Where to begin? I’m 40, with a 19 year old son named Darren, my little baby. Sure I coddle him a little too much–but making your children embarrassed is part of a mum’s job.

Do I do it a little too much? Probably. By the time I was 12 I found that I had very large breasts for my age, and by the time I was 18–or legal, in other words–I was sitting comfortably on an F cup and there were lines of men going out the door to fuck me.

I don’t know who Darren’s father is, but let’s just say that I became pregnant fairly quickly after I began to get used by the neighbourhood. With startlingly blue eyes the colour of polished sapphires and a tight bubble-butt, I was used up until the point that I was close to giving birth and had to be rushed to hospital.

But it’s a common story. In my thirties I began to hold the heavyweight MILF title, the one that seems so enticing to the younger men. Because of this, and my job as a Cumslut at the local shopping centre’s male bathrooms, Darren grew up seeing me with my mouth full.

Now that I’ve hit the 40 mark–scary!!–I mostly spend my time indoors, or out in my garden. Say what you want about the Cumslut gig (in Europe they find it disgusting, but over here it’s far more accepted) but it made me enough money that I don’t ever have to worry about it again. Darren has since moved out because of the… well… ‘problems’ that come with hosting his friends over here.

Teenagers are so horny all the time that they spent more time inside of me than out, and I’m sure that Darren would have rather played video games or whatever it was that boys do.

I can still remember cooking hotdogs on a Sunday afternoon with Darren’s friends coming over. I can almost still hear him calling out to me from across the house while I was cooking blissfully in the kitchen. In those days I was using a red ribbon to tie up my hair, but of course that was the only item of clothing I regularly wore.

“Mum! Did you put the hotdogs on?” Darren called out from the front hall.

I was naked, of course, apart from the long apron I wore with the slogan over the front ‘pound the meat!’ when I was cooking, and the lovely red ribbon, which was holding my brunette locks up.

“I’m doing it now, sweetie!” I called back. Being naked has always been second nature to me, but if anything I’ve always wished my breasts were smaller, because sometimes it makes it awkward to run or do things, and sometimes it hurts my back. I could never do that to the boys though!

As the smell of the cooking food wafted through the house, the first of the boys entered the kitchen with a wide grin. Nineteen or twenty, tall and athletic, Jonas slapped me on the ass as I put out the mustard on the table.

“Smells good, Miss D!” he said cheerfully. The others weren’t far away, and they filed in one by one with Darren last. He looked a little peeved, but I couldn’t blame him–sometimes, for some strange reason, it seemed like his friends preferred to spend time with me instead of him. It’s weird how that happens.

The boys sat at the table and I hummed to myself as I prepared lunch. They were talking about all the teenage boy things–computer games, girls, the merits of fucking a girl in the throat over the ass, the usual.

“Hey Miss D, which do you prefer?” the first boy, I believe his name was Michael, asked.

“I spent a lot of time as a throat slave back in the day,” I said, putting a hand to my cheek. Those were the days. I didn’t like to date myself–these days they were called “throat girls” because of political correctness–but I couldn’t resist letting people know. “I always have a soft spot for a good throating. My ass is good, don’t get me wrong, but I like the taste more than anything.”

Darren groaned but the other boys laughed. Michael watched me as I put the hotdogs down on the table–I could always tell when a man had eyes for me–and he raised his eyebrows as I looked over.

“Miss D, would you–” but I was already moving. I tend to pride myself on being a people-pleaser. I just can’t let a man go wanting, not with my natural assets around. I wiped my hands on my apron and knelt down to duck under the table.

What most people don’t realise is that sucking a cock under the table takes a good deal of skill. Not just the technique of pleasing the man, but trying to keep your head from banging on the wood! Michael pulled himself out as I got into a comfortable position, and reached up to take him in one hand and pull him toward my mouth.

When you get to my age, a good throating seems like an art form more than anything else, and as I took him down deep into my warm throat, my tongue dancing around his shaft, I heard the sound of him high-fiving one of his friends.

To be young again!

I felt at home as I began to throat Michael properly, and I politely tried to avoid listening to their conversation, but of course it was hard.

***

“Jesus, Darren, your mum moves like a jackhammer,” Michael groaned. He held onto the sauce bottle for dear life, but he could feel his eyes crossing as she moved below the table.

“Give her a break,” Darren groaned. He pulled out his phone and began to type to his girlfriend. Michael shook his head and grinned. Why would he bother to date a girl when his mother could just take care of all of his needs?

He picked up a hotdog and munched on the end thoughtfully as Miss D’s head bobbed up and down in his crotch, sending waves of pleasure throughout his body. It felt like an expert’s massage: like somebody had trained for years, gone through thousands of dollars and thousands of hours worth of study just to massage his cock into pure bliss.

Michael let out a moan and lay his head down on the table slowly.

“Maybe I’ll have to give her a go after you’ve finished,” John said, raising his eyebrows from across the table. “Are you going to be long?”

Michael reached down beneath the table and felt a handful of creamy, soft tits, and he shook his head with a chuckle. “I’m almost…”

Miss D pounced at him like a tiger sensing weakness in its prey. She throated him so hard that his balls slapped against her chin, and the only sound at the table was a wet slap, slap.

Michael groaned and felt himself let loose, flooding Miss D’s warm mouth with his cum. she didn’t just let the jizz flow in, she sucked it out like she was trying to get as much delicious cream as she could. Michael yelped and put a hand down on her head to stop her, but Miss D knew her business, and she only let him loose when he was completely spent.

“About time,” John said, and there was the sound of a zipper being pulled down and an excited exclamation from the woman beneath the table.

“Fuck me, I gotta come round more often,” Michael panted.