I woke up with my head throbbing, my mouth dry as sandpaper. Stacy was snoring softly beside me, her blonde hair spread across the pillow like a golden halo, completely at odds with what we’d done last night. I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the fog from my brain. The digital clock on the nightstand showed 8:43. Too early after our late night, but I couldn’t fall back asleep with the memories of Rob and Marcus fucking Stacy senseless still playing on repeat in my mind.
My cock twitched under the sheets as flashes of Stacy’s moaning face appeared behind my closed eyelids. I turned to look at her sleeping form, her perfect small tits barely visible under the thin fabric of her tank top, rising and falling with each breath. She’d been insatiable last night, begging for more even after both bulls had emptied their balls multiple times. No wonder she was still passed out.
I carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake her. My legs felt wobbly as I stood up, my muscles sore from kneeling for so long in that hotel room. I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Stacy didn’t even stir as I quietly opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway of her parents’ house.
The Chandler home was quiet in the morning light that filtered through the windows. Family photos lined the walls of the upstairs hallway – Stacy in her graduation gown, the Chandlers on various vacations, all smiling innocently at the camera. If they only knew what their perfect daughter had been up to last night. Well, at least her dad didn’t know. Her mom… that was more complicated.
I crept down the stairs, careful to avoid the third step that always creaked loudly. The house had that peaceful morning stillness that made me feel like an intruder. The living room was empty, sunlight streaming through the large windows onto the comfortable furniture. I made my way to the kitchen, desperate for coffee to clear my head.
The coffee machine hummed to life as I filled it with water and scooped in the grounds. While it brewed, I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes, the events from last night flooding back involuntarily. Stacy’s lips stretched around Marcus’s thick black cock while Rob pounded her from behind. Her screams of pleasure as they both entered her at once. The humiliation and arousal I felt as they made me watch, unable to touch myself until they gave permission.
My cock stiffened in my sweatpants, and I adjusted myself quickly. This wasn’t the time or place. I focused on the coffee brewing, the rich aroma filling the kitchen, grounding me back in the present. Once it was done, I poured a large mug and added a splash of milk. The first sip burned my tongue but cleared some of the fog from my brain.
I carried my coffee into the living room, intending to sit quietly and maybe check my phone until Stacy woke up. That’s when I saw Roberta Chandler curled up in the corner of the sofa, dressed in a silky robe that barely reached mid-thigh. She was working on a crossword puzzle, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. I froze in place.
“Good morning, Duncan,” she said without looking up from her puzzle. “Sleep well?”
“Uh, good morning, Mrs. Chandler,” I stammered, suddenly very aware that I was alone with my girlfriend’s mother, who was wearing next to nothing. “Yeah, I, uh, slept okay.”
Roberta glanced up then, her eyes meeting mine with a knowing look that made my cheeks burn. At fifty, Stacy’s mom was still an attractive woman – the kind they call a MILF in porn videos. Her dark hair was streaked with silver but still thick and lustrous, and she kept herself in shape. The robe she wore clung to her curves in a way that made me feel guilty for noticing.
“You don’t look like you slept much,” she observed, setting her crossword aside. “Coffee might help, though. May I?” She gestured to my mug.
I handed it to her, and she took a small sip before passing it back. “Perfect. You make good coffee, Duncan.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking a seat in the armchair across from her. I tried not to stare as she shifted position, the robe slipping to reveal more of her thigh. “Is, uh, Mr. Chandler up yet?”
Roberta smiled and shook her head. “Steven’s still fast asleep. We went to the street festival downtown last night, but we didn’t stay late. Not like you young people.” She adjusted her robe casually, but not before I caught a glimpse of the curve of her breast. “We were home by eleven. I think I heard you and Stacy come in much later.”
I swallowed hard, wondering how much she knew, how much she suspected. “Yeah, we, uh, we met up with some friends after we lost track of you guys at the festival.”
“Friends?” Roberta raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Anyone I know?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Just some people Stacy knows from before college.”
Roberta nodded slowly, studying my face with the practiced eye of a psychologist. “You know, Duncan, Stacy was always popular. Always had lots of… friends.”
The way she emphasized the word made it clear she wasn’t talking about casual acquaintances. I felt my face grow hot again.
“She likes to have fun,” I said lamely, staring into my coffee.
“And you?” Roberta leaned forward slightly, her robe gaping just enough to show the swell of her cleavage. “Do you have fun too, with these friends of hers?”
I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. I took a long sip of coffee, buying time. “I, uh, I just want Stacy to be happy.”
Roberta smiled, a genuine smile that reminded me so much of Stacy it was uncanny. “That’s sweet, Duncan. Really. But that’s not what I asked.”
I cleared my throat. “It’s complicated.”
“Life usually is.” She reached for her own mug on the side table and took a sip. “Especially when it comes to relationships. And especially when it comes to certain… arrangements.”
My heart was pounding in my chest. Did she know? Had Stacy told her? Or was she just fishing?
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
Roberta sighed and set her mug down. “Duncan, I’m a psychologist. I’ve heard it all. Nothing shocks me anymore. And more importantly, I’m Stacy’s mother. We’re… closer than most mothers and daughters.”
I swallowed hard. “How close?”
“Close enough that I know you two didn’t just ‘meet up with friends’ last night.” Her voice was gentle, not accusatory. “You went to the Riverside Hotel, didn’t you?”
I nearly dropped my mug. “How did you—”
“The festival ended at the river. There’s only one hotel there.” She shrugged, adjusting her robe again. “And Stacy’s always had a thing for that place. The red velvet. The dark wood. The staff that doesn’t ask questions.”
I stared at her, not knowing what to say. My cock was rock hard now, trapped painfully in my sweatpants.
“And relax, Duncan,” she smiled again, warming her face. “I’m not judging you. Or Stacy. I just want to understand.”
I took a deep breath. “What exactly do you want to understand?”
She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, the robe slipping to reveal more thigh. “I want to understand if you’re happy with this arrangement. If Stacy is taking things too far. If you feel… coerced in any way.”
“No!” I said quickly. Too quickly. “No, it’s not like that. I’m… I’m into it too.” I couldn’t believe I was admitting this to my girlfriend’s mother.
Roberta nodded slowly. “And these friends… Are they good to her? Safe?”
I nearly choked on my coffee. My mind was reeling. How much did Roberta know? What details had Stacy shared with her mother?
“They’re… yeah, they’re good to her,” I said finally. “They use protection. Most of the time. And they respect our boundaries.”
“Your boundaries,” Roberta corrected gently. “Or hers?”
I looked down at my hands, clenched around my coffee mug. “Both, I guess. But mostly mine. Stacy doesn’t have many boundaries when it comes to… to sex.”
Roberta nodded. “She’s always been adventurous. Even as a teenager, she pushed limits.” She paused, studying my face. “So you two split off from us at the festival, and then what happened? You went straight to the hotel?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. We, uh, we met Rob and Marcus at the bowling alley first. For drinks.”
“Ah, yes. Rob works there, doesn’t he?” Roberta said casually, as if discussing the weather. “And Marcus owns the gym downtown.”
I nodded, stunned by how much she knew.
“And then?” she prompted.
I hesitated, but something in her expression made me continue. “Then we went to the hotel. They had already booked a room. The same one we used at Christmas.”
“The one with the black leather chair in the corner?” Roberta asked with a knowing smile, her voice steady.
I felt light-headed. “Yes. How did you know?”
She smiled enigmatically. “Let’s just say that hotel has been around a long time, Duncan. And some rooms have… specific purposes.”
The implication hit me like a truck. Had Roberta been to that same room at the adventure she recalled at our Christmas dinner?
“We call it the cuck chair,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
Roberta didn’t even blink. “Yes, I imagine you do.”
The silence stretched between us as Roberta leaned forward, her expression serious.
“Duncan, I need you to be honest with me. What happened at that hotel last night? I need to know if Stacy is okay. If you’re okay.”
I took a deep breath. Something about Roberta’s calm, non-judgmental demeanor made me want to tell her everything.
“It started the same as usual,” I began slowly. “Drinks at the bowling alley, then to the hotel. But last night was… more intense than usual.”
Roberta nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”
I glanced toward the stairs, making sure there was no sign of Stacy or her father. “Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s pretty graphic.”
Roberta’s lips curved into a smile that was so much like her daughter’s it was eerie. “Duncan, I’ve been a psychologist for twenty-five years. I’ve heard it all. And besides…” She paused, adjusting her robe again. “I care about both of you. I want to make sure no one’s getting hurt. Physically or emotionally.”
I nodded, took another sip of my now-lukewarm coffee, and began to tell her what had happened after we arrived at the hotel.
