Midnight Masquerade: Forbidden Desires

Peter sat in the dim living room, the clock ticking past midnight. At just 15, he was old enough to be left alone while his parents attended the family wedding. The house felt too quiet, too empty, until he heard the front door slam open. Stumbling laughter echoed through the hall his mom Maria and dad John, both thoroughly sloshed from the open bar.

Maria, 35 and still turning heads with her curvy figure, leaned heavily on John, her tight dress riding up her thighs. Her dark hair was tousled, makeup smudged from dancing. John, 42 and broad-shouldered, slurred something about crashing. He half-carried Maria to the couch before staggering upstairs to the master bedroom. Within minutes, heavy snores rumbled from above.

Peter peeked from the kitchen, heart pounding. Maria had flopped onto the couch, her legs splayed, one heel dangling off her foot. She mumbled incoherently, eyes closed, passed out cold from the booze. The dress had hiked up, exposing the lacy edge of her black panties. Peter's gaze locked there, a rush of heat flooding his body. He'd stolen glances at her before her full breasts straining against blouses, the sway of her hips but tonight, with her helpless like this, something primal stirred.

He crept closer, breath shallow. She didn't stir as he knelt beside the couch. His hands trembled as he reached under her dress, fingers brushing the soft skin of her inner thigh. Up, up, until he hooked the panties and tugged them down. They slid over her hips, revealing her shaved pussy, lips slightly parted and glistening maybe from the night's excitement or just her body's natural response. Peter swallowed hard, his young cock already throbbing in his shorts.

He freed himself, stroking his hardening shaft until it stood rigid, veins pulsing. Positioning between her legs, he spread them wider, the couch creaking softly. Her pussy looked inviting, warm. He pressed the tip against her entrance, feeling the slick heat. With a grunt, he thrust forward, ramming his penis deep inside her wet vagina in one forceful push.

Maria's body jolted, a low moan escaping her lips. 'Oooooh, John... fuck me,' she slurred, eyes still shut. Her walls clenched around him involuntarily, tight and velvety. Peter froze for a second, then started pumping, hips slamming against hers. The sensation was overwhelming hot, slippery friction as he buried himself to the hilt each time. Her breasts bounced under the dress with every thrust, nipples hardening against the fabric.

He gripped her thighs, pulling her closer, fucking harder. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he watched her cock slide in and out, coated in her juices. Maria moaned again, 'Yes, John... deeper,' her head lolling to the side. Peter didn't care; the lie fueled him. He rammed faster, balls slapping against her ass, until the pressure built unbearably. With a stifled groan, he came, spurting thick ropes of cum deep into her pussy, filling her up as her body twitched faintly.

Panting, he pulled out, a trickle of his seed leaking from her stretched hole. He wiped himself on her panties, yanked them back up haphazardly, and arranged her dress. She sighed in her sleep, oblivious. Peter retreated to his room, guilt mixing with exhilaration as he replayed the moment.

The Morning After

Sunlight filtered through the curtains as Maria stirred on the couch, head throbbing. Her mouth tasted like cotton, and every muscle ached. John was still snoring upstairs she could hear him. Groaning, she sat up, smoothing her dress. Something felt off between her legs: a sticky soreness, like she'd been roughly taken. Memories of hard thrusts and a man's weight on her teased the edges of her mind.

She glanced around, spotting her panties twisted awkwardly. Pulling them aside, she felt the dried crust on her thighs, the faint scent of sex. John? But he'd dragged her here and left. Her eyes narrowed, flicking toward Peter's room. The boy had been home alone... no, it couldn't be. Yet, as she stood on wobbly legs, a suspicion gnawed at her. His door was cracked open; she heard him shifting inside. Maria's cheeks flushed not just from hangover, but from the dark possibility. Had her own son taken advantage? She pushed the thought down, heading to the shower, but the ache lingered, a secret seed of doubt.

Over breakfast, Peter closely watched her, searching for any sign of deception or dishonesty. The silence was oppressive, each moment punctuated by uneasy laughter and hushed whispers. It wasn't until she looked at John again that she realized he'd been there all along, silently committing the act of a predator on his daughter.

She turned away from the room and walked back to her own bed, leaving Peter behind, waiting for his turn. The silence felt heavier now, as if it were suffocating her. But she knew the truth: it was John's fault, not hers. And as she lay in the darkness, lost in the memories of their night together, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever find peace again.

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