The tension grew with each caress, each whispered word. They knew their audience was waiting for the moment when Jake would finally slide inside her, the ultimate taboo act that would either make or break their career. But they weren't ready to give it to them just yet. Instead, they pushed the boundaries, hinting at what was to come with every lingering glance and lingering touch.

The video ended with the head of Jake's cock poised at her entrance, the anticipation palpable.

They'd cut it just in time, leaving their viewers desperate for more. The comments flooded in, a torrent of excitement and impatience. They'd done it. They'd created a buzz that was impossible to ignore.

But with success came a new set of challenges. Emily found herself torn between the excitement of their newfound venture and the fear of what it could mean for their relationship. She lay in bed at night, her thoughts racing, wondering if she'd made a mistake. Yet, the feel of Jake's strong arms around her, the sweet kisses he'd plant on her forehead, and the way he looked at her with a mix of love and hunger, made her feel alive in a way she hadn't felt in years.

The days grew longer as they worked tirelessly on their next scene. Each rehearsal was a dance of seduction, a test of their boundaries, and a thrilling rush of taboo desire. They studied their scripts, refining their lines, their movements, and their expressions. Marcus, the director, watched with a critical eye, pushing them to be better, to sell the fantasy to their devoted fans.

One evening, after a particularly intense session, Emily found herself alone with Jake in the makeshift studio. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the scent of arousal lingering like a phantom. Jake leaned against the sofa, his jeans straining against his erection, his eyes dark with need. Emily’s gaze drifted downward, her heart pounding against her ribs. She knew what he wanted—what they both needed—to make their performance authentic, passionate, and unforgettable.

"Jake," she murmured, stepping closer until her breath ghosted over his neck. "We need to practice the intimacy. The buildup." Her hand hovered over his thigh, trembling slightly. "Before we film... I want to taste you. Alone. Just us."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and thick with desire. "To take away the tension. So when we finally... connect... it’s not just acting. It’s us." She watched his pupils dilate, his breath catching as her fingers traced the outline of his cock through the denim. "Let me make it real for you."

He didn’t speak, just nodded, his throat working as she sank to her knees on the garage’s concrete floor. The harsh fluorescent lights caught the sweat beading on his brow. Emily’s hands fumbled with his belt buckle, the metallic clink echoing in the silence before she tugged his jeans and boxers down his hips. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head glistening with pre-cum. The musky scent of him filled her nostrils—pure, primal arousal. She leaned in, her tongue flicking out to catch a salty bead from his slit.

Jake gasped, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Mom—" he choked out, but she silenced him by wrapping her lips around the crown, sucking gently.

Her tongue swirled under the ridge, probing the sensitive frenulum before sliding up to press firmly against his piss hole. She lapped at it, the tip of her tongue dipping inside ever so slightly, tasting the faint bitterness mixed with salt.

Jake groaned, fingers tangling in her hair as she took him deeper. Emily began to hum, a low, resonant vibration that traveled straight up his shaft. The sensation sent electric jolts pulsing through his balls, tightening them against his body. She felt the tremor in his thighs, the way his breath hitched. Her own clit throbbed in time with each hum, the vibrations echoing through her pelvis, a dull ache blooming into sharp need. Wetness soaked through her panties.

She pulled back, leaving his cock slick and glistening under the harsh garage lights. A thick strand of saliva connected her lips to his tip before snapping. "Just practice," she whispered, her voice husky. Her eyes locked onto his, pupils blown wide. "For the scene." But her trembling hands as she guided him back into her mouth betrayed her.

She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard, her head bobbing rhythmically. The humming resumed, deeper this time, vibrating against his entire length. Jake threw his head back, a guttural cry escaping him. His hips bucked uncontrollably, driving himself deeper down her throat. Emily gagged slightly, tears pricking her eyes, but didn’t stop. She swallowed around him, the muscles contracting, milking him.

Memories flooded her—not just images, but sensations. The choking stretch of Monster Mike’s legendary ten inches, the acrid taste of latex when a director insisted on condoms, the raw ache in her jaw after hours on set. She’d taken them all, earned her reputation as a throat goat.

But this… this was different. This was Jake. Her son’s thick, twelve-inch cock pulsed against her tongue, stretching her further than any professional ever had.

The sheer taboo ignited a frenzy within her. She remembered the pride in swallowing huge loads directly, feeling the hot spurts hit her stomach. The thought of his cum, her own son’s seed, flooding her belly sent a jolt of pure, electric lust through her core. It wasn’t acting anymore. She craved it. Needed it.

Her head pistoned faster, her nose buried in the coarse curls at his base. Her throat opened, accepting him fully, deep-throating him with a desperate, hungry expertise born of years of practice but fueled now by incestuous madness. She gagged violently, tears streaming freely, but pushed through, her hands gripping his ass, pulling him impossibly deeper.

The scent of him, musky and uniquely Jake, mixed with the taste of pre-cum filled her senses, drowning out reason.

Jake’s world narrowed to the wet, vise-like heat swallowing him whole. He felt the head of his cock push past the tight ring of her gag reflex, deeper, deeper still, until his balls slapped wetly against her chin. The sensation was blinding—her throat muscles rippling, massaging him, her choked gagging vibrating through his shaft.

He looked down. Her mascara ran in black rivers down her flushed cheeks, her eyes wide, watery, locked onto his with a terrifying mix of submission and raw hunger. That look shattered the last fragile barrier.

She wasn’t Mom anymore. She was Emily, the porn star slut he’d jerked off to countless times. His fingers tangled violently in her hair, fisting it tight, pulling her head back slightly before slamming her forward onto his cock. A guttural groan tore from him. “Take it, you fucking whore! Take my cock!” He fucked her throat with brutal, piston-like thrusts, his hips snapping forward relentlessly.

Each slam drove her nose into his pelvis, each withdrawal drew a wet, ragged gasp before she was impaled again. The wet slap of skin, her choked gurgles, his ragged panting—the garage echoed with the obscene pounding of his savage use of her throat. He saw stars, his balls tightening unbearably, drawing up against his body.

He was close, so close. He wanted to paint her face, mark her as his. He pulled her head back violently, dragging his slick cock from her throat with a lewd pop. Her lips were swollen, bruised, saliva and tears coating her chin. She gasped for air, chest heaving, her eyes glazed, unfocused.

“Open wide, slut,” he snarled, his voice thick and ragged. Emily’s mouth fell open instinctively, her tongue lolling out, a silent plea. Jake gripped his cock at the base, the thick shaft pulsing angrily. With a roar that shook the rafters, he erupted. The first thick, pearly rope hit the back of her throat with force, making her gag reflexively. But she held, swallowing convulsively. The second shot splattered across her tongue, thick and viscous. The third, fourth, fifth—they came in a torrent, a volcanic geyser of hot, sticky cum.

Her throat couldn’t contain the sheer volume. It overflowed instantly, thick ropes spurting from her nostrils, bubbling past her lips, cascading down her chin in thick rivulets. Still, he kept coming. Hot, sticky streams plastered her face, filled her open mouth, spilled over her chin and neck, soaking the neckline of her sheer negligée. The sheer volume overwhelmed her. She choked, coughing violently, spraying flecks of cum onto his thighs as the relentless flood coated her exposed cleavage, pooling between her swollen breasts, soaking the delicate fabric until it clung transparently.

The heat of it, the primal musk, the sheer wrongness of being drowned in her own son’s seed ignited Emily’s core like gasoline. Her legs snapped together, then flew apart. A guttural scream ripped from her ruined throat as her own orgasm detonated. Her hips bucked wildly against empty air. Her pussy clenched violently, spraying jets of clear fluid in powerful arcs that splattered loudly onto the cold concrete floor beneath her knees, soaking her thighs, mixing with the dust. Wave after wave crashed over her, her body convulsing uncontrollably as Jake’s cock pulsed its final thick spurts onto her cum-plastered chest.

Emily slumped forward, forehead resting against Jake’s trembling thigh, gasping, shuddering. Her face was a glistening, obscene mask—eyes swollen, mascara smeared into raccoon streaks, lips bruised, chin dripping. Cum coated her neck, pooled in her cleavage, soaked her ruined negligée. Her thighs were slick with her own release.

The garage reeked of sex, sweat, and salt. Jake’s chest heaved, his softening cock slick and glistening. He looked down at her, dazed, triumphant, a primal possessiveness hardening his gaze. His fingers traced the sticky mess on her cheek. "You swallowed most of it," he rasped, awe and lust mingling in his voice.

"Like a fucking champ." Emily whimpered, a sound of utter exhaustion and shattered resolve.

She tilted her head back, meeting his eyes. The shame was there, sharp and cold, but beneath it, roaring louder, was the undeniable thrill. The power. The filthy, intoxicating connection. She licked her swollen lips, tasting him again. "Practice," she breathed, the word thick and slurred. "Just... practice." But her trembling hand reached up, fingers tracing the wet streaks on her chest, scooping up a thick dollop of his cum. She held his gaze as she slowly, deliberately, sucked her fingers clean. The message was clear. She was his. This was real.

Emily pushed herself up, knees aching on the cold concrete. Cum dripped from her chin, plastered her eyelashes, glued strands of hair to her sticky neck. She ignored the mess pooling between her breasts for now. Her focus narrowed to Jake’s softening cock, still slick and glistening under the harsh garage lights. She shuffled closer on her knees, the wet drag of her soaked negligée against her thighs a lewd counterpoint to her ragged breathing. Her hands, sticky with his release, wrapped around his shaft. Not gently. Possessively.

She squeezed the base, feeling the thick vein pulse weakly beneath her fingers. Using her thumbs, she smeared the cooling residue clinging to his skin upwards, working it back towards the flushed head. Her movements were methodical, almost reverent – a porn star reactivating muscle memory. She gathered the thick, pearly strings clinging to his pubic hair, adding them to the mix, coating him thoroughly. Her thumb circled the swollen tip, pressing firmly against the slit, milking out a final, viscous drop. She brought her thumb to her mouth, sucking it clean with a soft, wet pop.

Then, leaning forward, she engulfed the head, swirling her tongue aggressively around the sensitive corona, under the ridge, cleaning every crevice with rough, hungry strokes. The taste – salt, musk, him – flooded her senses anew. She pulled back, leaving his cock glistening, slicked entirely by her saliva and his own spent seed. It stood thicker now, semi-hard again under her ministrations.

"You are ready for tomorrow", Emily declared.