Dude’s term for a woman in whom he has no interest other than sex.
A woman whose sole purpose is to provide sexual relief for her boyfriend or master.
Fuckmeat
by Pan
“Felix!” Sandra gasped, as she entered her son’s bedroom.
He was naked, pounding into a girl on his bed. He knew that his mother was home, and he was… he was…. he hadn’t even closed the door!
“Oh, hey mom,” he said, not slowing down for a second. The girl seemed similarly unworried—all Sandra could see were her long, shapely legs and an expanse of blonde hair.
She couldn’t help but notice how toned her son’s body was. He was skinny, but all the muscle he did have was clearly defined and lean, and his butt looked downright fantastic, flexing with every thrust. She could see his balls, too; large and full and hanging heavily between his legs, bouncing up and down from the force of his thrusts.
“Um, I, er...” she said, unable to tear her eyes away.
Felix just grunted, and kept going.
The girl on the bed began to twitch and moan, and Sandra saw her legs wrap around her son’s back. “Oh, fuck, Felix... I’m cumming!”
“Almost done, Mom. You can wait until I’ve finished with her, right?”
The question was enough to snap her out of it. Sandra turned and left, blushing furiously. She couldn’t... he couldn’t...
When she was alone, she fell against the wall, breathing heavily. She’d known her little man was growing up—he was nineteen!—but she hadn’t realized how far it had gone.
She wanted nothing more than to deny the heat she could feel between her legs. She wasn’t sopping wet, she was just... she was just...
It was a perfectly natural response to watching any two humans copulate.
Even if one of them happened to be her son.
Sandra avoided her son for the rest of the day. Fortunately, her daughter came home soon, and chatting to Catherine helped distract her from her thoughts. It was a completely normal conversation: ‘hey, how’s school going, how was your test, what did you get up to today’, and she was grateful for it.
The next morning, Catherine went to school, and—alone in the house with her son—Sandra knew she had to talk to him.
“Oh, hey mom,” Felix said, as casually as he had yesterday.
She was glad to see that he was dressed, this time, but couldn’t help but notice how tight his pants looked. Was that a bulge she saw pres against them?
“We need to talk about yesterday,” she said, trying to keep her eyes on his face. “Who was that?”
“Who?”
“The... the woman!”
“Oh,” Felix laughed. “That was Chloe. You Chloe, right?”
Sandra’s eyebrows shot up. Chloe was known to be bad news—she was eighteen, in the same grade as Catherine, and Sandra was constantly hearing stories about her. Mostly to do with how many guys she’d been through, but there were also the drugs, the drinking, the smoking, and the partying...
“Felix!” she exclaimed, for the second time in two days. “I do not want you dating that girl!“
“Dating?” Sandra’s son’s nose wrinkled. “Who said anything about dating? Naw, Mom: she’s just fuckmeat.”
Sandra’s eyes widened. “She’s what?“
“She’s just fuckmeat,” Felix shrugged.
Sandra stared at her son, unable to believe what she’d heard.
“Y’know,” he said, as though the word he’d just used was in any way acceptable.
“No, Felix, I absolutely do not! That’s the most vulgar, misogynistic, disgusting thing I’ve ever heard in my life!” Sandra felt her temper rising. “I don’t want to hear you talking like that again. And I don’t want you anywhere near Chloe!“
Rather than the cowering ‘yes, Mom’ she’d been hoping for, Felix yawned, and turned his attention back to his phone.
“I don’t know what the big deal is,” he said nonchalantly. “She’s just fuckmeat.”
For the rest of the day, her son’s words rattled around inside her head, and she found herself unable to focus on anything else.
Fuckmeat.
Fuckmeat.
She was just… fuckmeat.
Sandra had to find out what he meant.
She’d never been very tech-savvy, but she had a phone, so it was simple enough to fire up a web browser and type in the word.
As the search results began to load, Sandra realized she was shaking. She couldn’t the last time she’d been this angry, this disappointed in her own offspring.
The first page of results was porn, but she scrolled down until she found some sort of online dictionary. She clicked the link, and gasped.
Fuckmeat:
Sandra was a modern, liberated woman. She’d been to the rallies, read the books, attended the classes. She knew that men’s attitudes had improved over her lifetime, but were still a long, long way from perfect. And she’d prided herself on raising a man who would respect women, and treat them as equals. She’d been so proud of her son, even when he’d gone through his teenage years.
But now... this?
Where had she gone wrong? Where had her sweet, respectful son picked this word up? It was vile, disgusting, offensive...
And, she had to it, a little hot.
After all, it wasn’t like Chloe hadn’t been enjoying herself. Sandra had been single for well over two decades (raising two children doesn’t give you much time for dating), but she ed what really good sex had felt like. Not the ionate, gentle lovemaking she’d had with Felix’s father… no, the ‘bad boys’ she’d dated before that.
She ed what it had felt like to be used for sex. Used, like Felix had been using Chloe.
Used like fuckmeat.
Sandra shook her head, and put her phone down. What was wrong with her? Her son was turning into some kind of chauvinist, and she was fantasizing about... she was fantasizing about being fuckmeat!
She needed a shower. A nice, cold shower.
Unsure of how to bring the topic up with Felix, Sandra just gave a general lecture to both of her children about the inappropriateness of doing anything sexual at home while other people were around. Catherine had clearly wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor, and Felix just had a half-smile on his face the whole time Sandra was talking.
She felt herself blushing more and more as she continued speaking, until eventually she couldn’t handle the embarrassment, stopped mid-sentence, and walked away.
Sandra was having a lot more cold showers these days.
A week ed, and Sandra had almost managed to put the thought out of her mind... when she ed her son’s room and heard a familiar sound coming from within.
Almost as though she couldn’t help herself, Sandra flung open her son’s door, prepared to tell Chloe that she didn’t care how close the teenage girl was to orgasm, she had to get out!
But it wasn’t Chloe in her son’s bed. It was someone else entirely.
Felix’s ass looked just as good, if not better, than before, flexing as he fucked the moaning woman on his bed. His balls looked fuller, too, and they made an even more delicious slapping sound as they hit her pussy lips. She was older, with bigger tits and a little bit more fat around her middle, and her hands were tied to the headboard… with a pair of Sandra’s stockings!
“Fuck, Felix, that feels amazing!” she moaned, as Felix’s hips moved faster and faster. “Oh, fuck, that’s so wrong! You’re my son’s friend, you shouldn’t be...“
“Shut up, slut,” Felix grunted, and slapped the woman’s tits. They jiggled, and Sandra gasped. She knew who this woman was—it was Linda, the mother of Felix’s best friend.
The happily-married mother of Felix’s best friend.
“Felix!”
“Hey, mom,” her son said casually, just as he had the previous time. His attention was clearly on the naked, writhing woman on his bed.
Sandra watched as her son grabbed the woman by her neck and started to squeeze. She gasped, and moaned even louder, and Sandra couldn’t help but notice that her pussy was literally dripping as her hips bucked up to meet Felix’s thrusts.
“Ah!” Linda moaned. “Ah, fuck! Felix, I’m going to cum! You’re so big, oh, fuck!”
Sandra couldn’t believe it. She’d met Linda a number of times; she seemed like such a nice woman. She and her husband were active in the church, and had been married for a long time. How had her son...
“I’m going to cum, too,” Felix grunted, and then his thrusts became faster and wilder, and the room was filled with his heavy panting and the sound of Linda’s orgasmic screams.
Sandra couldn’t look away. She watched as her son buried himself in the woman on his bed and came, his balls twitching, his ass cheeks clenching and unclenching.
It wasn’t until their breathing began to slow down that Sandra realized what she was doing. She was standing in her son’s room, watching him have sex, her panties soaked and her nipples were stiff.
She needed to get out of there. She needed to get out now.
“Felix!” she exclaimed, and fled before she could get a response.
She was clenching and unclenching her fists in the living room when Felix finally entered. He was wearing a bathrobe, and his hair was still damp from the shower.
“Hey, Mom.”
Sandra stood. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded. “Having sex, in my house, with a married woman, while her husband is at home?”
Felix shot her a strange look, like she’d just asked him why pop tarts didn’t vote in local elections.
“Mom, seriously, don’t worry about it. It’s not like that.”
“No?? Then, please, tell me: what is it like?“
Felix shrugged. “She’s just fuckmeat.”
Again? Really?
“Your best friend’s mother?!”
“It’s no big deal, Mom. It’s not, like, an affair. She’s just… fuckmeat.” The casualness with which her son spoke made her shiver.
Fuckmeat.
At the image that popped into Sandra’s head—Linda, splayed out on her son’s bed, moaning and groaning as he took her—she lost her mettle. Without saying another word, Sandra got up, left the room, and took the coldest of cold showers that she could bear.
She tried to talk to Linda, to try to understand what had possessed her. She had to call three times before she got hold of the woman.
“Look, um... Linda, I saw what you did with my son. I was hoping we could talk about it.”
“What I did with your son?” The woman sounded genuinely confused.
Sandra could feel herself blushing. “Well, you know, in his bed...”
“Oh, that,” Linda said casually. “Don’t worry about it. I was just fuckmeat.”
Sandra took a moment to compose herself, so she didn’t just shriek down the phone in frustration.
Fuckmeat.
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, it’s nothing serious.” Linda laughed. “I’m not, like, grooming your son or anything like that. It’s just sex, y’know?”
Sandra didn’t know, but none of her follow-up questions seemed to be able to make Linda understand that. After the call, Sandra found her mind returning to the same thought over and over again.
Fuckmeat.
Fuckmeat.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t get the word out of her head.
Fuckmeat.
It was almost two weeks later, and Sandra was having a hard day.
She’d slept badly. She’d had bad dreams, dreams of Felix, dreams of Felix and Linda. Dreams of Chloe and Felix.
Dreams of her and Felix.
And in every one, she heard his voice, over and over:
“She’s just fuckmeat.”
“Just a little piece of fuckmeat.”
“Mom, you’re fuckmeat.”
She woke up, drenched in sweat and panting, and she was starting to worry about the size of their next water bill. It felt like she spent half her day taking cold showers to deal with the heat that had built between her legs.
She was distracted, too. Every little thing was a reminder. She’d be watching TV, and she’d see two characters in a scene together. One would be a man, and the other would be a woman. She’d wonder what their relationship was: lovers? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Husband and wife?
Or was she just fuckmeat?
If there was a woman alone in a scene, Sandra would imagine the woman, naked, beneath her son, and the words would come back into her head.
Fuckmeat.
She’s just fuckmeat.
If she went grocery shopping, she would the women in her neighborhood and wonder: Was this woman fuckmeat? Or this one? Or that one?
Her son’s reach seemed limitless. Every day, he’d bring another woman back to the house. She never saw the same fuckmeat twice; there was a steady stream of girls, and women, and cougars. And whenever she’d ask Felix about them, she’d always get the same answer.
“Who was that?”
“Just fuckmeat.”
Worst of all, every time the word ‘fuckmeat’ crossed her mind, she had to stifle a moan. There was something so erotically dehumanizing about it. They weren’t people to Felix, they were just... meat.
Just meat, for him to fuck.
They weren’t people. They were barely women.
They were just bodies, for him to use, to satisfy himself.
For him to stick his dick into.
They were just fuckmeat.
And the thought that her own son might have turned into such a man, that he could view women as little more than objects, was horrifying. At the same time, he didn’t seem to have changed at all, otherwise. He was the same sweet, thoughtful, funny, and respectful boy that he’d been before.
He just also had an endless supply of fuckmeat, and no hesitation ing it. ing them.
They were just fuckmeat.
Now, when Sandra heard the sounds of copulation coming from her son’s bedroom, she couldn’t help but peek in. She didn’t stay and watch, as she had the first few times, but she needed to see who it was.
She needed to know who else was just a piece of fuckmeat to her son.
Their neighbor, a forty-five year old woman who had barely exchanged two words with Sandra for the fifteen years they’d lived next to each other.
That same neighbor’s twenty-three year old daughter.
Their realtor, who Sandra had believed to be a lesbian.
Sandra’s dentist.
Felix’s high-school principal (she’d retired a few years ago, and she was nearly sixty!).
An attractive woman in a business suit that Sandra had never seen before and never saw again.
More and more women, too many to count.
Every now and then, Sandra would try to talk to her son about the way he was acting. Every now and then, she would lecture him about respect.
But it always went the same way.
“I don’t know what the big deal is, Mom. They’re just fuckmeat!”
On that day, the day that changed everything, Sandra had woken from a particularly intense dream, in which her body was being held in place while her son fucked her.
She hadn’t been able to look at him during breakfast.
She’d gone grocery shopping, and she hadn’t even been able to look at the other women there. How many of them were her son’s fuckmeat?
How many of them would be?
And when she came home, sure enough, there was the sound of fucking coming from her son’s room. She put the groceries down in a hurry, and rushed to the door. Her hand shook as she pushed it open...
And there was Felix, on top of a gasping, moaning Catherine, her legs wrapped around his back.
Sandra screamed.
Felix, mid-thrust, looked over at the doorway.
“Hey, Mom.”
Sandra rushed forward and pulled her son off the bed, and off her daughter. Catherine was moaning and writhing, and her eyes were rolled back in her head.
She slapped Felix on the chest, and he just stood there, looking confused.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, feeling her temper rise.
“Um... having sex?”
“With your own sister?!” Sandra demanded. “What is wrong with you?!”
Felix frowned. “Mom, come on. It’s not like it’s a big deal.”
Sandra’s eyes widened. No. He couldn’t be about to say...
“It’s just sex. She’s just fuckmeat.”
And then Sandra’s hand flew, and connected with her son’s cheek.
He didn’t even flinch.
Sandra stared at him, her eyes wide, her hand on her mouth. She’d hit him! She’d actually assaulted her son—even when he’d young, she’d never so much as spanked him.
“You must be the worst son ever!” she said, her voice shaking. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. “You just... you just...”
“Mom, you need to relax.” Catherine said, picking up a blanket to cover her naked body. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Sandra turned to face her daughter. “What are you saying, Catherine?”
Catherine smiled, and shrugged. “Mom, I’m just fuckmeat. It isn’t anything more than that.”
Sandra was speechless. She looked from Catherine, to Felix, and back again, and then she shook her head. “I can’t... I just...”
Catherine took her by the shoulder and gently guided her to the door. “Why don’t you have a nice cold shower,” she cooed, and Sandra nodded, numb.
It wasn’t until she was in the shower that she realized Catherine had turned straight around and gone back into her brother’s bedroom.
She was in there, with him, having sex.
Catherine was… Catherine was fuckmeat.
Fuckmeat.
And Sandra couldn’t get the image out of her head. Her son’s muscular ass, flexing and tensing as he pounded into her daughter. Into his own sister!
She turned the shower down; there was no heat at all, just freezing cold water... but it wasn’t enough. She could feel the heat of arousal between her legs, and she couldn’t ignore it. Her nipples were stiff and sensitive, and her hand brushed against them.
Catherine was her brother’s fuckmeat.
Sandra’s hand crept down between her legs and began to rub, and she gasped as her fingers made with her clit. She couldn’t believe how wet she was, how swollen, how sensitive.
Felix was using his sister for sex. Her body was just fuckmeat.
She wasn’t a person.
She was just fuckmeat.
Catherine was her brother’s fuckmeat, and Sandra couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was masturbating in the shower while her son fucked his sister, and the thought was turning her on more than anything had in her life.
Sandra began to rub faster. She could feel an orgasm building, and she was powerless to resist. The cold water, the chill, the numbness, was almost an afterthought in comparison to the fire burning in her cunt, to the heat that she felt at the knowledge that her children were fucking in the next room.
Her children were fucking.
Catherine was Felix’s fuckmeat.
Sandra gasped, and bit her lip to stifle a scream. She had to be quiet. She couldn’t let her son, or her daughter—her son’s piece of fuckmeat—hear what she was doing. Her hips bucked against her hands, and she rubbed harder, and faster...
Catherine was her son’s fuckmeat.
Her daughter was Felix’s fuckmeat.
Catherine was her brother’s fuckmeat!
Fuckmeat.
With a cry that she was unable to keep from slipping out, Sandra came, her body shuddering, her knees giving way as she sank to the bottom of the shower and let the cold water run over her.
When her orgasm finally subsided, when she was once more in control of herself, Sandra turned off the water and stepped out.
She toweled herself off and stared at herself in the mirror.
How could he? His own sister. He had so many girls, so many women to fuck. He had so much fuckmeat—why did he need Catherine?
And why didn’t he use his Mom like that?
Apparently Felix wasn’t above using the same piece of fuckmeat multiple times—either Sandra just hadn’t caught him with the same person twice, or the convenience of having his sister on-hand was just too much to up, because after that day, Sandra caught Felix using his sister almost every day.
She never said anything. She had nothing to say. There was no point. She’d tried everything, and the only thing that was waiting for her on the other side of those conversations was the phrase that had haunted her thoughts and her dreams.
Fuckmeat.
They didn’t just limit themselves to the bedroom, either. She’d walk in on them on the couch, or sometimes just in the hallway, or the kitchen. She’d seen her son’s thrusting butt more times than she could count, and she was so familiar with the sound of Catherine’s screaming orgasms that she could have mimicked them like a parrot.
Sandra had never been so horny in her life. It wasn’t even the thought of sex—she’d been single for a long time, but she wasn’t desperate. It was the thought of being a man’s fuckmeat that made her so hot.
The thought of being Felix’s fuckmeat.
She started masturbating while watching them. Standing there, unable to take her eyes away from the sight of her son using her daughter, her fingers would move automatically between her legs.
And every time she came, she would have to bite down on her lip to stop herself from screaming “fuckmeat” as her orgasm washed over her.
Fuckmeat.
She knew it wasn’t healthy. She knew it wasn’t good. But, somehow, she couldn’t stop. Every time she saw Felix and Catherine fucking, the word ‘fuckmeat’ seemed to echo in her ears, and she couldn’t help herself.
Sandra began to think of her daughter differently, too. Where she’d once seen her as a young woman, on her way to becoming her own person, she now saw her as nothing more than one of Felix’s pieces of fuckmeat.
She’d tried to talk to her about it, once, but it had been just like the conversation with Linda, or any time she’d brought it up with Felix.
“I don’t know what the big deal is, Mom,” her daughter said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just fuckmeat for him. It’s as simple as that.”
After a few more minutes of fruitless conversation, Sandra had excused herself, and rushed to the bathroom, where she rubbed herself to orgasm in less than thirty seconds, the word ‘fuckmeat’ echoing around inside her brain.
It wasn’t as though Felix only used his sister. He still had other fuckmeat come over for sex: their postlady, a cute blonde from his college; a MILF from down the street that Sandra had seen at the supermarket; a girl she’d never seen before, who must have been barely eighteen; a woman who came to the house in a bikini.
She even caught her son fucking Linda, again, in the laundry room, and felt a strange kind of relief that Catherine wasn’t the only repeat offender.
But Catherine was the one that he used the most, and it was Catherine that Sandra saw him with the most.
Sandra didn’t watch when he was using other fuckmeat, and she didn’t masturbate to it. Only Catherine did that to her. Only her daughter, being used like an object, like a piece of meat, could get her that hot.
Maybe because it was so wrong. Or maybe because she knew Catherine so well—she knew that she was a young woman with ambition, with ions and interests and hopes and a whole life ahead of her. She knew Catherine as a person, a real person, with feelings, and emotions, and a personality.
But when she was under her brother, she wasn’t any of those things. She was just fuckmeat.
Just fuckmeat.
And Sandra would watch, and masturbate, and then flee to wash away her thoughts with an ice-cold shower.
It was a Saturday. Sandra was in her room, trying to read a book. The sound of Felix fucking Catherine was floating through the walls, and she was trying to ignore it. He must have been in a mood that day, because she’d already watched him get off inside his sister once that day (and get her off in the process): twice in one day was unusual.
She was trying not to think of the way his balls looked as they slapped against her pussy, the way his ass tensed and clenched, the way Catherine’s toes curled as she came.
She was trying, but it wasn’t really working.
The sound finally stopped, and shortly after, there was a knock at the door. Frowning, she stood, and went to answer it.
“Hey, Mom,” Felix said. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers, and the sight of his naked torso made Sandra’s breath catch in her throat.
“Yes?” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“We need to talk.”
Not sure what to do, Sandra gestured for him to come in. He sat on the end of the bed.
“I’ve been trying to give you space, and I think I’ve been more than patient.”
Sandra frowned, and opened her mouth to speak.
“But it’s getting to be a bit much,” her son continued, before she could say anything. “It’s pretty obvious to everyone that you’ve got a problem, Mom.”
Sandra blinked.
“A problem?” she repeated dumbly. “I don’t have a problem. It’s you who...“
“You watch me, all the time,” Felix said, his voice low. “You stand in the door, and watch me use my fuckmeat, and I’ve seen the way your nipples harden, the way you squirm... the way your hand slips down between your legs. And we know what you do in the shower, Mom.”
Sandra blushed, and looked away. “I don’t...”
“You do. Look, I know what you want, and there’s nothing weird about it.”
“What do I want?” Sandra said. She felt light-headed.
Felix looked her in the eye.
“You want to be fuckmeat.”
It felt like Sandra’s entire body clenched at the word.
The silence must have only lasted for a few moments. But to Sandra it felt like a thousand years, and was far from silent. In her head, the word ‘fuckmeat’ was echoing, bouncing around her brain, filling her ears with its sound, its promise.
Fuckmeat.
Fuckmeat.
She was fuckmeat.
She wanted to be fuckmeat.
“Like Catherine,” Felix added.
Sandra’s eyes widened. Fuckmeat like Catherine.
She wanted to be fuckmeat.
Like her daughter.
“Like Catherine?” she whispered.
“Exactly like Catherine. She’s just fuckmeat, and it’s not a big deal. She’s just a body to be used. A hole, really. It’s not like there are any emotions involved.”
A hole to be used...
Sandra was so wet that she could barely think, and her breathing was coming in quick gasps. She was aching between her legs. Her clit was throbbing, her pussy was clenching, and her nipples were harder than they’d ever been before.
She was a hole to be used.
Felix’s fuckmeat.
She was fuckmeat.
Felix grinned at her, and stood up. “I’ll let you think about it,” he said.
“Okay,” she said, nodding.
“And if...”
Sandra shook her head, and reached for her clothes. “I don’t need to think about it,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I want to be fuckmeat.”
Felix’s smile grew wider. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Sandra said, her whole body throbbing. “It’s no big deal.”
“Right,” Felix nodded. “You’re just fuckmeat.”
“I’m just fuckmeat,” Sandra said, and it was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. For the first time in as long as she could , she didn’t hear the word echoing in her mind.
She was Felix’s fuckmeat.
It wasn’t a big deal.
She was just fuckmeat.
With shaking hands, Sandra began to take off her clothes. First her shirt, and then her pants, and then her bra, and then her panties.
She sat naked before her son, her breasts heaving, her nipples hard, and her pussy dripping.
“Just fuckmeat,” she whispered.
Felix grinned, and reached out, his hand closing over one of her breasts. He squeezed, hard, and Sandra moaned, but didn’t pull away.
“You like that?”
“Yeah,” Sandra said. She didn’t have any more words than that.
“Good,” Felix said, and slapped her tits. They jiggled, and Sandra moaned again.
“I like that, too,” she said, her voice low.
“Good,” Felix said, and slapped them again. They reddened, and her nipples grew even harder. Sandra was panting now. Her pussy was throbbing, her clit was twitching, and the heat between her legs felt hotter than anything she’d ever felt.
“I’m just fuckmeat,” she said, laying back on the bed, her hips bucking up.
“Good,” Felix said, and climbed onto the bed.
“Please!” Sandra moaned. She wanted this. She needed this. She was this.
“Good,” Felix said, and slapped her pussy. Sandra cried out.
“I’m just fuckmeat!”
And then she gasped. Her son was inside her, and it was the best feeling she’d ever had. She suddenly understood why all these other women had done it, why her daughter had done it.
It didn’t matter that Felix was her son. It didn’t matter that she was his mother. In that moment, she was just a hole. She was just a body for him to use.
She was just fuckmeat.
“Oh, fuck, Felix, yes!” Sandra moaned as he began to move his hips. “Use me, use your fuckmeat!”
“Fuck, Mom, you’re so wet,” her son panted.
“Of course I’m wet!” Sandra gasped. “Always wet! Your fuckmeat wants to be used!”
She could feel her son’s balls slapping against her pussy lips as he fucked her. How many times had she seen this? It was no effort at all to imagine what she looked like, what Felix’s ass looked like as he pumped her.
She could feel her clit throbbing, her pussy clenching.
“Ah, fuck, yeah! Fuck me! Use me! Use my pussy! I’m just fuckmeat!”
“Fuck,” Felix moaned, and slapped her tits. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“Of course it’s hot! I’m fuckmeat! I’m just... I’m just fuckmeat!”
She could feel her son’s cock thrusting into her, filling her up, and she could feel her body’s response to his presence, the way her cunt twitched and grasped at him, as though trying to pull him deeper inside her.
“Ah, fuck, Felix, yes! Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, yes!”
She didn’t have to think, she didn’t have to worry. She just had to be. She was just a body for her son to use.
She was just fuckmeat.
Her son was using his mother’s body to satisfy his sexual needs. She wasn’t a person to him. She was just meat. Just fuckmeat.
“Ah, fuck!” she screamed, and bucked her hips against Felix. “I’m cumming! Fuckmeat is cumming!”
“Fuck!” Felix cried out. “Yeah! Cum, Mom! Cum on my dick! Cum on your son’s dick, like the fuckmeat you are!”
“Ah, fuck, yes!”
Sandra’s orgasm was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It was pure, perfect bliss, radiating outwards from the place between her legs, the place where her pussy was wrapped around her son’s cock. Nineteen years earlier, he’d come out of that pussy. Now he was using it for his pleasure, and that was all that mattered.
She didn’t exist. She was just fuckmeat, and fuckmeat was cumming.
Sandra’s toes curled like her daughter’s, and her back arched. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and stars exploded behind her vision. She could feel her own juices, drenching the sheets, and her son’s cock, and the whole world was nothing more than a haze of pleasure and lust and the knowledge that she was fuckmeat.
Felix came, and Sandra barely noticed. Her pussy was getting what it wanted, and so she milked his cock, her body twitching and shuddering, her hips bucking and gyrating against his, and his seed was buried deep inside her cunt, and she was fuckmeat.
And when it was over, and Felix pulled himself free of her, she just lay there, panting, understanding why her daughter let him do this anytime he wanted. Why none of the women could say no to him.
Felix propped himself up on one elbow, and looked down at his mother, her pussy dripping, her tits heaving, her body shaking.
“You’re fuckmeat now,” he said.
Sandra nodded. “Yeah,” she said, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinning.
“I can use you, whenever I want?”
“Anytime,” she agreed.
“In any way?”
“In any way,” she said, and reached down to rub her still-throbbing clit.
“And you’ll be ready for me? Always?”
She nodded. “Always,” she moaned. “Wet, and ready.”
“Good,” Felix said with a smile.
Sandra smiled. Fuckmeat smiled. She was ready. Always. Wet, and ready.
“I’m just fuckmeat.”
And it wasn’t a big deal.