The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension. We'd just finished another excruciating 'family therapy' session, Mom’s attempt to glue us back together after Dad left. I could see the frustration simmering beneath her calm facade, the way her fingers drummed impatiently on the table. She looked amazing, though. Her brunette hair was pulled back loosely, showing off the delicate curve of her neck. Those natural tits strained against her blouse, begging to be freed.
“I need to unwind,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “God, this is so hard.” She looked at me, those eyes, usually filled with a mother's concern, now held a flicker of something else. Something dangerous.
I offered her a glass of wine, and as she sipped, I moved closer. "Is there anything I can do to help you relax?" I asked, my voice low and husky. Her eyes flickered down to my mouth, then back up, her cheeks flushed. The taboo hung heavy in the air, a forbidden promise. The scent of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something musky, filled my senses.
She placed her glass on the table, the clink echoing in the silent room. "Maybe… maybe there is." Her voice was barely a whisper. Before I could respond, she reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me towards her. Her lips crashed against mine, a desperate, hungry kiss. It was a kiss that tasted of loneliness, of frustration, and of a desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. I cupped her big tits.
One thing led to another. Soon, we were tearing at each other's clothes, a frenzy of skin and need. The couch became our battleground, our safe haven. I buried myself deep inside her, the creampie a sweet release. The love-making wasn't just lust, there was also a sense of anger.
Afterwards, we lay tangled together, breathless. I looked at her, at the sweat glistening on her skin, at the tattoo peeking out from beneath her bra strap. "Was this… a mistake?" I asked, my voice filled with apprehension. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mix of shame and satisfaction. "Maybe," she whispered. "But god, it felt so good." And in that moment, I knew that this was just the beginning. This amateur, homemade affair had only just begun.
It was our secret, our reality, this family orgasm, but the question was: would we survive this forbidden tryst?
