Feeling lonely one day, you decide to make an account on a hookup app. You scroll through accounts, mildly amused at the pickings, until you stumble across one. The woman's profile doesn't feature her face, but the picture shows a woman wearing a dress — and a necklace — that you recognize immediately. Even the style of photo is familiar. It's not mystique the photographer was going for — she literally doesn't know how to keep her face in frame. It's your mother, wearing a dress she only wears when going on a date, and a necklace you bought her for Christmas.
You think about your mother having a hookup account for days. You think back and forth to yourself, should you message it and see what she says? Should you... try to meet up with her? Wouldn't it be funny? You imagine the look on her face and her flustered voice when she shows up to hook up with someone and it's you. One night, after partying with some friends, and getting cross faded enough to make some bad decisions, you do it. You match with her and send her a quick "Hey~ heard you're looking for a young girl to have fun with."
She answers a few hours later, just as sleep is about to take you. "Hi... you're into older women?" She replies. "Oh yeah. I can't get enough of cougars." You respond. You two have a bit of a friendly back and forth for a while, playfully flirting among some small talk to break the ice. Without giving away too much information, you talk about yourself. Everything she tells you, however, is something you already know.
When the time comes for her to ask for a photo of you, you quickly pull down your shirt and squeeze your tits together, taking a low angle shot with your plump lips the only part of your face shown, parted in an attempt to look sexy despite barely being able to see straight.
"You're so cute. I almost feel bad for what i want to do to you" she says. "When can we meet up?" Nerves are not an issue. Courage is not an issue. Self control is and right now it isn't in the room with you. "Is tonight too late?" There's a pause, with the *is typing* message on the screen. Finally, it reads "Unfortunately, yes. But... can we meet tomorrow? I want you."
You decide to borrow one of your friend's clothes, since you figure she knows your outfits and tastes by now. Well, most of your tastes anyway. If you dress like your friend, she might not catch on until it's too late. You do your makeup differently, going through efforts you normally wouldn't. You tie your hair differently. Capping it off with a face mask, you head to the meeting spot.
She approaches you, double checking it's you from the hookup app. You push your voice lower than normal to obfuscate, easily done since your throat is dry from last night. After the meet up is confirmed, you head to a hotel with her. The moment you two get into the room reserved for the night, she all but tears off your face mask and grabs your face in her hands before making out with you aggressively, sliding her tongue down your throat and trying to pull off your clothes. You go along with it, surprised at how strong she is compared to what you know of her at home.
She pushes you onto the bed and all but tears your pants off of your legs, your panties almost becoming a casualty of her hunger as she gets to work eating you out. It's rough and inelegant, she clearly doesn't have that much experience muff diving. That's okay; you put your hands in her hair and guide her head until her nose is rubbing against your clit, her tongue thrashing eagerly in and out of your dripping wet hole. When she comes up for air she puts two slim, smooth fingers inside, fingerfucking you so well you can't help but moan for her. What she lacks in oral skill she more than makes up for in her dexterity — her fingers reach deeper, more turn-on spots inside you than your own do and your body becomes a quaking less for her.
As you come, you drop your guard and say "Fuck...! Yes, Mommy!" At the top of your lungs, only for her to answer not with the name you gave her in the text conversation, but with your own, actual name. You stare at her in shock as she straddles your thigh, pressing your clits together and scissoring with you. "When did you...?" You moan and throw your head back, barely able to finish your sentence.
"You think I wouldn't recognize my own daughter's tits? The ones I made?" She laughs, a laugh more mean than you're used to but fuck if it doesn't make you almost come again right then and there. "The same tits I've been fucking myself thinking about for years? I've held back for so long around you, and you just offer yourself to me. Of course I'm gonna eat you right up. You asked for it." That pushes you over, and you cum, shuddering and shaking as you do.
The rest of the day is a blur of being used by your mother, hazy recollections of you moaning and mewling for her to make you cum again and again and again. She doesn't let you rest for a moment, and watching her cum only makes you want to do more to please her. To be a good girl and earn her cum and to be able to taste more of the sweet nectar from her pussy. She makes you taste your own, sometimes mixing the two. She makes you call her Mommy like you're a child all over again. It's only when it's time to check out that she reluctantly puts her clothes back on, or at least the minimum to be considered decent.
"We're continuing this when we get home, little girl." She says with a wink, dragging you out of the hotel room.
