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Mommy's Boy

Unlike the fakers who used #milf on their porn to get hits, I am the real deal. Kids under my belt, a housewife dressed in lingerie, and a career woman who gave up promotion for her family.

A MILF by day, cougar by night. Fun-loving, kind, smart, and loves to laugh. Hotwife, looking for her pervert friend byeontae. FWB, Open relationship, and NSA, unless you wanna tie me up. [East-Asian only]

Adding to my dating profile some more tongue-in-cheek vibes and cute, sexy pics, funny snipes, and comments — that was how I worked it. Laying the bait to catch some yummy fish. When I started, my highest score was more than ten thousand likes on Tinder in less than a month. The fish kept coming, but only a few made the type cut. And less would I chat with and point to my Insta, and from there, we'd have sexy fun.

They lapped it up. My pics and vids, and they gave their personal shares. If time permitted, I wanted to video sex because that was how I got my high and a guarantee they weren't some catfishes. And when summer came, my added my promise that maybe, just maybe, we could meet in Korea and seal the deal if we kept in touch and matched.

I'd never knew a Milf commanded such power. If I had known, maybe H and I would have started this open relationship earlier. Empowered by my curves and the adoration of young men and their kinks, I was ready to catch me some fish.

"Mommy, how I love to fuck you." Some would say. "It is my dream to fuck a Milf." Others would say too.

Friend of my son, stepson, nephew, or a more sick imagination rolling in your head. It's psychological, something we choose to ignore because it gets to a messy grey area that would make this so wrong.

You step into the house and see me in my apron, moving around the kitchen, stirring and frying at the stove.

"Mom..."

Delicious smells rising from my pots and pans while you creep in, wrapping your arms around my waist. I gasped at your tight-back hug and smile. Your lips are planted on my neck as you breathe in my clean scent of body soap and the shampoo of freshly washed hair. My wavy curls tickle your nose, and my giggling and soft struggles make you grow hard. The lace and silk of my lingerie feel like cool water running through your fingers.

You make me drop what I'm holding, dragging me to the kitchen counter, and slapping my ass hard as you push me to face the table.

You fantasize about it often.

Sometimes you lift my lingerie and greedily eye my T-panty slicing my ass cheeks into two equally large bites. You squeeze my large tight butt and slam your body, hip, groin, and legs against mine. Then, you make a sudden thrust, and I feel you in that motion.

I am trapped as you grab my arms behind my back — hot breath against my neck. You take a bite, I moaned. You push down your pants, dick springing up, hard between my ass and brushing my thighs. A quick brush of skin to skin, and you enter, defiling me in the one place where mouths are fed — the holy shrine of family life.

It is kinky. Damn, my kind of byeontae 변태 because you're my type of guy. This is definitely on my list of acts I'd like to do repeatedly with the young fishes I find.

Who doesn't like food and porn? Or better yet, food porn. Another idea that I loved and also on my list of to do.

The first guy who called me mommy rubbed me the wrong way. Despite being high on sexual fumes, that word was enough to bring me back to earth.

He was twenty-four, still in college in Southern Cal, and visiting

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