It was my best friend’s birthday, one of those endless nights of alcohol, music, and reckless laughter. I had gone with my seven-year-old son. He was running around in the middle of drunk adults who could barely stand. I kept glancing at him, but honestly, my mind was elsewhere.
All night long, I kept running into one of my best friend’s friends. We stole kisses in hidden corners, touched each other quickly, teasing the line, getting hotter every time. The desire grew so strong that I stopped caring about everything else.
When he offered to drive some friends home, I saw the perfect opportunity. Without hesitation, I went with him, leaving my son behind in that mess of a party. It was pure lust guiding me, nothing else.
The moment we were alone, the tension snapped. My hand went straight into his pants, feeling his cock grow hard instantly. He pulled over on a deserted avenue, the city still half asleep. I couldn’t wait any longer: I climbed on top of him, pushed my panties aside, and rode him hungrily.
His cock filled me in one hard thrust, forcing moans out of me. I bounced desperately on him, my tits slapping against his face as he sucked and bit them, his hands gripping my ass, pushing me down deeper. The car rocked with every movement, the windows fogged up, and I lost myself in the fury of fucking him right there.
I came hard on top of him, sweating, gasping for air. Then I quickly fixed my clothes, and we drove back. When I stepped into the house, my son was asleep on the couch, peaceful, completely unaware. I watched him for a moment and felt a knot in my chest: I had given in to my desire that dawn… and the guilt of leaving him behind that night has stayed with me ever since.
