33 comments/ 138797 views/ 95 favorites Baking For My Son By: JerseyGirlBcom **I fully anticipate that this will be a controversial post. This was a surprise I wrote for a dear friend who very much had this fetish. All characters are of legal age (over 18). Please do not forget to vote and leave comments. All comments that are meant in malice will be deleted. Comments that are constructive criticism will remain, and will be interpreted as feedback on the quality of the story and not as attacks on my character. Thank you for reading** As I stand in the kitchen tuning the radio, the only station that will come in is a 50's do-whop station, so I bop my head along with the beat while mixing the dry ingredients. I crack a few eggs and pour some oil and milk into the powdered mixture. I bring the wooden spoon out of the drawer and spin holding the bowl against my hip as I begin to stir the mixture. Humming along to Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers "Why do fools fall in love" I am completely oblivious to my son entering the kitchen. I am startled nearly dropping the bowl when I hear his chuckle. He stands on the other side of the kitchen island wearing a pair of royal blue basketball shorts low on his hips so that the hint of hair trails from his belly button down into the waistband. For some reason my eyes scan his perfect form. My son has short dark brown hair and broad shoulders which now carry his lacrosse stick and his gray t-shirt tossed haphazardly over his left one. His smile is charming, and wide as he chuckles at his mother dancing while stirring batter. He drops his lacrosse stick and his t-shirt on the stool against the island and places his rather large hands onto the countertop. While he is leaning forward my eyes affix to the way his pectoral muscles move and I wonder when my son grew up to be such a handsome man. His pink tongue slides from his lips, no words spoken, I know he is requesting to sample the batter that I have been stirring. I look down into the bowel, the liquid thoroughly stirred and mixed; I raise the wooden spoon and slowly bring it to him. He presses his lips against it and sucks some of the batter from the spoon. I am shocked at the familiar heat rising in my chest, belly, and between my legs. "Mmmmmmm, my favorite" he says as I imagine his warm wet tongue swirling in his mouth savoring the batter. My son steps around the counter and approaches me. I back up slowly as he approaches, again struck by my son's masculine adult-like form. When did my son become taller than me? He dips his index and middle finger into the batter after I am pressed against the counter and swipes some batter on them. He offers them to my mouth. Timidly I open and he slides both fingers into the first knuckle. My lips encircle them and I begin to suck his fingers tasting the sweet smooth liquid off them. The erotically charged moment feels both wrong and intoxicating. Before I realize it, I have begun to push my head forward and take his fingers into my mouth past the second knuckle. My brain shrieks "What are you doing?!?" My son raises an eyebrow and I watch his beautifully soft eyes change and a smirk cross his face. My son takes a step closer to me, his muscular thigh presses against my own as they part to accommodate him. My cheeks flush as crimson as my chest, embarrassed by how aroused I am at the moment by my own flesh and blood. Slowly, he takes the yellow bowl from my hands and places it on the counter behind me. My heart pounding in my chest, my body pressed against the counter and his, I look up confused at my son. He says nothing. He takes both my wrists, one in each hand and holds them behind me, my palms flat against the counter. In doing this, my son's body presses harder against mine, my body arched, pushing my breasts up and into him. I suck in a breath, gasping, as I feel my son's erection brush my thigh through the thin fabric of his shorts and my A-line skirt. Just as my mouth opens to begin to protest, my son's mouth covers mine and his tongue is pushed into me. Despite myself, I moan. His tongue dancing over mine and I return his kiss with the passion of a thousand lovers. I attempt to move my hands from the counter, to hold him, to embrace him, but the sheer strength he has both frightens and arouses me as he holds my wrists tightly, holding me in place, pining me between him and the counter. He pulls his mouth from mine and I am breathing heavily. I do not recognize the look in my son's face. He releases my hands, but I understand that I am to keep them in place. Without a word, his fingers begin to undo the buttons of my top. His eyes steady on mine, intense, hunger, and lust flashing in them. I whine both in my own yearning for the passion my twenty year old son is demonstrating and in complete confusion for what is taking place. What I am allowing my son to do to me? I am his mother, I am not his lover. Two buttons down and my son growls. His hands pulling at the joint of my shirt and I hear the buttons hitting the floor. The fabric rips as he pulls open my shirt exposing my white lace bra. He presses against me again. My nearly naked chest pressed against his. I can feel the soft sparse chest hair tickle me and I shudder. My sex warm, grinds absent mindedly against his rock hard thigh that he has pressed up against me. I gasp feeling the cool batter dripped onto the top of my breasts. Watching him, practically hypnotized by my son, he dips the spoon back into the bowl, and then cups the sides of my breasts in each hand pressing them together. Lowering his head, his tongue large and flat begins to slink over my breasts licking the batter from my skin. My skin begins to prickle my nipples impossibly hard behind the lace. I throw my head back, getting lost in the passion happening in my kitchen between my son and I. I part my legs more, no longer attempting to resist his access to me. My son is an excellent lover, and how this came to be, I have no idea. However, I cannot stop myself from enjoying his talents. His hands pull the cups down, and my breasts are now exposed to the cool air. My son's mouth comes down, kissing a trail to my right nipple. He takes it in his mouth and begins to suck while his tongue covers the areole. One of his hands covers my other breasts, his fingers spread, as he begins to massage and grope me. My breath ragged, my hips moving wantonly as my son suckles my breasts as he once had as an infant but in a much more erotic manner. My conflicting thoughts about the situation have all but vanished as I enjoy all the sensations assaulting me. My son's free hand begins to slide down me, tugging my skirt up around my waist. Slipping into my panties, he finds my moist sex with his young fingers. I groan again, louder, as a finger tickles my slit before pressing into the folds. I tremble impossibly aroused by the boy that I had read bedtime stories to, the boy whose boo boos I kissed better. Now he is kissing my breasts, biting and teething on my nipples and I cannot stop wishing he would just take me in the kitchen where we sang happy birthday to him last week. My son brings his head up and watches me as his finger presses into my pussy. In a swift motion He enters me and I squeal keeping my eyes locked on his. He adds a second finger, and begins to move them within me. He is watching my reaction. My son's fingers deep within my pussy, and then I jolt as he finds my spot. The look on his face is intense until he sees my response to him grazing my g-spot with his young fingers. He rubs that area aggressively teasing me. My breath and my moaning increasing as the heat in my body rises. The evil grin on his face widens as he pulls his hand from me. I surprise myself as I whine. I am so close to the edge, wanting to be pushed over into orgasm by my son and my cheeks flash in embarrassment. This is my son! I watch him as he brings his glistening fingers that had just be inside me, to his lips and he sucks my arousal from them. I hear him moan. In a quick movement, he grabs my left wrist with his left hand, across my body, he spins me roughly. I am now facing the counter, his large hands grab my hips pulling me out, I am bent over the counter slightly. I hear and feel the fabric of my skirt being pulled up again. He has my skirt wrapped around my waist. Using his foot he spreads my legs wide. My breasts are hanging free but not touching the counter as I obey my son. I feel the tug and hear the rip of fabric as he removes my panties from me violently. I am filled with surprise, wanton need, passion, arousal, and shame as it happens. My son's long thick cock fills me quickly. He is not wasting anytime. I squeal loudly being taken from behind by my son. He pumps his cock deep within me, the bulbous head presses up against my cervix as my pussy spasms around him. I immediately orgasm as he fills me and thrusts inside me three times. Quaking against him he continues to drill me. His energy and the fever of his thrusts extend the length of my orgasm and he whispers in my ear. "That's it mom, cum for me. Cum for your son." My face turns bright red. The heat in my face matches the heat in my pussy as he continues to pump harder and deeper into me. I am as confused as I am aroused by the humiliation I feel as my son takes my body for his pleasure. His hands pulling my hips back against him causing his thrusts to be deeper. I cannot help myself, and I push back accepting each push against me. I am actively fucking my son as much as he is fucking his mother. I hear the familiar groan of past lovers and then the squirting inside me. My son's cock swells within me before he begins to unleash his young sperm inside me. The two of us are gasping for breath as I feel his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts slowing down. Soon he lets out a loud sigh and I feel his weight on top of me. The two of us collapse onto the counter. His cock buried deep in my pussy holding his cum inside me. As we catch our breath, my son laughs softly. His hand dips back into the bowl and he brings the batter to his lips again and he playfully says, "I love cupcakes."