Club Blowjob from Mom, Climax in Her Room

Two weeks ago, on a Saturday, I was all set to go out with my pals, a pair of brothers, but their family drama tanked our plans at the last second. I was bummed, itching to hit the clubs. At home, over lunch, my mom picked up on my vibe. “What’s got you so glum, honey?” she asked, stirring her coffee. I sighed, “My night out with the guys fell through, Mom.”

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “That’s rough – but how about we go out together instead?” I blinked. “You and me?” She grinned, nodding. I hadn’t seen that coming.

For context, my mom, Claire, is 46, with a lean frame, auburn hair, and hazel eyes that spark when she laughs. She’s got this effortless confidence, and yeah, I’ve caught myself staring at her curves when she’s not paying attention. She’s been different since splitting with my dad – quieter, like she’s been caged up. She told me she was craving a night to feel alive again. I was stunned but said, “Hell yeah, Mom, let’s do it.”

She darted to her room, then called, “Come help me pick something to wear!” I followed, half in disbelief. There she was, rifling through her closet, holding up outfits. I watched, mesmerized, as she modeled a pair of dark jeans with a silky top, then a flowy dress that hugged her in all the right places. She settled on tight jeans and a deep blue halter top. Before slipping it on, she held up a lacy purple thong and asked, “This work?” My jaw dropped – my mom, asking that? I stammered, “Yeah, purple’s hot,” and she smirked, changing right there.

That night, we rolled into a pulsing downtown club, the bass vibrating through us. We grabbed drinks at the bar, and I couldn’t shake the image of her earlier, her skin catching the light. It stirred something wild in me. After an hour of dancing, laughing, and losing ourselves in the crowd, she leaned in. “Gotta run to the bathroom, sweetie.” My heart raced. I waited a beat, then followed.

I slipped into the restroom, and she spun around, eyes wide. “What’re you doing here?” she gasped. Words failed me. “Mom, I can’t hold back,” I said, and kissed her, hard. It was reckless, insane – but her lips were soft, parting under mine.

She pulled back, shocked, and her hand grazed my cheek in a half-hearted slap. “Oh, honey,” she whispered, guilt flashing in her eyes. Then she grabbed my face and kissed me back, deeper, her tongue teasing mine. My hands roamed, sliding under her top, feeling the heat of her skin. She murmured, “Is this what you want?” I nodded, pulse hammering.

Her fingers fumbled with my belt, freeing me. She sank to her knees, the tiles cool under her, and took me in her mouth. It was slow at first, her lips gliding, tongue swirling in ways that made my knees buckle. She looked up, eyes locked on mine, and sped up, her breath hot, hands gripping my thighs. I tangled my fingers in her hair, lost in the rhythm until a sharp knock on the door snapped us back.

We scrambled, adjusting clothes, and slipped out, hearts pounding. Back at the bar, we ordered another round, the adrenaline still buzzing. Later, I nudged her. “Wanna walk?” She nodded, “Let’s go.”

Outside, the air was crisp. We kissed again, her lips tasting of whiskey and desire. “You’re too good at that,” she teased. I confessed I’d been thinking about her, more than I should. Her eyes softened, and she kissed me, emotional. I mentioned her painted toes, how they drove me crazy in her sandals. She laughed, “Your dad thought it was tacky – I stopped for him.” I grinned, “Keep doing it. It’s sexy.”

We wandered, and in a dim alley, I tugged her close, hands slipping under her top, brushing her bare skin. She shivered as I teased her, my fingers finding her warmth through the lace. “You’re gonna kill me,” she gasped, voice thick. “Home?” I asked. “God, yes,” she replied.

At our apartment door, I whispered, “Lose the thong.” She did, climbing the stairs with a sway that made my head spin, her top clinging to her, no bra, her shape unmistakable. Inside, we didn’t hesitate. “Mom, I need you,” I said. She grabbed my hand – “My bed, now.”

We tore off our clothes, and there she was, bare, breathtaking. Her body was a map of soft curves and faint tan lines, her eyes daring me. “Like it?” she asked, voice low. I couldn’t speak, just stared at her, natural and perfect. “I wanna taste you,” I said. She lay back, legs parting, and I knelt, kissing her thighs before diving in. My tongue traced her, slow circles at first, then deeper, her hips arching as she moaned, loud and raw, her hands gripping the sheets.

She pulled me up, flipping us so she was on top, straddling me. She teased me with her hands, then her mouth again, deliberate, drawing out every sensation until I was begging. “Please,” I groaned, and she smiled, guiding me inside her. It was slow, her hips rocking, her breath hitching as we found a rhythm. I gripped her waist, watching her move, her head thrown back, moans building. I thrust harder, deeper, feeling her tighten around me, her nails digging into my chest as she came, trembling. I wasn’t far behind, pulling out to finish across her stomach, collapsing together, tangled in sheets, the world reduced to just us.

We lay there, catching our breath, her fingers tracing my arm. It was a moment I’d carry forever – forbidden, yes, but ours.

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