Blazing Taboo Nights: A Son’s Wild Surrender in ’72
Down by the misty docks of Blackpool, 1972 dragged on like a hungover sailor. Jake Harlan, all of nineteen and built like a brick shithouse from hauling scrap at the shipyard, slumped on the worn sofa in their cramped terraced house. The sea air seeped through the cracks, salty and sharp, mixing with the faint whiff of fish and chips from the chippy down the lane. His muscles ached from a twelve-hour shift, but sleep wouldn’t come. Not after that godawful night with Tara, the cheeky lass from the welding crew.
Links: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
It started promising enough, that date. Tara with her fiery red curls and freckles dusting her ample tits, giggling as they necked pints at the Anchor Arms. But two rounds in, she turned green, puked her guts out in the alley behind the pub—chunks of shepherd’s pie splattering the cobbles. Jake dragged her limp ass home through the drizzle, her ma slamming the door in his face, screeching about pervy intentions. “Filthy bastard, trying to shag my girl while she’s paralytic!” Soaked to the bone, cock throbbing from frustration, he’d stumbled home alone. Wanked furiously to a crumpled mag under the covers, but it was empty release. Now, past midnight, the front door creaked open.
His mum, Lena, tottered in, heels clicking unevenly on the lino. Thirty-eight and still a knockout—curvy hips swaying like a siren’s call, blonde waves tumbling to her shoulders, blue eyes sharp as cut glass. She poured pints at the local tavern, dodging grabs from pissed fishermen. Tonight, she’d dolled up in a slinky red number hugging her full D-cups and round arse, lips painted crimson. But her face? Stormy. She kicked off her shoes, sighing deep, the scent of her perfume—jasmine and smoke—wafting over.
Chapter 1: Whiskey Whispers and Broken Dates 🔥
“Fuckin’ hell, Jake love,” Lena muttered, flopping beside him, her thigh brushing his. Warmth radiated through her stockings. “What a prick that Barry turned out to be. Blabbered on about his yacht club bollocks all night. Yacht club! In Blackpool? Nearly stabbed him with the breadknife when he tried groping me under the table.”
Jake chuckled, low and rough, handing her a tumbler of whiskey from the sideboard. Their ritual for shitty evenings. “Worse than my disaster with Tara. Bird downed three ales and hurled everywhere. Her old lady thought I roofied her or summat.”
Lena sipped, eyes locking on his. “Poor lad. We’re magnets for tossers, eh?” She leaned in, breath hot with booze, hand resting on his knee. Jake’s pulse hammered. Lena was no prude—pub tales of shagging regulars slipped out now and then—but this closeness? Electric. Her fingers traced lazy circles, inching up. The room felt thicker, air heavy with unspoken ache.
“Y’know, Jake,” she purred, voice husky, “sometimes a girl’s gotta take matters into her own hands. Or… other places.” She winked, tugging her dress strap down, exposing creamy shoulder. Jake’s cock twitched, straining his jeans. Virgin territory for him—shipyard lads bragged, but he’d only fumbled once at sixteen.
She stood, swaying hips, unzipping slow. The red fabric pooled at her feet. Black lace bra straining over those heavy tits, matching thong barely covering her shaved mound through sheer tights. “Like what you see, son? Been too long since a real man appreciated these.”
Jake gulped, mouth dry as sand. “Mum… Lena… fuck, yeah. You’re smokin’.” His hands shook as she pulled him up, pressing against him. Her nipples poked hard through lace, rubbing his chest. She ground her hips, feeling his bulge. “Christ, you’re hung like your da was. Feel that? Mummy’s cunt’s dripping for you.”
Crude words ignited him. He groped her arse, kneading the soft flesh, inhaling her musky arousal mixing with perfume. She yanked his shirt off, nails raking his pecs, then dropped to knees. Zipper down, his thick eight-incher sprang free, veiny and throbbing. Precum beaded the tip. “Mmm, tasty,” Lena growled, tongue swirling the head, salty tang exploding. She sucked deep, gagging wetly, slurps echoing. Jake groaned, fingers in her hair, hips bucking.
“Gonna fuck your face, Mum?” he rasped, surprising himself. She hummed yes, throat bulging as he thrust. Spit drooled down her chin, tits bouncing. Balls tightened—too soon. “Shit, comin’!” Ropes of hot cum blasted her mouth, thick and bitter. Lena swallowed greedily, milking every drop. “Good boy. Now, return the favor.”
She sprawled on the sofa, ripping tights open, thong aside. Pink pussy lips glistened, clit swollen. Jake dove in, tongue lapping her tangy juices, nose buried in blonde curls. She bucked, moaning filthy: “Eat Mummy’s sloppy twat, Jake! Suck that clit harder!” Fingers pinched her nipples as she came, squirting sweet nectar on his chin.
Storm Brewing
Panting, they tumbled to the rug. Lena straddled him, guiding his reloaded cock to her sopping hole. “No rubber, love. Fill me raw.” She sank down, velvet walls gripping like a vice. Jake thrust up, balls-deep, her arse slapping his thighs. Tits jiggled wildly; he latched on, sucking hard, tasting sweat. “Fuck me harder, you big-dicked stud! Pound Mummy’s womb!”
Sweat-slick skin slapped, room reeking of sex. Her pussy clenched, milking him through her orgasm—walls fluttering, juices gushing. Jake flipped her doggy-style, slamming brutal. “Take it, slut-mum! Your son’s cock owns this cunt!” He spanked her arse red, fingers teasing her puckered hole. She pushed back, begging: “Finger my shithole, baby!” One digit plunged in, tight and hot. Double-stuffed, she screamed, cumming again.
Jake roared, flooding her depths with seed—pulse after pulse, overflowing down her thighs. They collapsed, sticky and spent, hearts pounding in unison. “That was… insane,” he whispered. Lena kissed him deep, cum-tang on her tongue. “Our secret, yeah? Just tonight.”
Chapter 2: Morning After Haze 💋
Sun pierced the lace curtains, salt wind rattling windows. Jake woke tangled in sheets, Lena’s scent clinging—musk and jasmine. Memories flooded: her screams, his cum dripping from her. Cock hardened instantly. Downstairs, bacon sizzled, greasy promise.
Lena hummed at the stove, robe loose, cleavage spilling. “Morning, stud. Tea?” Her smile wicked, but eyes flicked guilty. Jake hugged her from behind, erection nestling her arse crack. “God, Mum, last night…” She stiffened, then melted. “Shh. Mistake, love. Delicious, but wrong. Eat up.”
Awkward silence over brekkie, forks clinking. Shipyard called, but tension simmered. At work, Jake hammered rivets, mind replaying her pussy’s grip. Tara smirked past, but he ignored—now he knew real bliss. Evening, pub shift kept Lena out. Jake fixed the leaky tap, wrench slick like her juices.
She stumbled in late, tipsy, laughter bubbling. “Packed house tonight! Blokes drooling.” Jake pulled her close. “Missed you.” Kiss deepened, hands roaming. “Not again,” she murmured, but peeled off her uniform—brassiere unhooked, heavy breasts freed. Nipples erect in cool air.
This time, slower. Jake worshipped her body, tongue tracing stretchmarks from his birth, irony burning. Sucked toes, licked calves, devoured thighs. “My perfect Mum-slut,” he growled. She quivered. On kitchen table, legs spread wide, he ate her out leisurely, savoring every fold, clit throbbing under flicks. “Tastes better than oysters, you filthy bitch.”
Lena arched, fingers twisting tablecloth. “Jake, yes! Make Mummy cum!” Gush after gush. Then, she bent over sink, arse up. “Fuck my arse, son. Da never did.” Lube from drawer—spit-slick finger first, stretching her ring. His cockhead nudged, popping in slow. Tight fire gripped him. “Oh fuck, so full!” Inch by inch, balls to cheeks. He railed her, plumbing deep, her moans guttural. “Destroy my shitter! Cum in Mummy’s guts!”
Prostate-milking thrusts undid him; he erupted, painting her bowels white. She fingered her pussy to match, orgasm rippling through. Collapsed giggling, cum leaking. “Twice? We’re doomed.”
Whispers of Guilt
Next days blurred—work, telly, stolen gropes. Jake’s mate, Cal, pitched new gig: apprentice plumber at building boom site. “Better dosh, lad. Future-proof.” Jake mulled, Lena nodding approval post-fuck. “Smart move, unlike your da bailing early.” Da’d drowned at sea years back, leaving bills and blues.
Chapter 3: Seaside Temptation and Rising Tides
Saturday dawned golden. “Beach trip?” Lena suggested, packing hamper—sandwiches, ale, crisps. Rare escape from grind. Blackpool pier bustled, seagulls screeching, waves crashing frothy. Salt spray kissed skin, sand gritty under towels.
Lena in bikini—scandalous triangles barely containing melons, thong bisecting arse. Jake ogled, cock tenting trunks. “Eyes up, perv,” she teased, oiling her front, fingers dipping cleavage. He returned, hands slippery on her belly, thighs, brushing mound. “Mmm, cheeky.”
Swim cooled urges, but paddling, her body bumped his underwater—tits on chest, hand grazing bulge. “Naughty boy.” Back on sand, sheltered dune, passions flared. Bikini top untied, tits out—sun-warmed, he suckled like babe reborn. “Milk Mummy’s udders,” she hissed. Pussy ground his thigh, wet spot blooming.
Fingers invaded her thong, three knuckle-deep, curling G-spot. She bit his shoulder stifling screams, squirting arc soaking sand. “Fuck me here!” Bent over cooler, bikini bottom yanked, he plunged bare. Ocean roared cover for slaps, her “Harder, breed me!” Waves lapped ankles as he hammered, tits swinging. Pulled out last sec, cum ropes striping her arse. Licked clean, tangy-salt mix.
Picnic tasted divine post-orgasm—ham salty as cum, ale foamy. Talk turned deep. “Jake, this… it’s fire. But gotta stop.” He nodded, heart sore. Yet home, shower together led to soapy anal, her soaping his balls, rimming ass. Night blurred in fevered rutting.
New Horizons Glimmer
Monday, Cal hooked interview. Boss, grizzled Ron, liked Jake’s grit. “Start tomorrow, lad. Plumb new flats—steady work.” Lena beamed over shepherd’s pie. “Proud, love.”
Chapter 4: Strangers and Stirring Jealousy 🔥
Weeks flew, Jake plumbing pipes by day, sneaking fucks by night. Lena’s shifts overlapped less; she glowed, tales of “nice punter Victor.” Jake’s gut twisted first time she mentioned dinner.
“Victor’s solid, widower like me post-Da. Mechanic.” Shopping run, bus stop chat. Tall bloke, salt-pepper hair, approached: “Lena Harlan? Christ, years!” Hugs, laughs. Jake seethed silent, lugging bags home.
Evening, Victor dined—roast beef juicy, veg steaming. Banter flowed, job talk. “Plumbing boom, eh? Smart switch from yards.” Jake forced smiles, cock jealous under table. Post-dinner, Victor split early; Lena sighed content.
Bedroom waited. “Jealous, son?” Lena stripped, pussy puffy from thoughts? Jake ravaged: tits slapped, pussy fisted shallow, her screams “Only your cock owns this hole!” He double-penetrated with thumb in ass, her squirting pint. Flipped to pronebone, drilling cervix. “Cum in me, claim Mummy!” He did, excess bubbling. Victor faded in afterglow.
Dates ramped. Victor overnighted first weekend Jake crashed mate’s. Woke to moans—Lena riding him next room. Rage-fueled wank. Confront? No, beach redux: furious hate-fuck on pier shadows, choking her lightly, “Mine first!” Anal creampie under stars.
Threads Unraveling
Jake met Becca, salon girl—petite brunette, eager mouth. Dates sweet: cinema, shags vanilla. But Becca paled to Lena’s depravity. Dumped after three. Focus work, Victor.
Chapter 5: Fading Embers and New Paths 💋
Months on, Victor proposed seaside walk. Lena accepted tearful. “He’s good, Jake. You too—Becca was nice.” Wedding small, Jake best man. “Hurt?” she whispered. “Nah, happy.” Lie half-true.
Jake journeyman now, earning fat. Becca back, upgraded—rimjobs, threesome teases. Married year later, kids followed: twins rowdy.
Lena-Victor solid, grandkids spoiled. Jake’s memory? That blistering fortnight—raw cock in every hole, her filth chants eternal. One blaze, forever scorched.
Chapter 6: Echoes in the Salt Wind
Years layered like dune sand. Twenty twenty-five anniversary dawns for Jake-Becca, beach bash planned. Lena rings, voice honey: “Remember ’72 summers?” Jake chuckles, cock stirring. “How could I forget?”
Nostalgia pulls strings. Victor passed gentle two years back; Lena lonely-ish. Reunion lunch: eyes lock hungry. Post-pudding, guest room. “One last?” Clothes shred. Aged graceful—she fifty-eight, curves lush; he thirty-nine, ripped.
69 frenzy: her throat deep-throating, gagging cum; his tongue storming ass-pussy medley. Reverse cowgirl, arse rippling slams. “Still Mummy’s bull!” Strangle-play edge, her orgasms violent, nails drawing blood. Missionary deep, eye-fuck: “Love you always.” Creampie crescendo, mixing old-new seed.
Collapse tender. “Secret dies with us.” Fade out, waves crashing eternal. Life’s river flowed on—jobs solid, families thrive—but that taboo forge? Unbreakable alloy.
Blackpool winds whispered secrets, salt eternal on lips.
