Tapptity…TAP. “I’m home!” Then the doorknob rattles.
“MOM?”
Eyes wide, her horror mirrors mine. “Steve?” Anger, hurt flush her cheeks. Her latest crush is buried balls deep in me, on all fours, his sweat dripping down my back. Steven grips my hair tighter, pulling my head back to intensify his ejaculation. My breasts heave as each stroke pulses forbidden pleasure through me.
I want to scream from pure panic, but I can’t; she’ll hear me from the other side of the door.
“Thank God for door locks,” I murmur as my imaginary catastrophe fades.
“Thanks, sweetie! Good night!” I call back, barely able to steady my voice against the climax welling inside me.
“Why’s it locked?” she rattles the handle again. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Umm, I’m not dressed!” I stammer. Fuck. That’s all I can think to say? She sees me undressed all the time.
Every muffled word from the hall makes him harder, his thrusts deeper. Is it just the danger that’s winding him up, or is he visualizing her in all this too? That’s so reckless it’s stupid—but I don’t want him to stop.
“Did you get a new TV or something? What do I hear in there?”
No TV in here. Bedrooms are made for fucking and sleeping. And I only need to stop talking to her and get back to not sleeping.
“I’ve got your dad on the phone,” I said, letting the lie hang between my panting breaths, hoping it explains the raw edge in my voice as he continues to fuck me.
“I thought you said you were…Oh. Umm. Sorry.”
Well, we’ve had ‘the talk’. Better she believes I’m having phone sex with her dad than getting plowed by her brother's best friend.
“Um…tell Daddy hi…okay?”
I wish I hadn’t said that—about her father. Now, she’s gonna ask why she and her brothers can’t talk to him, too. They miss him as much as I do. I’ll deal with that stupid lie later…
“Okay. Thank you, Lori. I’ll be out in a little bit.” My voice cracks on the last word. I hear her footsteps retreat downstairs and picture her with that same forlorn glower she’s had since she was five.
She always wants to have these ‘talks’ in here, on my bed. A bed which is currently soiled with two gooey wet spots, so that's not going to happen. Steven’s arm rests over my waist, while his penis twitches in the crack of my ass—right where she lays her head when she needs to cry about some boy. The same spot.
I love that we can still connect like this, but… FUCK! She’s downstairs. How will Steven get out?
Christ, I’m still too hyped up to think straight. I picture him scrambling out the second-story window…Too high, too risky. The closet? No, this would be that one night she wants to borrow a dress or something. We’re not doing either of those…besides, he’s not done with me yet.
Even with her out of earshot, I ask as quietly as possible, “Let’s finish?”
“I thought we were done, Mrs. J.” He says it with a pout. Funny how the mention of Tom out loud is what rattles him. Conscience or jealousy? Screwing a married woman is one thing; picturing her husband is apparently another.
His pout melts into a smirk, with a flicker of something possessive in his eyes. He shoves my knees into my chest to eat his cum out of my snatch. Sulking or not, he’s being rougher than usual. I LOVE that.
His mouth vanishes beneath the dark, curly bush between my legs. I lean back and pinch my nipples hard; the intensity forms goosebumps around my dark pink areolas. He’s about to make me climax just by flicking my clit—Just as I taught him to. But I want my ‘O’ with dick inside me. Whatever she wants to talk about will wait.
I motion him forward with a tilt of my head, and he crawls up the bed, settling between my legs. My right calf lifts, drapes over his shoulder leaving me splayed wide. I stare at the place where his cock vanishes—my pink flesh stretching, enveloping him inch by inch. He won’t cum again, but I do—and fucking hard too. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. The echo of her voice outside the door fuels every clench of my body, until I collapse beneath his weight.
Not until I feel the cold emptiness after he pulls out am I able to think straight again. Fuck. He has to get out of here. Now.
“She’s downstairs watching TV,” I say as I get up to pace. Buzzing and still naked, I notice his eyes follow my crotch from the bed. I scratch and feel his semen starting to dry on my thigh.
“I’ll get her into the kitchen for a snack.”
He nods, absently fondling his cock.
“The fridge door opening is your signal.”
He drops his feet to the floor and wiggles into his boxers. Even now, he’s semi-hard and has to adjust himself to pull up his shorts. The reddish hair on his chest is so sparse—so different from my husband’s.
“You sneak down to the front door; do that ridiculous knock you kids do…Like you just got here, looking for Brian.” Did I call him a kid? That word feels wrong after what we just did. No kid has ever fucked a woman like that.
He nods again and tugs his tee-shirt over his head, then pushes his arms out.
“I’ll say he’s out someplace…” I finish, faking a casual shrug. “Then you leave. Simple.”
I slip my old cotton nightgown over my head. My 'mom' costume. She’ll probably be wearing a hand-me-down just like it. Christ, if she only knew how many times her dad has bent me over, nailed me from behind in that thing.
“Yep. That’ll work fine,” he agrees. When he stands to kiss me goodnight, his hand grips my ass through the thin material of my nightie, like he heard my naughty recollection. “My folks are going to be gone this weekend.” He pulls the hem up over my waist to slide his hand between my cheeks, lightly tapping my butthole. “Can you spend the night?”
“Really, Steven?” I can’t believe he’s asking that now, but I clench around his finger. “Let’s get you out of here if you ever want to stick that finger any further.”
One last peck on the lips, and I open my bedroom door to head downstairs.
Halfway down, my soaking wet pussy brings Steven’s proposition back to me: A weekend with no parents…no parent except me, of course.
Moments later, she follows me from the couch to the kitchen for some ice cream. I pull two spoons from the drawer and set the carton between us on the counter. Then, from the front door: “Tapptity…TAP. Is Brian back yet?”
He’s been walking into our house for years, but instead of ignoring him as she normally does, she turns to his voice with a shifty grin and a flash in her eye. Is this what's behind her urgent need to talk? Unconsciously, her fingertip brushes one of the nipples pressing through her nightgown.
Before I can finish my script, her voice cuts in, laced with a compelling formality I hadn’t heard before. “He’s not here…Steven!” Not Dummy. Not even Steve. Steven.
What the fuck have I been missing? Is this who I’m grooming him to please?
I don’t hate that idea.
