The generator had been off for three hours and the whole of Surulere was sweating. Tunde Adeyemi, twenty years old and home from university for the long holiday, sat on the edge of his bed in only boxers, phone dead, body sticky. The ceiling fan was useless without power. He could hear his mother moving around the sitting room, the soft slap of her slippers on the tiles.
Funke Adeyemi was forty-five and still the kind of woman who made men at the market lose their train of thought. Full hips, thick thighs, and a pair of breasts that had stayed heavy and high even after nursing him. Tonight she was wearing one of those thin Ankara wrappers that barely stayed tied and a black lace thong that kept riding up between her cheeks every time she bent.
She walked past his open door carrying a plastic basin of water. The thong string disappeared between her ass. Tunde’s cock twitched hard against the cotton of his boxers.
“Power still no dey?” she asked without looking in.
“E no dey, Maami.”
She paused in the doorway. Sweat glistened in the valley between her breasts. The thin wrapper had slipped, and the top of one heavy tit was visible, the dark, huge areola already half-exposed. She noticed his eyes and didn’t pull the cloth up.
“You dey look at your mother like that?” she said, voice low.
Tunde swallowed. “I no fit help myself. You too fine.”
Funke’s mouth curved. She stepped fully into the room and closed the door with her foot. The basin went on the floor. She untied the wrapper and let it fall. The black thong was the only thing left. Her big tits hung heavy, nipples thick and dark, areolas the size of small saucers, already tight from the heat and from being watched.
“Come here,” she said.
He stood. His cock was already tenting the boxers, a wet spot forming at the tip. Funke reached out, cupped him through the cloth, and squeezed.
“This thing don hard since you reach house,” she murmured. “I dey notice.”
She pulled the waistband down. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, the head already shiny. Funke wrapped her soft, warm fingers around it and gave a slow stroke from base to tip, thumb spreading the precum.
“Handjob first,” she said, almost to herself. “Make I see how you go take it.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him between her knees. Her big tits rested on her thighs, those huge areolas staring up at him. She spat into her palm, then both hands, and started stroking him with long, twisting pulls. The wet sound filled the hot room. Every few strokes she leaned forward and let the head of his cock slap against the soft underside of her breasts, then between them.
Tunde’s hips jerked. “Maami… fuck…”
“Quiet,” she whispered, but she was smiling. She sped up, both hands working him, the soft flesh of her tits brushing the top of his cock on every downstroke. When he was close she slowed, squeezed the base, and looked up.
“No cum yet. I still get plan.”
She stood, turned, and pushed him onto the bed on his back. Then she climbed over him, facing his feet, and lowered her thong-covered pussy onto his face. The black lace was already soaked. The smell of her—warm, musky, pure woman—hit him hard.
“Lick,” she ordered, voice thick. “Pussy licking. Properly.”
Tunde hooked his fingers into the thong, pulled it aside, and dragged his tongue up the length of her slit. She was already dripping. He flattened his tongue and licked slow and firm, from her entrance up to her clit, again and again. Funke moaned and ground down, the soft weight of her ass and those heavy tits pressing into his chest as she leaned forward.
While he licked, she reached back, found his cock, and started the handjob again—slow, wet, twisting strokes timed to the movement of her hips on his face. Every time she rocked forward her huge areolas dragged across his stomach. Every time she rocked back she pushed more of her wet pussy onto his tongue.
“That’s it… suck that clit… yes…”
He sucked her clit between his lips and flicked it with the tip of his tongue. Funke’s thighs trembled. She kept stroking him, faster now, the wet slap of her hand on his cock mixing with the wet sounds of his mouth on her.
She lifted off suddenly, turned around, and straddled his chest facing him. Her big tits hung right in front of his face, nipples stiff, areolas dark and wide. She reached down, took his cock, and guided it between her breasts.
“Fuck them,” she said.
Tunde thrust upward. The soft, heavy flesh closed around him. Funke pressed her tits together with both hands, creating a tight, sweaty channel. He fucked up into them while she squeezed and released, the head of his cock popping out the top on every stroke and brushing her chin. She leaned down and licked the precum off the tip each time it appeared.
“You like your mother’s big tits, abi?” she breathed. “You dey dream about these huge areolas?”
“Yes, Maami… fuck yes…”
She released her breasts, slid down his body, and took him into her mouth in one smooth motion. The blowjob was deep and wet from the start. She hollowed her cheeks, tongue swirling under the head, one hand stroking what she couldn’t fit, the other cupping his balls. Her big tits rested on his thighs, nipples dragging across his skin every time she bobbed.
Tunde’s hands found her head. He didn’t force; he just held on while she worked him. The wet sounds of the blowjob filled the dark room. When she pulled off, a string of spit connected her lips to his cock.
“Facesitting again,” she said, voice rough. “I wan cum on your face.”
She turned, planted her knees on either side of his head, and lowered her bare pussy onto his mouth. This time there was no thong in the way. Tunde wrapped his arms around her thick thighs and licked like he was starving—long strokes, pointed tongue on her clit, then pushing inside her as deep as he could. Funke ground down hard, riding his face, those big tits bouncing as she moved. One hand braced on the wall, the other reached back and stroked his cock in time with her hips.
She came with a low, broken moan, thighs clamping around his head, pussy pulsing against his tongue. He kept licking through it until she lifted off, shaking.
Funke didn’t give him time to recover. She straddled his hips, reached down, and guided his cock to her entrance. She was so wet it slid in halfway on the first push. Both of them groaned. She sank down until she was fully seated, her big tits resting on his chest, those huge areolas pressed against his skin.
“Move,” she whispered.
Tunde thrust up. Funke met him, riding hard, the wet slap of her ass on his thighs loud in the hot room. Her tits bounced heavily with every movement. He reached up, grabbed them, squeezed, thumbed the thick nipples. She leaned down so he could suck one into his mouth while she rode. The areola was so large his lips stretched around it.
They fucked like that for a long time—her riding, him thrusting up, mouths on each other’s skin, hands everywhere. When she felt him getting close she pulled off, spun around into reverse, and took him back inside. Now he had the perfect view of her ass and the thong still hanging off one ankle. He gripped her hips and fucked up hard while she pushed back to meet him.
“Cum for me,” she said over her shoulder. “Fill your mother up.”
Tunde’s rhythm broke. He thrust deep and came hard, pulsing inside her while she clenched around him. Funke kept moving until every drop was milked out, then collapsed forward onto his legs, breathing hard.
They stayed like that until the generator kicked back on somewhere down the street and the fan started turning again. Funke slowly lifted off him. Cum leaked down her thigh. She looked at it, then at her son, and smiled.
“Next time,” she said, voice still rough, “we go use the thong properly. And you go eat this pussy until I no fit walk.”
Tunde pulled her down beside him on the narrow bed. Her big tits pressed against his side, one huge areola still damp from his mouth. Outside, Lagos kept making noise. Inside the small room, the only sound was their breathing and the slow, satisfied slide of her hand back onto his half-hard cock.
“Again?” she asked softly.
He was already getting hard in her hand.
“Again.”
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