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My Girlfriend's Neglected Mother: Part 1
My Girlfriend's Neglected Mother: Part 1
Hot Mom, hot daughter, is anyone complaining?
Based on a post by MaryAnderson.
Listen to the Podcast at Steamy
Stories.
It's not often you meet a mother who's better looking than her
good-looking college-age daughter.
I remember the first time I saw them.
I'd moved to San Diego immediately after graduating from high
school. While I wouldn't begin my freshman year until September, I'd
found a decent job and I needed the money.
As a side benefit my employer provided membership at a fancy local
gym, one I couldn't have afforded. I was doing chest presses when a
class got out in an upstairs studio. About two dozen women and a
smattering of guys came down the stairs followed by several women
talking animatedly to a striking rail-thin brunette. Standing next to
her was a younger woman with the same color hair and same impressive
build. Both wore skin-hugging leotards identical in style, although
differing in color. As the knot of women moved across the room I
overheard enough of the conversation to understand the older woman
had been leading a pilates class.
After their entourage dispersed the two women lingered at the
front counter talking to the attendant when the younger one noticed
me checking them out. Busted, I gave her my best you-caught-me grin.
She smiled, said something to the older woman, who turned, held my
gaze for a beat, before returning her focus to her companions. A few
minutes later, they left.
After finishing with the weights I went to the front desk. The
older woman was Theresa Hollins; she taught several classes at the
gym. The younger one was her daughter Jennie, a high school senior.
The attendant made it clear I wasn't the first guy who'd asked about
them. I checked the schedule; Theresa would lead a steps class in a
couple of days.
Enrolling in class.
I was hanging downstairs when they came through the front door.
They certainly didn't mind being identified as mother and daughter,
they looked alike, styled their hair the same way, although Jennie's
was longer, and their leotards were differently colored variations of
each other. I introduced myself, Mrs. Hollins introduced herself and
her daughter, said she hoped I'd enjoy the class.
I soon found out that not only did they look alike, they shared
the optimistic up-beat positive personality associated with aerobics
instructors and were, as they appeared to be, in superb condition,
pushing everyone, encouraging everyone, leaving all but a few in the
dust.
After class, along with several others, I walked downstairs with
Theresa and Jennie, offered to treat them to bottles of water after
the crowd peeled away. Theresa declined, said she had an errand to
run, told her daughter she could swing by on the way home and pick
her up.
Jennie said sure, she could use a drink.
Two days later we shared a bed. Not too long after that, for the
first time in my life, I told a woman I loved her.
I'd never been one for classes at health clubs, preferring to
work-out with a buddies or on my own, but couldn't see how to stop
going without offending Mrs. Hollins and if it gave me an excuse to
watch my girlfriend and her hot mother covered in thin veneers of
sweat stretching and straining in skin-tight leotards, who'd say no
to that?
Dating Life.
We'd been seeing each other for about six weeks when, holding
Jennie in the spoon position - we'd just rocked each other's worlds
on my one-room apartment's undersized bed - she said, "You think
my mother's hot, don't you?"
There was no point in denying it. Jennie and her Mom surely knew
and neither seemed offended; Mrs. Hollins had been enthusiastic about
my dating her daughter from day one.
"Yeah, it's clear you come by some of your good looks
naturally."
"Some?"
"As hard as you and your Mom work-out, there's a lot of sweat
and dedication there."
Bringing my hand to her mouth she kissed it and said, "Nice
rescue," then, smiling indecipherably, looked over her shoulder.
I said, "What?"
"The guys I've known, they all think Mom's hot. Most look at
her furtively, sneakily, thinking they're slick, that we don't
notice, but we do. Then there's the guys who stare and drool, not
cool. There are a few, I don't know if they have more or less
control, who look away even when they should be looking at her, like
they don't know how to handle it. You're different. You don't take
creepy little looks, but when you have a reason to look you do and
don't seem to feel weird about it. Plus, you're the first one to
admit it."
I didn't say that, in addition to having a thing for hot younger
women like her, I had a thing for hot older women, that I'd bedded a
few back home. Instead, since it was clear that not only didn't it
bother her, but that she dug it, I said, "Yeah, I like looking
at your Mom. Why do you bring it up, interested in a threesome?"
Laughing she said, "What makes you think I do women, and why
are guys fascinated by threesomes, especially mothers and daughters?"
Making a mental note; she hadn't said no or gotten offended. I
said it must be some kind of biological or evolutionary imperative,
and avoided the first question by kissing her. She kissed me back,
reached for my dick.
Soon I was driving into her, shaking the flimsy bed, and she was
totally into it, writhing, moaning, clutching my back, digging her
fingers into me. Not that she wasn't always into it, but if I wasn't
missing something this time more than ever.
The conversation about her mother had turned her on.
The overture.
My phone rang, no name appeared. I thought about letting it roll
to voice mail, but there was something familiar about the number,
then I got it. It was one digit different from Jennie's.
"Hello."
"Hey Michael, it's Theresa. Jennie gave me your number, we
figured it'd be okay."
"I never complain about a beautiful woman with my phone
number. What can I do for you?"
After a moment's hesitation, but no objection, she said, "Jennie's
talked about you so much that her father wants to meet you. Can you
come to the house for drinks, then we'll go to dinner."
"Sounds fine, when?"
"Sunday at 7:00."
"I'm open, where are we going?"
"Morgan's."
I checked Morgan's on-line. Coat and tie? I didn't own a coat and
tie and my bank account was in no shape to buy them. While looking up
the local consignment shops I realized I didn't have Jennie's home
address; we'd always met in town. I considered texting Jennie, but
pleased by the tone of my conversation with Mrs. Hollins, called her
back.
"Hello Michael."
She'd saved my number to her phone's memory.
"Hey good looking, I just realized I don't have your
address."
After a pause she said, "What if I told my daughter you
called me 'good looking' and asked for my address?"
"Jennie and I are in complete agreement about her mother's
good looks. Is she there?"
"Yes, should I get her for you?"
"Only after a little more flirting."
"You are bad."
"I only get worse, now what's the address?"
"I'll text it to you, here's my daughter."
As she moved the phone from her mouth I heard, as she intended,
her say "Your very bad boyfriend is on the phone. Tell him he
needs a cold shower."
Double Date Night.
It was my first trip to the suburbs. After checking in with the
rent-a-cop at the subdivision's front gate I drove my jalopy down
shaded streets, waiting to get pulled over. It looked like only shiny
new Mercedes, BMWs, Cadillacs, and Lexus, with an occasional Porche
or Maserati, were legal in this neighborhood.
My phone led me to a circular driveway at the end of a cul de sac.
Nice house. I parked behind a black Range Rover, got out, rang the
bell, wondered about Jennie's father. Jennie talked about her Mom all
the time - they were more best friends than parent and child - but
rarely mentioned her father. When she did it was positive, but bland,
a vague assurance that he was "okay." Still, I'd imagined
him as a bookend for his wife and daughter: tip-top condition,
good-looking, smart and incisive.
Jennie opened the door, kissed my lips, said, "Hey lover,
ready to meet the family."
She looked great. Her loose fitting dress, held on by spaghetti
straps, dipped down her chest, stopping just short of her cleavage,
clinched at the waist, then hung to the floor in a series of graceful
folds. What was most striking, however, was the cascade of colors,
oranges and yellows, greens and blues, imposed on patterns of
butterfly wings.
I said, "That's a lovely dress," she slipped her hand
into mine, and turning, the bottom of the dress swirling about, we
headed into the house.
In the living room, large, cathedral ceiling, gorgeous furniture,
ceiling to floor back window overlooking a swimming pool, was Mrs.
Hollins, her dress also long, open shouldered, loose-fitting and a
rainbow of colors: chartreuse, pink, magenta.
And while neither dress was overtly sexual, this particular mother
and daughter presenting themselves in public dressed alike was. And,
as meticulous as they were about their appearance, that was no
accident. I said, "Mrs. Hollins, you're stunning, your dress,
like your daughter's, is beautiful, love the colors."
Mrs. Hollins said, "Thank you," adding as a man entered
the room, "Michael, this is my husband, Tom. Tom, this is
Michael, Jennie's beau."
Contrary to my expectations he did not match his wife and
daughter. He was his wife's height, or possibly a bit shorter, at the
moment her heels gave her an inch or so on him, and if not fat, was
pudgy. Saying, "It's good to finally meet you sir," I
reached for his hand and studied his face. His features were affable,
not those of your best friend - him you'd want smart and tough,
someone who had your back - but friendly, the face of a guy who got
along with everyone, liked everyone, a you wouldn't ask to cut
another $250.00 off the price of a car because you wanted him to come
out okay and knew he'd never rip you off.
And that's what he did. He sold cars, owned a dozen dealerships.
Not top-of-the-line stuff, he wasn't selling cars to his neighbors,
but he was selling lots of cars to someone.
Over dinner my impression was confirmed. Mr. Hollins did not have
his wife's or daughter's cynical intelligence, which they masked with
their positive up-beat personalities. He was what he appeared to be,
a good guy, a roll with the punches guy, a laugh at your jokes no
matter how bad they are guy, a not notice if you got a little
inappropriate guy.
I got a little inappropriate.
I focused on his wife and daughter, made eye contact, held it.
They responded, their eyes on mine.
I touched them, starting with a shoulder, a forearm, moved to the
waist, cleaned a speck of food off their face.
When a lady had to go to the bathroom I held her chair, did the
same on her return, was rewarded with a kiss.
I told mother and daughter how good they looked. Openly relishing
the compliment, they thanked me.
The women responded, a flip of the hair, a tongue gliding on a
lip, moved a little closer.
And through it all Mr. Hollins seemed fine, happy to have me
entertain the ladies.
Back at the house Mr. Hollins excused himself to go to the
facilities and Jennie said, "Mom, I know its late, but there's a
party on campus I want to go to. I know it's late, but can I go back
out? Michael will take good care of me."
This was the first I'd heard of a party.
Mrs. Hollins said, "Honey you didn't mention a party. Where
is it?"
"I don't remember, one of the frats," she looked at me,
"which frat babe?"
I said, unconvincingly,"Delta something."
Mrs. Hollins said, "Delta something?"
She knew what was going on.
"Yeah, Delta something, those Greek names run into each
other."
She turned to her daughter. "A frat party and it's already
approaching curfew, what will your father think?"
"C'mon Mom, if you say it's okay he will too."
Turning back to me Mrs. Hollins said, "You promise to take
good care of her?"
"The best I can, I promise no frat boy will get near her."
"Of that I'm sure. Well, if you're going to date a college
guy I guess we need to make allowances. If it gets too late, if you
need to spend the night with a friend in town, text me."
Mr. Hollins returned, permission was sought and received. At the
front door I thanked Mr. Hollins for dinner, leaned in to kiss his
wife good night, who held my arm and whispered in my ear, "You
better be using protection bub."
Stepping back I said, "Thank you Mrs. Hollins and, of
course."
Reviews.
Driving back to my place Jennie said, "So what did you think
of Dad?"
"I was a bit surprised. I'd figured him to be in primo shape,
like you and your Mom."
"Dad's let himself go. He's in a dozen civic groups, always
going to meetings, eating bad food, never has time to exercise. He
says it's good for business.
"Well, you can't argue with his success, the house is
beautiful. He seemed like a real nice guy."
"He is, and you took advantage, flirting with me and Mom in
front of him."
There was no anger in her voice. Then her bra was laid on my
shoulder. She'd worked it off under her dress.
"Two beautiful women; it's hard to resist being a little bad.
Your Dad didn't seem bothered by it."
"No, peripatetic Mom and I wear him out. He's glad when
someone else entertains us."
She dropped her panties in my lap and said, "Remember, we'll
need to text Mom and let her know I crashed with a friend."
Bachelor Pad.
In my apartment it didn't take long for Jennie, already sans
panties and bra, to get naked; it took me longer, but not much. I
slipped a finger, then two, inside her wet sex.
"God you're hot."
She ran her fingers the length of my penis, squeezed, said, "Hard
not to be when your boyfriend has this kind of dick, nice and hard."
"After tonight, how couldn't it be"
"Yeah, you loved it, hanging, flirting with two women, you
were shameless."
I twisted my fingers inside her, kissed her, said, "Me? You
guys were asking for it, hot mom, hot daughter wearing basically the
same fricking dress. That wasn't clothing, it was foreplay."
Smearing my pre-cum into the head of my dick she, adopting a tone
of pouting faux-innocence, said, "Honey, those dresses were
classy, long and loose. The sex was in your head."
"You make everything hot."
"And my mother?"
"Yep, must be genetic."
Twisting her hand on my tool she said, "Really, if she asked
real nice, would you fuck her? I can hear it now: 'Fuck me Michael,
Jennie and Tom are gone. Give me some hard dick, I need it so bad. My
husband doesn't fuck me anymore and you're so much bigger than him
and from the happy look on my daughter's face when she gets home from
a date, you know how to use it."
I said, "I don't know Mrs. Hollins, I've never cheated on
Jennie."
Rolling onto all fours, she spread her legs, exposing her
glistening sex, looked over her shoulder and said, "Don't worry,
my daughter won't mind. I know that horny minx, it'll make her
hotter. I'm an MILF who needs cock, fuck me hard, like you fuck my
daughter."
Saying, "Well if it's going to make Jennie happy, who am I to
argue," I got on my knees and held her by the waist. Jennie
reached back, placed my dick on her sex, said, "Let me,"
and in a long slow motion, pushed into me, sighing happily as her
pussy spread, yielded, molded itself to my me. Dropping her head to
her forearms she said, "This is what I need, a young man's thick
cock," arched her back, raised her head, and said, "Fuck
me, fuck Jennie's mommy, fuck her hard."
I pulled out until only the cock-head was inside her, paused,
drove into her, shaking the flimsy bed. As I did she pushed into me,
rotated her ass, clenched her sex muscles, said, "I see the way
you young men look at me, it makes my pussy so wet."
We fucked, my squeaking bed rocking back and forth, the sound
reverberating off the walls of my tiny room.
"Have you thought about it stud, a threesome, fucking me and
Jennie at the same time?"
"Two hot mouths on my cock, filling two woman with my dick,
drenching them with my cum, hell yes."
"That's it, that's it Michael, imagine it, imagine you're
fucking Mama while I watch, my finger in my sex."
I imagined it and my cock, stiff and hard, the piston of a race
car, reamed her. Words deserted us, replaced by wheezes and moans and
shouts and hollers, but the image in both minds was the same: I
boning Mrs. Hollins under her daughter's licentious approving gaze.
Mesmerized by this perverted shared fantasy Jennie balanced herself
on one arm and reached for her clit; I moved my hands to her tits,
twisted the small hard nipples. We fucked, we howled, an animal sound
that the neighbors may hopefully someday forgive me for. When my
balls tightened, pulled into my body, I moved my hands to her waist,
held her tight and exploded, flooding her with the load of cum that
had been fermenting in my balls all evening. And, as I drenched her
most private parts, Jennie joined me with furious yelps of orgasmic
delight.
Morning Coffee.
I was making coffee the next morning on my Technivorm Moccamaster
drip coffee-maker. A gift from Jennie, it was the most expensive
thing in my apartment. She said she could tolerate my room, if I kept
it clean; but insisted on good coffee. She rolled over, reached for
me, found I wasn't there, then, smelling the coffee, lifted her head
and said, "Hey lover, got a cup for me?"
I handed it to her, got into bed, and sitting up, our bodies
pressed together, she tasted the brew.
"It's good, you're not scrimping on beans anymore."
"I've learned what matters, you."
She took another sip and said, "Speaking of which, you forgot
to remind me to text Mom last night to let her know I was staying
with friends."
"You were passed out. It seemed a shame to wake you, so I did
it myself."
She picked up her phone, read my message, and, nodding
approvingly, said, "Good looking, great in bed, thoughtful,
treats my family right, I'm a lucky girl."
"Almost as lucky as me. I love you babe."
Smiling she said, "You're sure you're not just in love with
last night."
I said, "Yeah, I'm sure. Whose idea was it to dress alike,
every guy in the place had their eyes on you two."
"Both of ours. Not that she'll admit it, but Mom loves
attention, loves it when you young guys fixate on her at the gym.
Dad's got medical issues and when he lost the ability to perform it's
like he started seeing Mom as a guy, treating her more like a friend
than a wife. Mom loves Dad, but she misses the sex and the attention
that goes with it.
"She knows she needn't go without, she could have an affair;
with her looks and personality guys would line up. Even Dad's doctor
- the pig - has hit on her, but she loves Dad and doesn't want to
embarrass him. In their social circle word would get out."
She looked away temporarily, lost in thought. I put my arm around
the shoulder, kissed the side of her head, and afer a moment Jennie
resumed. "She kept all this bottled up inside her for the
longest time, but when I became sexually active, and especially since
I started seeing you, she's talked to me about it, gets pretty
explicit. At first I was surprised by how far she went, but I
realized she's living vicariously and she digs talking about sex. I
think she might have a little crush on you."
"Does that bother you?"
"Nah."
That was a casual answer; I pushed.
"You dig it, don't you?"
"Can't say I'm displeased. A high school girl doesn't mind
having a college guy she can show off, or a guy her mother likes. It
makes things easier."
View all episodes
By [email protected]
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My Girlfriend's Neglected Mother: Part 1
Hot Mom, hot daughter, is anyone complaining?
Based on a post by MaryAnderson.
Listen to the Podcast at Steamy
Stories.
It's not often you meet a mother who's better looking than her
good-looking college-age daughter.
I remember the first time I saw them.
I'd moved to San Diego immediately after graduating from high
school. While I wouldn't begin my freshman year until September, I'd
found a decent job and I needed the money.
As a side benefit my employer provided membership at a fancy local
gym, one I couldn't have afforded. I was doing chest presses when a
class got out in an upstairs studio. About two dozen women and a
smattering of guys came down the stairs followed by several women
talking animatedly to a striking rail-thin brunette. Standing next to
her was a younger woman with the same color hair and same impressive
build. Both wore skin-hugging leotards identical in style, although
differing in color. As the knot of women moved across the room I
overheard enough of the conversation to understand the older woman
had been leading a pilates class.
After their entourage dispersed the two women lingered at the
front counter talking to the attendant when the younger one noticed
me checking them out. Busted, I gave her my best you-caught-me grin.
She smiled, said something to the older woman, who turned, held my
gaze for a beat, before returning her focus to her companions. A few
minutes later, they left.
After finishing with the weights I went to the front desk. The
older woman was Theresa Hollins; she taught several classes at the
gym. The younger one was her daughter Jennie, a high school senior.
The attendant made it clear I wasn't the first guy who'd asked about
them. I checked the schedule; Theresa would lead a steps class in a
couple of days.
Enrolling in class.
I was hanging downstairs when they came through the front door.
They certainly didn't mind being identified as mother and daughter,
they looked alike, styled their hair the same way, although Jennie's
was longer, and their leotards were differently colored variations of
each other. I introduced myself, Mrs. Hollins introduced herself and
her daughter, said she hoped I'd enjoy the class.
I soon found out that not only did they look alike, they shared
the optimistic up-beat positive personality associated with aerobics
instructors and were, as they appeared to be, in superb condition,
pushing everyone, encouraging everyone, leaving all but a few in the
dust.
After class, along with several others, I walked downstairs with
Theresa and Jennie, offered to treat them to bottles of water after
the crowd peeled away. Theresa declined, said she had an errand to
run, told her daughter she could swing by on the way home and pick
her up.
Jennie said sure, she could use a drink.
Two days later we shared a bed. Not too long after that, for the
first time in my life, I told a woman I loved her.
I'd never been one for classes at health clubs, preferring to
work-out with a buddies or on my own, but couldn't see how to stop
going without offending Mrs. Hollins and if it gave me an excuse to
watch my girlfriend and her hot mother covered in thin veneers of
sweat stretching and straining in skin-tight leotards, who'd say no
to that?
Dating Life.
We'd been seeing each other for about six weeks when, holding
Jennie in the spoon position - we'd just rocked each other's worlds
on my one-room apartment's undersized bed - she said, "You think
my mother's hot, don't you?"
There was no point in denying it. Jennie and her Mom surely knew
and neither seemed offended; Mrs. Hollins had been enthusiastic about
my dating her daughter from day one.
"Yeah, it's clear you come by some of your good looks
naturally."
"Some?"
"As hard as you and your Mom work-out, there's a lot of sweat
and dedication there."
Bringing my hand to her mouth she kissed it and said, "Nice
rescue," then, smiling indecipherably, looked over her shoulder.
I said, "What?"
"The guys I've known, they all think Mom's hot. Most look at
her furtively, sneakily, thinking they're slick, that we don't
notice, but we do. Then there's the guys who stare and drool, not
cool. There are a few, I don't know if they have more or less
control, who look away even when they should be looking at her, like
they don't know how to handle it. You're different. You don't take
creepy little looks, but when you have a reason to look you do and
don't seem to feel weird about it. Plus, you're the first one to
admit it."
I didn't say that, in addition to having a thing for hot younger
women like her, I had a thing for hot older women, that I'd bedded a
few back home. Instead, since it was clear that not only didn't it
bother her, but that she dug it, I said, "Yeah, I like looking
at your Mom. Why do you bring it up, interested in a threesome?"
Laughing she said, "What makes you think I do women, and why
are guys fascinated by threesomes, especially mothers and daughters?"
Making a mental note; she hadn't said no or gotten offended. I
said it must be some kind of biological or evolutionary imperative,
and avoided the first question by kissing her. She kissed me back,
reached for my dick.
Soon I was driving into her, shaking the flimsy bed, and she was
totally into it, writhing, moaning, clutching my back, digging her
fingers into me. Not that she wasn't always into it, but if I wasn't
missing something this time more than ever.
The conversation about her mother had turned her on.
The overture.
My phone rang, no name appeared. I thought about letting it roll
to voice mail, but there was something familiar about the number,
then I got it. It was one digit different from Jennie's.
"Hello."
"Hey Michael, it's Theresa. Jennie gave me your number, we
figured it'd be okay."
"I never complain about a beautiful woman with my phone
number. What can I do for you?"
After a moment's hesitation, but no objection, she said, "Jennie's
talked about you so much that her father wants to meet you. Can you
come to the house for drinks, then we'll go to dinner."
"Sounds fine, when?"
"Sunday at 7:00."
"I'm open, where are we going?"
"Morgan's."
I checked Morgan's on-line. Coat and tie? I didn't own a coat and
tie and my bank account was in no shape to buy them. While looking up
the local consignment shops I realized I didn't have Jennie's home
address; we'd always met in town. I considered texting Jennie, but
pleased by the tone of my conversation with Mrs. Hollins, called her
back.
"Hello Michael."
She'd saved my number to her phone's memory.
"Hey good looking, I just realized I don't have your
address."
After a pause she said, "What if I told my daughter you
called me 'good looking' and asked for my address?"
"Jennie and I are in complete agreement about her mother's
good looks. Is she there?"
"Yes, should I get her for you?"
"Only after a little more flirting."
"You are bad."
"I only get worse, now what's the address?"
"I'll text it to you, here's my daughter."
As she moved the phone from her mouth I heard, as she intended,
her say "Your very bad boyfriend is on the phone. Tell him he
needs a cold shower."
Double Date Night.
It was my first trip to the suburbs. After checking in with the
rent-a-cop at the subdivision's front gate I drove my jalopy down
shaded streets, waiting to get pulled over. It looked like only shiny
new Mercedes, BMWs, Cadillacs, and Lexus, with an occasional Porche
or Maserati, were legal in this neighborhood.
My phone led me to a circular driveway at the end of a cul de sac.
Nice house. I parked behind a black Range Rover, got out, rang the
bell, wondered about Jennie's father. Jennie talked about her Mom all
the time - they were more best friends than parent and child - but
rarely mentioned her father. When she did it was positive, but bland,
a vague assurance that he was "okay." Still, I'd imagined
him as a bookend for his wife and daughter: tip-top condition,
good-looking, smart and incisive.
Jennie opened the door, kissed my lips, said, "Hey lover,
ready to meet the family."
She looked great. Her loose fitting dress, held on by spaghetti
straps, dipped down her chest, stopping just short of her cleavage,
clinched at the waist, then hung to the floor in a series of graceful
folds. What was most striking, however, was the cascade of colors,
oranges and yellows, greens and blues, imposed on patterns of
butterfly wings.
I said, "That's a lovely dress," she slipped her hand
into mine, and turning, the bottom of the dress swirling about, we
headed into the house.
In the living room, large, cathedral ceiling, gorgeous furniture,
ceiling to floor back window overlooking a swimming pool, was Mrs.
Hollins, her dress also long, open shouldered, loose-fitting and a
rainbow of colors: chartreuse, pink, magenta.
And while neither dress was overtly sexual, this particular mother
and daughter presenting themselves in public dressed alike was. And,
as meticulous as they were about their appearance, that was no
accident. I said, "Mrs. Hollins, you're stunning, your dress,
like your daughter's, is beautiful, love the colors."
Mrs. Hollins said, "Thank you," adding as a man entered
the room, "Michael, this is my husband, Tom. Tom, this is
Michael, Jennie's beau."
Contrary to my expectations he did not match his wife and
daughter. He was his wife's height, or possibly a bit shorter, at the
moment her heels gave her an inch or so on him, and if not fat, was
pudgy. Saying, "It's good to finally meet you sir," I
reached for his hand and studied his face. His features were affable,
not those of your best friend - him you'd want smart and tough,
someone who had your back - but friendly, the face of a guy who got
along with everyone, liked everyone, a you wouldn't ask to cut
another $250.00 off the price of a car because you wanted him to come
out okay and knew he'd never rip you off.
And that's what he did. He sold cars, owned a dozen dealerships.
Not top-of-the-line stuff, he wasn't selling cars to his neighbors,
but he was selling lots of cars to someone.
Over dinner my impression was confirmed. Mr. Hollins did not have
his wife's or daughter's cynical intelligence, which they masked with
their positive up-beat personalities. He was what he appeared to be,
a good guy, a roll with the punches guy, a laugh at your jokes no
matter how bad they are guy, a not notice if you got a little
inappropriate guy.
I got a little inappropriate.
I focused on his wife and daughter, made eye contact, held it.
They responded, their eyes on mine.
I touched them, starting with a shoulder, a forearm, moved to the
waist, cleaned a speck of food off their face.
When a lady had to go to the bathroom I held her chair, did the
same on her return, was rewarded with a kiss.
I told mother and daughter how good they looked. Openly relishing
the compliment, they thanked me.
The women responded, a flip of the hair, a tongue gliding on a
lip, moved a little closer.
And through it all Mr. Hollins seemed fine, happy to have me
entertain the ladies.
Back at the house Mr. Hollins excused himself to go to the
facilities and Jennie said, "Mom, I know its late, but there's a
party on campus I want to go to. I know it's late, but can I go back
out? Michael will take good care of me."
This was the first I'd heard of a party.
Mrs. Hollins said, "Honey you didn't mention a party. Where
is it?"
"I don't remember, one of the frats," she looked at me,
"which frat babe?"
I said, unconvincingly,"Delta something."
Mrs. Hollins said, "Delta something?"
She knew what was going on.
"Yeah, Delta something, those Greek names run into each
other."
She turned to her daughter. "A frat party and it's already
approaching curfew, what will your father think?"
"C'mon Mom, if you say it's okay he will too."
Turning back to me Mrs. Hollins said, "You promise to take
good care of her?"
"The best I can, I promise no frat boy will get near her."
"Of that I'm sure. Well, if you're going to date a college
guy I guess we need to make allowances. If it gets too late, if you
need to spend the night with a friend in town, text me."
Mr. Hollins returned, permission was sought and received. At the
front door I thanked Mr. Hollins for dinner, leaned in to kiss his
wife good night, who held my arm and whispered in my ear, "You
better be using protection bub."
Stepping back I said, "Thank you Mrs. Hollins and, of
course."
Reviews.
Driving back to my place Jennie said, "So what did you think
of Dad?"
"I was a bit surprised. I'd figured him to be in primo shape,
like you and your Mom."
"Dad's let himself go. He's in a dozen civic groups, always
going to meetings, eating bad food, never has time to exercise. He
says it's good for business.
"Well, you can't argue with his success, the house is
beautiful. He seemed like a real nice guy."
"He is, and you took advantage, flirting with me and Mom in
front of him."
There was no anger in her voice. Then her bra was laid on my
shoulder. She'd worked it off under her dress.
"Two beautiful women; it's hard to resist being a little bad.
Your Dad didn't seem bothered by it."
"No, peripatetic Mom and I wear him out. He's glad when
someone else entertains us."
She dropped her panties in my lap and said, "Remember, we'll
need to text Mom and let her know I crashed with a friend."
Bachelor Pad.
In my apartment it didn't take long for Jennie, already sans
panties and bra, to get naked; it took me longer, but not much. I
slipped a finger, then two, inside her wet sex.
"God you're hot."
She ran her fingers the length of my penis, squeezed, said, "Hard
not to be when your boyfriend has this kind of dick, nice and hard."
"After tonight, how couldn't it be"
"Yeah, you loved it, hanging, flirting with two women, you
were shameless."
I twisted my fingers inside her, kissed her, said, "Me? You
guys were asking for it, hot mom, hot daughter wearing basically the
same fricking dress. That wasn't clothing, it was foreplay."
Smearing my pre-cum into the head of my dick she, adopting a tone
of pouting faux-innocence, said, "Honey, those dresses were
classy, long and loose. The sex was in your head."
"You make everything hot."
"And my mother?"
"Yep, must be genetic."
Twisting her hand on my tool she said, "Really, if she asked
real nice, would you fuck her? I can hear it now: 'Fuck me Michael,
Jennie and Tom are gone. Give me some hard dick, I need it so bad. My
husband doesn't fuck me anymore and you're so much bigger than him
and from the happy look on my daughter's face when she gets home from
a date, you know how to use it."
I said, "I don't know Mrs. Hollins, I've never cheated on
Jennie."
Rolling onto all fours, she spread her legs, exposing her
glistening sex, looked over her shoulder and said, "Don't worry,
my daughter won't mind. I know that horny minx, it'll make her
hotter. I'm an MILF who needs cock, fuck me hard, like you fuck my
daughter."
Saying, "Well if it's going to make Jennie happy, who am I to
argue," I got on my knees and held her by the waist. Jennie
reached back, placed my dick on her sex, said, "Let me,"
and in a long slow motion, pushed into me, sighing happily as her
pussy spread, yielded, molded itself to my me. Dropping her head to
her forearms she said, "This is what I need, a young man's thick
cock," arched her back, raised her head, and said, "Fuck
me, fuck Jennie's mommy, fuck her hard."
I pulled out until only the cock-head was inside her, paused,
drove into her, shaking the flimsy bed. As I did she pushed into me,
rotated her ass, clenched her sex muscles, said, "I see the way
you young men look at me, it makes my pussy so wet."
We fucked, my squeaking bed rocking back and forth, the sound
reverberating off the walls of my tiny room.
"Have you thought about it stud, a threesome, fucking me and
Jennie at the same time?"
"Two hot mouths on my cock, filling two woman with my dick,
drenching them with my cum, hell yes."
"That's it, that's it Michael, imagine it, imagine you're
fucking Mama while I watch, my finger in my sex."
I imagined it and my cock, stiff and hard, the piston of a race
car, reamed her. Words deserted us, replaced by wheezes and moans and
shouts and hollers, but the image in both minds was the same: I
boning Mrs. Hollins under her daughter's licentious approving gaze.
Mesmerized by this perverted shared fantasy Jennie balanced herself
on one arm and reached for her clit; I moved my hands to her tits,
twisted the small hard nipples. We fucked, we howled, an animal sound
that the neighbors may hopefully someday forgive me for. When my
balls tightened, pulled into my body, I moved my hands to her waist,
held her tight and exploded, flooding her with the load of cum that
had been fermenting in my balls all evening. And, as I drenched her
most private parts, Jennie joined me with furious yelps of orgasmic
delight.
Morning Coffee.
I was making coffee the next morning on my Technivorm Moccamaster
drip coffee-maker. A gift from Jennie, it was the most expensive
thing in my apartment. She said she could tolerate my room, if I kept
it clean; but insisted on good coffee. She rolled over, reached for
me, found I wasn't there, then, smelling the coffee, lifted her head
and said, "Hey lover, got a cup for me?"
I handed it to her, got into bed, and sitting up, our bodies
pressed together, she tasted the brew.
"It's good, you're not scrimping on beans anymore."
"I've learned what matters, you."
She took another sip and said, "Speaking of which, you forgot
to remind me to text Mom last night to let her know I was staying
with friends."
"You were passed out. It seemed a shame to wake you, so I did
it myself."
She picked up her phone, read my message, and, nodding
approvingly, said, "Good looking, great in bed, thoughtful,
treats my family right, I'm a lucky girl."
"Almost as lucky as me. I love you babe."
Smiling she said, "You're sure you're not just in love with
last night."
I said, "Yeah, I'm sure. Whose idea was it to dress alike,
every guy in the place had their eyes on you two."
"Both of ours. Not that she'll admit it, but Mom loves
attention, loves it when you young guys fixate on her at the gym.
Dad's got medical issues and when he lost the ability to perform it's
like he started seeing Mom as a guy, treating her more like a friend
than a wife. Mom loves Dad, but she misses the sex and the attention
that goes with it.
"She knows she needn't go without, she could have an affair;
with her looks and personality guys would line up. Even Dad's doctor
- the pig - has hit on her, but she loves Dad and doesn't want to
embarrass him. In their social circle word would get out."
She looked away temporarily, lost in thought. I put my arm around
the shoulder, kissed the side of her head, and afer a moment Jennie
resumed. "She kept all this bottled up inside her for the
longest time, but when I became sexually active, and especially since
I started seeing you, she's talked to me about it, gets pretty
explicit. At first I was surprised by how far she went, but I
realized she's living vicariously and she digs talking about sex. I
think she might have a little crush on you."
"Does that bother you?"
"Nah."
That was a casual answer; I pushed.
"You dig it, don't you?"
"Can't say I'm displeased. A high school girl doesn't mind
having a college guy she can show off, or a guy her mother likes. It
makes things easier."
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