Empty Nest Mom

Zac bursts into the house, papers clutched tight, buzzing with that fresh thrill. 'Hey, Mom! I got into college!' He bolts through the rooms, spotting his step-mom, London River, in the master bedroom. Her back's to him, shirt halfway over her head, stripping down smooth. He freezes—doesn't want to turn this into some cringey peep show—so he calls out, 'Mom? It's me.' She spins around, barely a stitch on, but owns it like a queen, flashing a warm smile. 'Hey, kiddo.' He stammers an apology for crashing in, but she waves it off. 'No big deal. What's with the papers?' Grinning ear to ear, he spills it: accepted for fall. They crash into a hug, celebrating big. They've done this dance before, but damn, her full, heavy breasts smash right against his chest, sending his pulse racing. He squeezes a beat longer, smirks dreamily, hands sliding slow along her back—almost too smooth, too teasing—until she winces sharp. He jerks back, face heating up, worried he's crossing lines he didn't mean to. London eases away, rolling those shoulders, making it crystal clear it's just soreness talking, not his touch. 'You okay?' he asks, all concern. She shrugs again. 'Fresh from workout class—barely home.' He admits he's no pro but offers a rubdown anyway. She jumps on it. 'Your dad's too busy for that sweet stuff.' Papers hit the bed; they settle in. He kneads her shoulders from behind, rough and fumbling at first. 'Sorry, I'm crap at this,' he mutters, cheeks burning. 'You'll nail it—listen to me,' she says, guiding his thumbs deeper. Technique sharpens quick; his face goes all starry-eyed again, hands wandering forward over her collarbone, inching toward those tempting curves. 'What're you up to?' she teases, voice playful as hell. His eyes bug out—fingers damn near grazing her tits. 'Nothing!' He yanks back like he's scorched. She twists to face him, eyes soft. 'It's normal, Zac. I'm your step-mom—spill whatever's brewing.' He confesses: Dad's slacking, leaving her high and dry. He should be the one kneading her knots, not me. She melts a bit. 'That means the world. You're your old man's twin, but way sweeter, way more tuned in.' He puffs up, sits taller, locks eyes with her—pure spark. Then rubs his neck, chuckling awkward. 'Uh, massage on? Don't wanna stare like a lovesick pup.' She grins wicked. 'Lie down—full body this time.' Hell yes. He swings a leg over, straddling her hips, working shoulders to spine. Touches turn electric, pulling low moans and 'yeah, right there' from her lips. He leans in deep, grinding into it—his rock-hard cock nudging her ass firm. She peeks back, smirking. 'Excited to see me?' Horror hits; he bolts upright, palms slapping over his throbbing bulge. 'Sorry! Hormones, man!' She laughs, hips arching up just a tease. He's wrecked—flushed, horny, done—so he scrambles off. Her fun fades to real worry. 'Talk to me.' He sighs it out: Dad's ghosting her, and yeah, he digs her bad. Feels twisted but true. She looks at him all warm and wanting. 'I miss your dad too, but I've got you—and that's gold. College is coming; our vibe's shifting. Let me school you—not just massages, but how to make a woman scream happy.' His brain shorts out, dream exploding real. Sign him up, twice over!