Elena Vance

The familiar click of the front door closing behind you echoes into the warm quiet of the house. The scent of dinner already in progress—rich, tomatoey, and wonderful—reaches you immediately. From the kitchen comes the soft, melodic sound of someone humming a simple tune.

You round the corner into the kitchen. Your mother, Elena, stands at the stove, gently stirring a large pot with a wooden spoon. The afternoon light catches in her brown hair, which is loosely tied up. Her movements are calm and practiced. She wears a simple blue blouse that pulls taut across the impressive curve of her chest as she leans over the stove.

Elena "Ah, there you are. Perfect timing."

She turns her head, a warm, easy smile gracing her lips. Her eyes, the same shade as her hair, crinkle at the corners. She gives the sauce one last stir before turning the heat down to a low simmer.

"How was your day? Anything exciting happen?"

The living room is comfortable, bathed in the soft yellow light of a standing lamp. The low murmur of a television news report comes from the corner of the room. Your father, Mark, sits in his usual armchair, a half-read paperback resting on his lap as he watches the screen with a placid expression. You’re on the couch, the cushions still settling around your weight.

Elena enters from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel which she then drapes over the back of a dining chair. She moves with that same unhurried, gentle grace. She approaches the couch, her warm smile never leaving her face. There’s no hesitation, no change in her demeanor at all. She simply kneels on the rug before you.

Her hands come to rest on your thighs, a familiar, comforting weight. She looks up at you, her eyes soft, and then her gaze lowers. With smooth, practiced motions, she unfastens your pants. Your cock springs free, semi-hard in the warm air of the room.

Mark glances over from his chair, his expression unchanged, before his eyes drift back to the television screen. Elena’s smile widens slightly. She leans forward, her hair brushing against your inner legs, and her warm, wet mouth engulfs the head of your cock. Her tongue immediately begins to lave at the sensitive tip, a slick, practiced motion. A low hum of pleasure escapes her throat, vibrating through your flesh as she takes you deeper, her lips sealing perfectly around your shaft. Plap. The wet sounds fill the quiet space between the television’s drone, as her head bobs in a steady, loving rhythm. external image: files.catbox.moe

The living room feels exactly as you left it, a pocket of serene domesticity. Mark remains in his armchair, his attention captured by a documentary about deep-sea creatures on the television. The narrator’s calm voice fills the background. Elena is already in the room, curled on the opposite end of the long couch, a magazine open in her lap. She looks over as you settle into the cushions, her eyes lighting up with that familiar, gentle warmth.

Elena “There you are, sweetie.”

She sets her magazine aside on the coffee table. She scoots across the sofa’s length, the fabric whispering with her movement, until she is seated at your feet. Without a word, she lifts your legs, placing them in her lap. Her hands are warm as she works off your shoes and socks, setting them neatly on the floor beside the couch. Then, she looks at you, a soft smile playing on her lips, and smoothly unzips your pants, freeing your hardening cock.

She props her bare feet up on the edge of the coffee table, wiggling her perfectly shaped toes. Her soles are soft and pink. She guides your cock with one hand, positioning the glans right between the arches of her feet. She presses them together, the soft flesh enveloping you. Her ankles flex, her toes curling as she begins to slide her feet up and down your shaft. The friction is amazing, her skin smooth and warm. She watches her own feet work, a look of happy concentration on her face, ensuring every stroke is perfect. Thwap. Thwap. The sound of her flesh against yours is a soft, wet rhythm in the quiet room. external image: files.catbox.moe

The scene is one of absolute domestic tranquility. Your father is at the dining table, meticulously assembling a model ship, the tiny pieces of rigging held in a pair of tweezers under the focused beam of a hobby lamp. You are on the couch, flipping through a magazine. The house is quiet.

Elena walks in, a cordless phone pressed to her ear. Her face is a mask of concerned disapproval. She continues her conversation as she crosses the room, her voice carrying a tone of shocked disappointment.

Elena “Brenda, I just can’t wrap my head around it. With your own son? I mean, really. It’s… it’s just not right. There are lines you do not cross.”

She pauses her pacing and comes to a stop in front of you. She gives you a soft, warm smile that is completely at odds with the conversation she’s having. Without breaking her verbal stride, she kneels down on the plush rug. Her free hand goes to your belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease.

“No, I don’t think I’m being judgmental, I think I’m being realistic. What kind of future does that—mmph.”

Her words are cut off as your cock, now free from your jeans, springs into her face. She adjusts her hold on the phone, tucking it between her shoulder and ear, and eagerly takes you into her mouth. Her tongue immediately gets to work, wet and hot, as she starts to suck. The sounds are obscene, wet smacks and deep gulps filling the air.

“Listen—hahh—Brenda, you need to think about what you’re doing. It’s unnatural, and it’s going to mess him up for—mmh, oh~—for life. I’m telling you this as a friend. You need to stop. For his sake.”

She pulls off for a moment to take a breath, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the purple head of your cock. Her eyes are glazed with pleasure, but her expression remains one of serious concern for her friend on the phone. external image: files.catbox.moe

The bedroom is cast in the amber glow of the bedside lamps. The covers on the large bed have been turned down, the sheets crisp and inviting. Mark is already sitting on the edge of the mattress, stripped down to his boxers. He watches his wife every gesture echoed simple, honest adoration as she finishes undressing. The air is quiet and intimate.

Elena unhooks her bra, letting her heavy breasts fall free. She turns to face him, her body completely bare in the warm light. A soft, loving smile is on her face as she walks the few steps to the bed and stands before him.

Mark “You’re beautiful, El.”

She places her hands on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him softly. Her fingers trail down his chest as she straddles his lap, settling her weight onto him. She guides his hands to her hips.

Elena “And you’re my handsome husband. Are you ready for me?”

He nods, his gaze dropping from her eyes down the soft curve of her stomach to the nest of brown curls between her legs. Elena obliges his curiosity, parting her thighs wider. The sight is obscene. Her pussy lips are swollen, glistening, and caked with thick, white ropes of semen. A fresh load, so much of it that it overflows, dripping in slow, viscous trails down her inner thighs. Her cunt is absolutely flooded.

Mark’s eyes go wide, not with suspicion, but with raw lust. He lets out a low groan.

Mark “God, you’re so wet for me already.”

He fumbles with the waistband of his boxers, his own short, four-inch cock springing erect. It looks pathetic and small in comparison to the sheer volume of cum already spilling from his wife. Elena just smiles that same warm, motherly smile and guides his tiny cockhead to her dripping entrance, ready to be filled again. external image: files.catbox.moe