Leaning down, he covers my mouth with his and we kiss deeply. It’s soft, but deep. He rolls his hips inside me, making me moan out against his lips,...my fingers clinging deep into his forearms. The way he rolls his hips is gentle, but overwhelming with pleasure. “Are you okay,” he asks softly, looking down at me. His hair is hanging over his face lightly. I can’t help but smile, “of course I am. I want more, I’m okay. It’s perfect.” His lips meet mine once more; he slowly begins to thrust. I realized this was starting to get me more wet than even the even spanking had, and my nipples had already been erect for a while. I prayed to God he didn't notice. My genuine arousal was tempered by the reminder that this was my son, and this was wrong, and I should not like it. I felt deeply ashamed that I was enjoying it. "Well, Mother, you used to spank me maybe once a month, but once I was an adult that increased to 3 or 4 times a week. You seemed to find any excuse to spank me! And. More

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