I reunited with bio mom and the rest is history

I sit in my car outside the university library, my heart pounding as I watch Laura emerge from the building. The evening sun dips low, casting long shadows across the parking lot. I have been raised in foster homes my entire life, bouncing from one indifferent family to another, and that emptiness gnaws at me constantly. Even now, with my medical degree fresh in hand and a solid job lined up at the local hospital, I still feel that void, like something essential is missing. That's why I have traced my real family. I dug through records, piecing together fragments of a past I never knew. I discover my dad died in prison, a suicide after years inside for something that sounds twisted. Then I find her: Laura, my biological mother, working as a librarian right here in the same city.

She approaches cautiously when I introduce myself, her blue eyes widening in shock. I stand tall at over six feet, big-boned like the photos I've seen of him, and she stammers that I look exactly like my dad. I'm shocked too, she's stunning, blonde hair framing a youthful face, thin and toned, looking no older than my peers in med school. I take her to a local coffee shop and she begins talking without my prompting. Forgetting to take even a sip of the sugarless black coffee she ordered.

"You look exactly like your father." She says in wonder. "I hope you inherited all his qualities." Qualities I will never know.

She explains in a hurried voice she had me at fourteen, from her only true love, but her parents labeled it rape, sending him to prison where he ended the pain himself. She never married, never had other children, because no one measured up to him. I understand her pain, nodding silently as the weight of it settles between us. She ends the conversation by refusing to reconnect with me or start a relationship , saying it stirs too many bad memories. She is happy that I am well and has no hard feelings but she cannot be a mother to me. I nod, willing away my tears. They obey me and do not drop.

Part of me understands her. Part of me wishes she would give me the parental love I yearn for. However I respect her decision. Since it's evening and the buses have stopped running, I offer to drive her home. She hesitates but agrees, and during the short ride, the air thickens with unspoken words. It's weird that us though we are so biologically connected cannot even talk about the weather.

At her modest apartment door, she invites me in for a cup of coffee, a small gesture which I accept eagerly. Inside, she brews strong coffee and slices cake, setting it on the table with trembling hands. We talk awkwardly, she apologizes profusely for not being there, for not raising me, her voice cracking as she explains the circumstances tore everything apart again. I sip the coffee, the warmth doing little to thaw the chill of abandonment I've carried for years.

At the door, as I prepare to leave, she keeps apologizing, her words tumbling out in a rush. Suddenly, she drops to her knees, her hands fumbling at my belt. "Fuck it," she mutters, yanking my trousers down in one swift motion. My seven-inch thick cock springs free. It's soft because this was the last thing in my mind. Her eyes light up with excitement.
"Yes!" she exclaims, "Just like him!" and without another word, she leans in, wrapping her lips around the head and sucking eagerly. She moans around it—mmmmmmh, mmmmmmmh—her tongue swirling as she bobs her head, taking me deeper into her warm mouth. I am still in shock but a man is a man and my dick gets hard. And feels good too. Yet I cannot explain what is happening.

She pulls back abruptly, standing up with a deep blush coloring her cheeks. "Oh, sorry," she says breathlessly. "I just wanted to confirm if you are really like him... down there." I stare at her, my cock throbbing in the open air, she adds quickly, "I am so sorry. I just have missed him."

I study her almond shaped eyes. Sad eyes. She told me she doesn't want me in her life. What if I never see her again. Maybe this is my only opportunity to make her happy. Against all religions and all moral codes of planet earth I tell her to go on, no problem.

"It's okay, go ahead, kiss it if that makes you happy."I add, my voice steady despite the rush of blood in my ears.

" Are you sure?" she asks, her eyes searching mine. I nod firmly.

"I am sure." She kneels again, this time slower, more sensual, her lips gliding over my shaft as she sucks with deliberate strokes. Her hands grip my thighs, pulling me closer, and she hums softly, building the rhythm until the pressure builds unbearably.

"I am gonna... I am gonna... Cum" I try to pull away but she grabs my butt and sucks harder. I cum hard in her mouth, groaning as thick ropes of semen flood her tongue. She swallows most of it, but some dribbles from the corner of her lips.

I drop to my knees with her, my fingers gently wiping the cum from her mouth, tasting the saltiness as I lean in to kiss her softly.

"Mom,'" I whisper, the word slipping out naturally. She recoils slightly, her expression bitter.

"Don't call me that," she says sharply.

"Okay, Laura," I correct myself quickly. "Let me help you cum also. I want to return the favor." She shakes her head, protesting,

"No, we can't..." But I don't listen. Maybe I have the rapist gene after all. I yank her skirt up and her panties down, using my strength to pin her gently on the floor but firmly against the velvet carpet. The force turns her on; I see it in the way her breath hitches and her thighs part. I bury my face between her legs, my tongue lapping at her slick pussy, forcing her to feel every flick and suck on her swollen clit.

She hasn't been touched in a long time. Her folds are tight, gripping my tongue as I thrust it inside her. She gasps and writhes, her hands tangling in my hair, but I hold her steady, licking relentlessly until her body tenses and she cums with a shuddering cry, her juices coating my chin. I don't stop there. I loom over her, my cock hard.

She spreads her legs willingly now, and I slide into her, her pussy so tight it squeezes me. I fuck her steadily, my hips slamming against hers, the wet sounds filling the room as I drive deep. She moans loudly, her nails digging into my back, and she cums again, her walls clenching around me.

"So good Laura." I find myself saying. I should be mad I should be angry but all I am is fucking turned on. And fucking feeling so much pleasure fucking this woman. I thrust harder sometimes saying unintelligible things. Most times just praising this sweet pussy. Thankfully she is not listening because she is moaning louder than any woman has ever.

"mmmmmmmmmh." She cries out as she convulses and squirts around my rock hard dick. I lean in and kiss her. She kisses back ferociously. I begin rocking again and she starts her sexy moans. I whisper abominable things in her ear about her pussy being so good.

"Your cock.....ooooh.... Ahhhh... is.... Mmmmh... Harder... Oh... Yess.... Mmh cock so good.... Mmmmmh so big..." ooh... ooh." She replies between my thrusts. My own groans muffled.

Her neighbour's must be hearing and jerking off or fingering themselves right now. What a fucking turn on. Her blonde hair is a mess. Her make up too. She looks like a fucking whore. Her eyes roll back but her mouth keeps going moaning so loudly as our wet sounds fill the room. I lean in and kiss her because I am going harder than before. I am ramming her relentlessly because I have never felt such pleasure.

I feel so good. Like all the emptiness I've carried my life dissolves in this moment, replaced by a fierce connection. I thrust without restrain chasing my release. She convulses again cumming moaning into my mouth, I cum with a loud groan, pumping my seed deep inside her, filling her completely. We remain breathless for a short while. Finally, I pull out with a wet pop, watching my cum leak from her pussy.

"Bye, Laura," I say, standing. Wiping my dick with her skirt and pulling up my trousers. She looks up at me the afterglow mixing with a strange satisfaction. She reaches out, holding my hand for a moment, her touch lingering.

"Maybe you can come back again," she murmurs. "We could try having an... um, relationship." I know exactly what she means. Desperate for a mom, for any kind of family, I accept it without hesitation. "I'd like that," I reply, and step out into the evening, the city lights blurring as I drive away, finally feeling a spark of wholeness. Family at last.