“Ohh Derek! Don’t stop!” Angela moaned.
He couldn’t if he wanted to. The gorgeous MILF he fucked had her feet touching behind his back as he thrust inside her and her right hand hooked around the back of his neck, keeping her balanced on the kitchen counter. Glancing up at the rustic mahogany clock Angela kept on her kitchen wall, he could see the big hand hovered a centimeter behind the little one.
It was nearly noon.
“Mrs. Thompson, it’s almost noon,” he said. “They can show up at any minute.”
“Ugh! I don’t care! I don’t care! I need this. I need this now! Now fuck me like the deprived slut that i am!” she screamed so loud I was sure people walking their dogs on the sidewalk in this quiet neighborhood heard her.
What began a week ago as a ‘well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,’ an opportunistic fling with the mature neighbor was about to ruin Derek’s life in one minute. This insatiable woman he had somehow sexually unlocked was the social butterfly with her nose weaseled, not only in Derek’s personal life, but apparently farther than Derek’s liking into his professional life, too. In fact, the longest attending member of her monthly book club also happened to be Derek’s boss’, boss’, boss at the law firm he was just hired into for his first job out of college.
Only I could ruin my career at twenty-five years old, three weeks into my first job as a lawyer.
Another attendee of this well-known book club was the mother of his ex-girlfriend, another gem that connects to every friend and acquaintance he had in real life or social media. So that was a bomb ticking closer to zero, and yet, that wasn’t the bomb he feared the most and the reason he dreaded the two clock hands coming together. This book club, which was beginning in the next few minutes, also attended his mother.
How could things have gotten so fucked in just a week? I’m about to lose all my friends, ruin my career, and be despised by my own family all because I got tipsy and had rebound sex with the hot neighbor.
“Oh, yes. Give it to me! Harder!” Mrs. Thompson demanded.
Derek knew from experience if he were to try to disentwine himself from the horny woman her voracious sexual appetite would only urge her to cling tighter and demand more. The fastest way to extricate himself from this conundrum was to finish what he started.
Sliding his left hand up her chest, Derek groped her breasts one at a time. Squeezing and mashing them into her chest, he scooped them out of the white and blue flower-patterned sundress she wore. Mrs. Thompson’s breasts were pale compared to her tanned arms and neck. The heavy and round tits bounced wildly in her sundress and now clapped together with every thrust outside her dress. Out of her hairstyle, which she had scolded him for calling it a ‘Karen haircut’ (it’s a blond with streaks inverted bob with side-swept bangs cut at an angle, she had said after one passionate night of powerful orgasms), the only part of her perfectly sculpted hair that moved was her bangs shook from side to side as her body rocked.
“Yes, take me. Make me your whore!” Mrs. Thompson demanded.
Derek’s hand slipped behind her neck, grabbed a lock of her crispy, product-filled hair, and yanked her head down to the kitchen.
“Ahhh! Fuck! Yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” Mrs. Thompson screamed.
Flipping the skirt of her dress over her belly, Derek saw his thick throbbing cock force open her tight pussy lips as he entered her. Scooting her lower on the kitchen counter by her hair, he bit his lower lip hard as he rammed her pussy harder.
“Ah ah ah ah ahhh–oh god!” she grunted with every thrust.
Mrs. Thompson’s white high heels floated beside Derek’s head as she spread her legs wider and lifted to get him deeper inside. His hands rallied at her thick golden thigh as he grabbed the outside of them and yanked her body back as he rammed forward.
Mrs. Thompson’s eyes flirted with the ceiling, wanting to roll backward. “Oh god… oh gah… ugh jesus…”
Derek stole glances over his shoulder at the backdoor as he heard the ancient cuckoo clock she kept in the living ding and hooted that it was noon. His heart jackhammered in his chest.
Come on…
Massaging his palm from her creamy lotioned thigh to her moist clitoris, the pad of his thumb dragged on her clit like it was a mosquito bite to be itched. Almost instantly, her thighs clapped together and her hands grabbed at Derek’s muscular arms and shoulders.
“Oh my god, oh my god!” she cried desperately. “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”
His cock slammed inside her, feeling her tight walls squeeze on him until she couldn’t fit inside. The squirt of juices that erupted from her pussy soaked the front of his t-shirt and splashed the hardwood floor at his feet where his jeans were bunched.
“Ohhhh ohhh ohhhh! God!” Mrs. Thompson sang in a moan as her back arched on her kitchen counter.
It was only seconds that passed before her last scream and a rapping at the front door followed by it immediately opening.
“Hello, hello, hello!” Mrs. Miller’s voice carried from the living room down the hall. The tone and frequency were almost a match for Derek’s ex-girlfriend.
Like mother, like daughter, he thought before the panic sent him into a frenzy. The long hall that divided the kitchen from the living room kept the two from seeing another, but there were no doors dividing them. Nothing kept his ex’s mother from walking into the kitchen and seeing him standing with a hard caught and a shirt soaked in Mrs. Thompson’s cum.
“I’m here a smidge early to help you set up since I knew today was a big one,” Mrs. Miller’s voice neared the hall, and he grabbed at his pants only to find them drenched. His hard cock bobbed as he turned this way and that unknown where to go.
Mrs. Thompson, still spread across her countertop, with her breasts and pussy free, stretched her arms above her head without a care in the world.
“Oh, thank you, dear,” Mrs. Thompson’s voice was an octave higher for her guest. “Could you be a dear and start setting up in there? I have a surprise in the kitchen and I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Oh, of course! Angela, you know you don’t have to do more than you already do!” Mrs. Miller said, her voice receding back into the living room.
Derek had one foot in his wet jeans when Mrs. Thompson sat up from where she lay and stopped him. He tried to communicate with his wide, terrified eyes he had to get out of there now before his mother arrived, but Mrs. Thompson wasn’t having it. Wrapping her warm, delicate fingers around his massive cock, her fingers took over from where her pussy lips left off and stroked him.
He mouthed to the lady who was nearly twice his age to stop, that they could get caught, but the woman didn’t care. Her eyes narrowed as her grip tightened on the meat of his shaft. Each stroke grew firmer and faster. Mrs. Thompson knew she had him when his cock flexed back in response to her squeeze.
The front door opened again, and there was a series of high-pitched greetings. Mrs. Wells, a Congresswoman, Ms. Monroe, the Director of Finance for Monroe Accounting, and Mrs. Sandy Bowmen, Senior District Attorney for Austin, TX, and his mother had all arrived.
“Oh, how are you?”
“Let me take that.”
“That looks delicious!” the women sang to each other like morning birds doing their greetings.
“Where’s Angela? I haven’t seen her yet,” Mrs. Bowmen asked. Derek froze as he recognized the clack of his mother’s high heels down the hall towards the kitchen where he stood.
His eyes were wide. Skin ghostly white. Breathing, non-existent.
“Oops,” Mrs. Miller called out, “Angela said not to go in there. She’s got a surprise for us, she said. I hope it’s cake! Oh, she naked the most wondrous cakes, doesn’t she, ladies?”
The affirming sounds were background to his mother’s protracted sigh that traveled the length of the hallway she did not walk. “Angela, are you over there?”
Derek peeled his eyes away from the hall entryway where he dreaded his mother appearing and looked down at the middle-aged milf kneeling before him. Her eyes locked on his she slowly stroked his thick shaft as she stuck out her tongue and lapped at his low-hanging testicle.
“Yes, hun,” Mrs. Thompson replied.
“We have a few things to discuss. Can I come back there for a moment?” Derek’s mother asked.
His eyes pleaded with her as a devious smile grew on her face from ear to ear. Mrs. Thompson’s eyebrows danced playfully as she switched from sucking one ball to the other as she considered it.
“Can you give me a minute? I’m sort of in the middle of something,” Mrs. Thompson said.
There was another sigh from his mother, a pause, and after a moment, her clacking heels returned to the living room with the others.
Derek released a soundless sigh of relief, so powerful he might’ve collapsed if Mrs. Thompson still didn’t have a firm grasp on his cock.
“Let me go, I have to go,” he mouthed at her.
With her wide seductive grin, Mrs. Thompson shook her head and whispered, “Nuh uh uhh… not until you give me what I want.”
Derek shushed her with her finger even though her low voice didn’t compete with the laughter and obnoxious voices yelling stories to another in the other room. Mrs. Thompson pumped my cock faster. Her left hand slipped down the base of my balls to massage my scrotum. He winced at the confusion of fear, anxiety, and pleasure overlapping with one another.
Mrs. Thompson saw my eyes constantly flicking in the hallway, and she shook her head. “Give me what I want first,” she bit her lip and breathed quicker. “Give me that cum, baby. Cum for me like a good boy.”
His heart thumped in his chest and he felt her squeeze his cock in response to it flexing in her palm. Mrs. Thompson’s plush scarlet red lipstick parted as the head of his cock entered her mouth. The tip of her tongue did circles on the tip of his cock. Pressing his lips together, Derek felt his hips pull back as the pressure built in his shaft.
A minute passed, and Mrs. Thompson popped her lips off the tip of his cock loudly. She panted with the smile of a crazy person. It was like she wanted to get caught. It was like it was all a game to her.
Masturbating his shaft wildly, Mrs. Thompson’s breasts bounced with her fast-pumping arm. His hips moved slightly as the excitement built.
“Oh, cum for me, baby. Cum on your slut’s face. Cum here, right in my fucking mouth,” she begged.
The four women’s voices weren’t as loud as when they first arrived. There was a chance they could hear her whispers for me.
They might hear me cum… He thought.
Derek’s eyes begged Mrs. Thompson. Her eyebrows were high. Her long tongue pushed out demandingly.
Biting down on his fist, he held back a groan as his first spurt of cum shot from the tip of his cock. The gooey string of semen struck the roof of her mouth, the edge of it looped over her upper lip just beside her nose. Pinching his eyes shut, then opening them again, Derek saw the pool of milky cum had formed in the center of Mrs. Thompson’s tongue as she stroked every last drop from his cock. Wearing a wicked smile and squinted eyes that bore into Derek’s face, Mrs. Thompson closed her lips and swallowed every drop of his seed.
There was a sudden knock at the back door to the kitchen that started the both of them.
“Hello? Angela? Are you there? Can you let me in? I’ve got my hands full,” the woman asked. Her voice was new, but Derek had heard it before.
Rebecca Whitmore. My boss’, boss’, boss was here. And she just trapped me here!
Mrs. Thompson stood, straightening the skirt of her sundress, tucking in her breasts, and adjusting them. Derek ran a fast half-circle around the kitchen island, searching for a hiding spot. His half-mast cock bouncing as he moved.
“The hall,” she whispered as she adjusted her hair and licked the final spit of cum from her lipstick.
“Are you crazy?!” he mouthed back.
“Hello?” Rebecca called louder.
“Closet,” Mrs. Thompson said with her hand on the doorknob, then turned to open the door.
Wincing like he was about to stick his hand into a blazing fire, Derek ran light-footed into the hallway just as he heard Mrs. Thompson open the kitchen door and greet Rebecca.
There was no going back now.
He saw the lights in the living room and movement as his mother grabbed something from the couch, her back turned to him. Opening the closet, Derek bodied the jackets and sweaters hung on hangers as he closed the door. The click of the door was minimal.
“Look who’s here!” Mrs. Thompson said as all the women gushed over Rebecca’s entrance. “And, look, surprise! Cake pops!”
Mrs. Miller squealed, “Ooo, I knew it would be cake! I love the frosting!”
Derek’s mother spoke up, “Oh, dear, Angela, honey. What happened to your hair here in the back? It’s all standing up.”
“Really? Geez, I laid down to rest my eyes an hour ago. Here, let me go fix it,” Mrs. Thompson said.
Derek heard her footsteps and others passed by the closet door he hid in. They grabbed refreshments and snacks as they set up for their book club to begin. It was then he realized he was in the closet not wearing any pants or underwear. He had left his jeans on the kitchen floor!
“Okay, everyone,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Ready to begin?”
