My Gold-Digger Stepmom

"Moan for me, Mom! Let your husband hear your moan while I’m pounding you harder!” he growled, his voice a lethal mix of anger and lust. He didn't wait for me to answer. He gripped my hips with bruising force, lifting my lower body to meet his every vicious thrust. Each time he bottomed out inside me, I felt my sanity slipping. The bed groaned under the weight of our sin, the sound echoing in the quiet room where my husband lay dying. "Henry... stop... he might... ahhh!" I gasped, my head tossing back as he rammed himself into me without mercy. "That's the point," he hissed, leaning down to bite my earlobe. "I want him to know that while he's fading away, I’m the one f*cking his wife. I’m the one owning every inch of you." He accelerated the pace, his body hitting mine with a rhythmic, wet thud that made my skin burn. Every shove was deeper, harder, and more primal. I wanted to scream in shame, but the pleasure he was forcing out of me was traitorous. My moans were becoming louder, more desperate, filling the space between us until I couldn't tell if I was crying or begging for more. "Look at him, mom," he commanded, forcing my face toward the other bed. "Look at him while I fill you up. Tell him how good your stepson feels inside you!" I was drowning. Between the fear of being caught and the electric heat of his relentless pounding, I finally broke. My fingers dug deep into his sweating shoulders, and as he delivered one final, soul-shaking thrust, I arched my back in total surrender. I could feel his hot c0ck deep inside my passage—so hard and so good that I felt myself on the verge of coming! Every pulse between my thighs felt like it was exploding, syncing with every deep, heavy shove he buried inside me.