By noon the lakehouse baked under a white-hot sun.
Sweat rolled between Elena's breasts, down the curve of her spine, pooled in the dimples above her ass.
She found Lucas on the back deck, shirtless, sawing firewood he didn't really need—just an excuse to watch his muscles flex.
She didn't speak.
She simply hooked her fingers in the waistband of his shorts, tugged him toward the outdoor shower tucked behind the boathouse.
River-stone walls, open to the sky, one fat rain-shower head hanging from a cedar beam.
Elena turned the water on scalding.
Steam billowed.
She peeled off the tiny sundress she'd thrown on that morning and let it drop.
Naked, glistening, she stepped under the spray and crooked a finger.
Lucas was there in two strides, shorts kicked aside, cock already heavy and half-hard, swinging between his thighs.
Water sheeted over them both, turning Elena's skin rose-gold.
Rivulets raced over her nipples, down the slope of her belly, through the slick seam of her pussy.
She pressed her back to the warm stone wall, lifted one leg, hooked it high around his hip.
The position opened her completely—puffy lips parted, clit swollen and begging, a steady drip of arousal mixing with the shower.
"Put it in me, baby," she murmured, reaching down to spread herself with two fingers. "Mommy's been empty all morning."
Lucas gripped the base of his cock—now fully erect, angry-red and veined—and fed it to her in one slow, relentless glide.
The water made everything louder: the wet slap of his hips meeting her thighs, the squelch of her pussy swallowing him whole.
He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other cupping her ass, fingers sinking deep into soft flesh.
Then he fucked her like a man possessed.
Long, punishing strokes.
Pulling out until just the fat crown stretched her entrance, then slamming back in until her toes curled.
Every thrust lifted her onto the balls of her feet; her tits bounced wildly, flinging water in every direction.
Elena's head fell back against the stone, mouth open on silent screams.
The shower drowned out everything but the obscene sound of their bodies colliding.
"Look down," Lucas growled. "Watch me split you open."
She did.
Watched his thick shaft disappear again and again into her creamy hole, watched her lips cling to him on every withdrawal, watched her own juices coat him in a glossy sheath.
The sight wrecked her.
Her orgasm hit like a freight train—pussy spasming, squirting hard around his cock, a gush that splashed against his abs and ran down his legs.
She screamed this time, raw and broken, the sound echoing off the stone.
Lucas followed seconds later.
He shoved in to the root and stayed there, hips jerking as he unloaded, pulse after pulse of thick cum flooding her already-stuffed pussy.
She could feel every spurt, hot and heavy, painting her insides.
When he finally pulled out, the water washed most of it away, but not all.
A fat pearl of white clung to her clit.
Elena scooped it up with two fingers and pushed them into Lucas's mouth.
He sucked them clean, eyes locked on hers, then kissed her slow and filthy, sharing the taste.
They stayed under the spray until the water cooled, bodies pressed tight, hearts hammering in perfect sync.
Elena rested her forehead against his chest.
"I'm never letting you go," she whispered.
Lucas's arms tightened around her.
"Good. Because I'm never leaving."
The heat had turned thick and lazy, the kind that makes clothes feel criminal.
Elena found the old rope hammock strung between two pines, swaying gently in the breeze off the lake.
She'd brought only two things: a bottle of chilled rosé and the sheer white sarong that barely qualified as clothing.
Lucas was already there, stretched out naked, one arm behind his head, the other lazily stroking his half-hard cock just because he could.
Eleven inches of lazy, veiny perfection, resting against his thigh like it owned the place.
Elena smiled, slow and wicked.
She climbed in straddling him, knees sinking into the woven ropes on either side of his hips.
The hammock dipped, cradled them together.
Her tits brushed his chest; her soaked pussy painted a wet stripe up the underside of his shaft.
No words.
Just the soft clink of the rosé bottle against his teeth as she let him drink first, then tipped it to her own lips, pink wine spilling over her chin, dripping onto her nipples.
Lucas chased every drop with his tongue.
When the bottle was half-empty, Elena set it in the grass and reached between them.
She wrapped both hands around his cock (still not enough to circle it completely) and guided the fat head to her entrance.
"Hold still," she whispered. "Mommy's going to fuck you so slow you'll beg."
She sank down inch by torturous inch.
The hammock swayed with every tiny descent, rocking them together, pulling them apart, then together again.
When he was finally buried to the root, balls pressed tight against her ass, she stilled.
Just breathed.
Just felt him throb inside her.
Then she started to move: tiny circles, figure-eights, barely-there lifts that kept him deep.
Her clit dragged over his pubic bone on every roll.
The ropes creaked beneath them, a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
Minutes bled into an hour.
Sweat beaded, rolled, mingled.
Their mouths stayed fused the whole time: soft kisses, filthy whispers, I love you, I love you, I love you.
Elena's pussy never stopped dripping.
Every gentle rock pushed another gush of cream out around his cock, coating his balls, dripping onto the hammock in sticky strands.
Lucas's hands roamed: kneading her ass, plumping her tits, pinching her nipples until she whimpered into his mouth.
"Close," he finally groaned, voice ragged.
"Me too, baby. Let's fall together."
She picked up the pace just enough: deeper rolls, tighter circles, her walls fluttering around him like a heartbeat.
The orgasm rolled through her slow and endless, waves on the lake.
She didn't scream; she sighed his name like a prayer, pussy clenching in long, milking pulls.
Lucas followed with a broken groan, hips jerking up once, twice, then holding deep as he flooded her again.
She felt every pulse, every hot spurt painting her insides, felt it overflow and trickle down his shaft.
They stayed locked like that, hammock swaying, sun dappling their joined bodies in gold.
Eventually Elena lifted off him with a wet, filthy sound.
A river of cum followed, pooling in the hollow of his belly.
She slid down, licked him clean: slow, worshipful swipes of her tongue, gathering every drop.
When she finished, she crawled back up and tucked herself under his arm, head on his chest.
The hammock rocked them gently, like a cradle.
"Forever," she murmured against his skin.
Lucas pressed a kiss to her hair.
"Forever, Mom."
The sun hung low and lazy, bleeding orange through the lakehouse windows.
Elena stood at the counter in nothing but a tiny apron, the strings tied in a bow right above the dimples of her ass.
Her tits spilled out the sides, nipples brushing the cool marble every time she reached for something.
Lucas walked in barefoot, wearing only sweatpants riding low on his hips.
He stopped dead when he saw the can of whipped cream in her hand and the wicked smile on her face.
"Dessert before dinner," she said, voice honey-thick.
She sprayed a perfect swirl on each nipple, then a long stripe down her belly that stopped just above her bare pussy.
Another dollop right on her clit, melting instantly in the heat between her thighs.
Lucas was on her in seconds.
He lifted her onto the counter, spread her thighs wide, and devoured her like a starving man.
Tongue lapping whipped cream and pussy in equal measure, swirling around her clit until her legs shook.
Every time she got close he backed off, licked the cream from her nipples instead, sucked them clean, then returned to her dripping cunt.
By the time the can was empty, Elena was a wreck: thighs trembling, apron askew, begging in broken whispers.
"Please, baby… please let Mommy cum…"
Lucas stood, shoved his sweatpants down, and lined up.
One slow thrust and he was buried to the hilt, the counter creaking under the force.
He fucked her steady and deep, hands gripping her hips, eyes locked on where they joined: his thick cock splitting her pink, creamy pussy open again and again.
Whipped cream smeared between them, sticky and sweet.
Elena's first orgasm hit hard, back arching off the counter, tits bouncing as she screamed his name.
He didn't stop. Just kept stroking through it, dragging it out until she was sobbing from overstimulation.
Then he pulled out, spun her around, bent her over the same counter.
Re-entered her from behind in one slick thrust, the new angle making her gasp.
"Look at us," he growled.
The window above the sink had turned into a mirror in the dying light.
Elena watched them: her huge tits swinging with every thrust, Lucas behind her, muscles flexing, cock disappearing into her over and over.
The sight sent her over again.
She came with a wail, pussy gushing around him, squirting down his balls and onto the floor.
Lucas followed seconds later, slamming deep and holding, flooding her with heat.
She felt every pulse, every rope of cum painting her walls.
They stayed like that until their breathing slowed.
Then Lucas scooped her up, carried her to the living room, and laid her on the thick sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace.
He slid back inside her while they were still leaking, slow and gentle now.
Missionary, face to face, legs wrapped around each other.
No rush.
Just the crackle of the fire and the soft, wet sounds of their bodies moving together.
Elena cupped his face, tears in her eyes, not from pain but from the overwhelming love.
"I've never been this happy," she whispered. "Not once in my whole life."
Lucas kissed the tears away, hips rolling slow, cock dragging over every sensitive spot inside her.
"Me neither, Mom. You're my whole world."
They made love like that for hours: lazy thrusts, soft kisses, whispered I love yous.
He came inside her twice more, each time softer, sweeter, until they were both too spent to move.
Eventually the fire burned low.
Elena lay draped across his chest, his cock still half-hard inside her, plugging every drop of cum.
She traced lazy circles on his skin.
"Tomorrow," she murmured, "I want to wake up with you in my mouth."
Lucas chuckled, the sound rumbling through her.
"Deal," he said, and kissed her forehead.
Outside, the lake was black glass.
Inside, mother and son drifted toward sleep, still joined, still leaking, still utterly owned by each other.