his back, shorts pushed down to his thighs, one hand wrapped firmly around his rigid cock. The head is flushed dark pink, glistening with pre-cum that beads at the slit and slowly trickles down the thick vein running along the underside of his shaft. His breathing is ragged, shallow, eyes fixed on the laptop screen where a video of a curvy mature woman rides a man in slow, deliberate circles.
The door opens without a knock.
Whitney stands framed in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, her full lips parting in faint surprise. She's already dressed for the day—charcoal pencil skirt hugging the generous swell of her hips, cream blouse stretched taut across her heavy D-cup breasts, the top two buttons undone to reveal the lacy edge of a black bra. Her dark hair is swept into a loose bun, a few tendrils framing her face. At forty-two, she carries the effortless sensuality of a woman who knows exactly how her body moves, how her curves draw eyes, how her scent lingers.
"Jason," she says, voice low and velvety, tinged with amusement and something warmer. "Porn again?"
He jerks upright, yanking the blanket over his lap, but the motion only makes his erection tent the fabric obscenely. "I—I didn't hear you."
She steps inside and closes the door softly behind her. The faint scent of her perfume—warm vanilla and jasmine—drifts toward him. "You never do when you're like this." Her gaze drops pointedly to the bulge beneath the blanket. "And you're going to be late. Again."
Jason swallows, throat dry. "You could… help me. Just once. Flash me. Or…" His voice cracks with hope and hunger. "Join me?"
Whitney's eyes soften, but she shakes her head slowly. "No, baby. We've talked about this. School. Class. We can't keep starting the day like this." Yet she doesn't leave immediately. She lingers, watching the way his chest rises and falls, the way his fingers twitch against the blanket as if desperate to return to stroking.
She exhales, a quiet, almost fond sound, and turns toward the door. "Get dressed. I'll be back in ten minutes to make sure you're ready."
The door clicks shut.
Jason groans, head falling back against the pillow. He can't stop. His hand slips beneath the blanket again, fingers curling around his aching length, stroking slowly while he replays the sight of her standing there—hips cocked, breasts rising with each breath, that gentle, knowing smile.
Exactly ten minutes later the door opens again.
Whitney has changed into a silk robe the color of champagne. It clings to her damp skin from a quick shower, outlining every curve. Her hair is pinned up, neck exposed, a single droplet of water tracing down to disappear between her cleavage. She stops short when she sees him—still naked from the waist down, hand lazily pumping his cock, eyes heavy-lidded and pleading.
"Jason…" Her voice is half sigh, half surrender. She closes the door, leans back against it. "You didn't stop."
"I couldn't," he whispers. "Not after seeing you."
She studies him for a long moment—the flush on his cheeks, the way his cock twitches in his grip, the raw need in his eyes. Then she steps forward, fingers going to the tie of her robe.
"Fine," she murmurs, voice husky. "But only because I hate seeing you suffer… and because I love the way you look at me when you're this desperate."
The robe parts slowly. She shrugs it off her shoulders and lets it pool at her feet.
Her body is lush, ripe, perfect. Full breasts sit high despite their weight, nipples dark rose and already tight. A soft curve at her belly speaks of maturity and comfort in her skin. Between her thighs, her sex is flushed and slick, lips puffy, the dark curls trimmed into a neat triangle. The scent of her arousal—musky, sweet—reaches him instantly.
She climbs onto the bed, straddling his thighs. "Touch me," she whispers.
Jason's hands slide up her sides, palms skimming the silky warmth of her skin, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. He cups them, feeling their heavy weight, thumbs circling her nipples until she gasps softly.
Whitney leans down, kissing him slow and deep—tongues sliding, tasting, her breath warm against his mouth. "I love you like this," she murmurs against his lips. "All mine."
She reaches between them, wraps her fingers around his shaft, strokes once, twice, spreading his pre-cum over the head. Then she guides him to her entrance.
She sinks down in reverse cowgirl, letting him watch every inch disappear into her wet heat. Her pussy is scalding, silky, gripping him like velvet. She rolls her hips in slow circles, ass cheeks jiggling softly with each motion. Jason's hands roam her back, then grip her hips, helping her rise and fall. The wet sucking sounds of her cunt fill the room, mingling with her low moans and his ragged breaths.
After several long, languid minutes she lifts off, turns, drops to her hands and knees. "From behind," she breathes. "You love my ass, don't you?"
He does. He kneels behind her, palms spreading her cheeks, watching his cock slide back into her dripping slit. The sight is obscene—her pink folds stretched around his thickness, cream coating his shaft with every thrust. He grips her hips, driving deeper, the slap of skin on skin rhythmic and wet. Whitney drops her chest to the mattress, ass high, moaning into the pillow. "Harder, baby… give it to me."
He does, pounding into her until her thighs tremble.
She rolls onto her back, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him close. Their eyes lock as he slides back inside her. "Kiss me," she whispers. He does—deep, hungry kisses while he rocks into her slowly, grinding against her clit with each stroke. Her nails dig into his shoulders; her breath hitches every time he bottoms out.
"I'm close," she gasps. "Don't stop."
He doesn't. He keeps the steady rhythm until her pussy flutters hard around him, milking him as she comes with a long, trembling moan.
When her spasms slow, she smiles up at him, eyes glassy with pleasure. "Now you," she whispers. "Where do you want to finish?"
"You know where."
She laughs softly, rolls onto her stomach, lifts her hips, spreads her cheeks with her own hands. "Here, then. Mark me."
Jason groans, slides back into her soaked pussy for a few final thrusts, then pulls out. His hand flies over his slick cock—once, twice—and thick white ropes erupt across her round ass, painting her cheeks, dripping down the cleft, pooling in the small of her back.
Whitney sighs in contentment, reaching back to rub his cum into her skin like lotion. "Good boy," she murmurs.
He collapses beside her, breathing hard. She turns her head, kisses his temple. "Now go shower. You're already late… but it was worth it."
He grins, still dazed. "I love you."
She smiles, warm and radiant. "I love you too, sweetheart. Always."