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This is a story I felt compelled to share. The names have been changed and I write this all with a shaky hand.
I came back home for Thanksgiving my junior year of college. I had skipped the previous year to go to my girlfriend’s house, and I had planned to do the same this year, but a rather surprise break up ruined those plans. I came home a little depressed.
My parents were all too aware of my mental state, which only made matters worse. I holed up in my room to avoid their kind gestures and would watch television all day. There were few outlets to vent my frustration. I was lonely, bored, and horny. A deadly mix.
As Thanksgiving preparations were under way, I moseyed downstairs and stood in the kitchen where my mom and dad buzzed around. Even though we had a day until Thanksgiving, they always readied everything early, so the following day of family would go without the regular anxieties attributed to Thanksgiving. They did it all with wordless communication, not engaging in any dialogue. Just working.
They finally noticed me there. It seemed to trigger a change. I just sat down and within moments my dad was out the door, needing to buy more groceries for tomorrow and my mom was pulling off her apron.
“Want to go for a swim?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t in the mood.
I had already eaten.
“We could shoot a game of pool.”
I shrugged. Why not? I had nothing else to do.
My mom and I walked to the living room where we had a near-ancient billiards table. We used it often, with my entire family having a fairly solid game. It was our family’s competitive sport.
She brought with her a full glass of white wine, her drink of choice. She seemed surprised to find herself asking if I wanted a drink “now that you’re of age.” I declined, which resulted in a shrug from her followed by a long sip.
My mom grabbed a cue and started shooting around. She wore a pair of jeans with sandals, a black tight shirt, and a sweater. She was always in pseudo-casual attire. I tried to think of when I last saw her in something dressy. I couldn’t recall.
The first game went by in a blur. Neither of us felt compelled to play fiercely or even talk much.
Without much ado, another game quickly passed. I believe I won. But again, nothing but a blur.
Finally, she stood with a hand on her hip. “Let’s up the ante. Let’s just put like…a dollar a ball or something.”
“I have no money.” We both laughed. My money was her money. She realized that wouldn’t work.
“Well, let’s get a little life into this game.”
I leaned on the table.
“What about strip pool?” she said, joking at first, but then growing serious. “We can just play until we’re down to our underwear, which is nothing new. But at least it’ll make this competitive.”
I looked down at my pair of jeans and ratty shoes. I had on a Polo as well. I mulled it over in my head, but my mind hadn’t been clear for days. Thus:
A surge of excitement permeated the air. A new life to the game, even if it would end in pedestrian terms. We counted out articles of clothing quickly — four for her, four for me, even though I had to include socks just to make it even. Already the game felt significantly less exciting following a discussion of whether socks counted or not. Nonetheless, we started. A missed shot resulted in stripping. Making two balls in one go meant your opponent had to strip. The normal billiards game rules failed to apply.
My mom took the break. One ball dropped in. She circled around with a smirk, looking for a shot.
“This one’s for your shoes.”
She arched her back and took a shot for the corner pocket — and it missed. Somehow. It was a completely makeable shot.
“Nerves. Fine. Here are my sandals,” and she flung them at me, like punishment.
I knocked down six with ease before missing. My shoes came off. She made the following five before missing. Off came the sweater. I hit the following four to finish the game.
“Wait, what happens if I finish the game?”
She bursa escort shrugged and assumed it meant she had to take off something. It made sense to both of us.
“So what do you want? Shirt or pants?”
For the first time I looked her over. My heart started beating faster. This was the first time one of us would have to show anything close to racy. I examined her frame in a way I had never considered before. She was tall and thin, a practitioner of yoga, and had small-ish breasts. Her long legs seemed especially interesting right now.
And with that she smirked and hopped up on the table. She unbuckled her jeans and started tugging at them, revealing the edge of a black pair of panties underneath. She slowed mid-way through, having a similar realization I seemed to have earlier — that this was the first glimpse, the edge of nudity we dared to dance. She pulled the jeans off completely and flung them to the floor.
I stared at her long, tan legs. Hairless. Leading straight up in beautifully straight curves to that pair of black panties that hid so much promise.
It was my shot.
I whiffed and pulled off my shirt. Much less exciting for a guy. She checked out my body quickly. Nothing to scoff at. She seemed encourage at her chances. The table looked like a series of clean shots. She made one, two, three. Knocking them all down with ease. A shark. And then she saw her opportunity. A risky shot to hit two in. And she went for it.
One rolled in. The other inched toward a pocket. Leaned on the edge. And dropped.
My jeans had to come off. But I was tentative. I expected her shirt to come off before my pants. I expected to win and not have to worry. I was worried. Because underneath my jeans hid an ever-growing hard on. A shameful erection that would jut my boxers out clearly.
She saw my trepidation and offered no consolation.
“Take ’em off.”
I unzipped them and tugged at them until they were at my ankles. My boxers did little to hide the hard-on. It stood out proudly. My face reddened, barely glancing at her.
She stared for a moment, took a breath, and looked away.
“Let’s finish the game.”
She took the next shot and missed. Her hands were shakier than normal.
I looked at her and she gave a nod. She would even the game. She pulled up her shirt and her matching black bra bounced down, holding two nice handfuls of breasts. My erection only grew.
There was a long silence as we both allowed ourselves to stare.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m flattered. And I know you haven’t been getting any lately.” I blushed and she continued. “It’s not like I have either. So it really is flattering.”
She started playing with the balls on the table. The tent in my boxers kept me immobile, unwilling to move.
“I’m just wondering…” she started. “Are you curious…at all?”
I looked at her, not offering a response.
“I mean, just to see. It’s just…you know, there.” She paused. “We could keep playing.”
I didn’t say anything. The game had four balls left, even though she had toyed with some, messing up their arrangement. She didn’t seem to mind. I simply pulled up and took my shot. In. My hard-on made each shot uncomfortable, forcing me to focus more. In, in, and in. The game was cleared. Neither of us were ready to re-rack.
“Your bra,” I said. “I finished the game.”
She looked stunned for a moment before reaching back and quickly unhooking the bra. It fell off and she kicked it under a nearby chair. Her breasts still had a nice lift. They weren’t huge, but they were a nice size. Enough to grab. All I could think about was grabbing them now. Her nipples with pink and hardening fast.
“So how do we deal with…the final…pieces?” she stumbled, aware of being exposed.
A small wet spot appeared at the tip of my tent. Pre-cum. Her black panties hid any signs of excitement. I was at a loss for words, and she could see my focus. Talking wasn’t my modus operandi at the moment. I stared at her breasts and wanted to see more. I wanted my boxers bursa escort bayan off, I wanted her panties ripped off. I just wanted the smell of sex to run across my nostrils.
I presented myself openly, as if to say: take them off if you want.
I stood there, a mild shake running through my body. I clenched my jaw. She meandered and made her way over to me, considering. Knowing this was wrong. Knowing we crossed a line long ago.
She looked up at me, studying my face.
She came even closer and put two fingertips on my hip and dug them underneath the elastic. Her breath was shortened and we refused eye contact. Her breasts jiggled as she pulled my boxers down. The erection created an obstacle and she simply pulled harder, too nervous to use both hands. My penis jumped out at her, with her only a foot away, less than arm’s length.
“Oh…” she muttered. She stared at it, her face close, and swallowed. I could almost feel her breath on my cock. While I’m not particularly large, I’m well above average, about seven and a half inches, and she seemed both surprised and overjoyed to see a well shaped, hard, adequate cock in her midst.
“Okay. Your turn,” she said breathlessly, and took several steps back.
I walked up to her, my cock jutting out without question now. The closer I got, the closer my tip got to her body, like a homing missile.
“Are you nervous?” she said, trying to break the ice. But I offered no words in response. It drove her crazy, I found out later. It made her wild. I had no capability to talk, I was in the moment and nowhere else. I wasn’t being coy. I was just filled with something I can barely describe even now.
I grabbed her waist and hoisted her body up onto the table, her legs dangling off the side. The quick touch caused her body to tense in an exciting way. She had a small layer of sweat over her body, the thin layer of moisture that comes only with nerves and excitement. She looked on, wondering how I would pull off her black panties, if I would go with the same tentative approach she did. I waited, toying with her, planning.
My cock reached up to the table, inches away from her panties. I reached to each side and spread her legs gently.
Heart racing. I took a long, deep breath.
I reached for her panties, right at the base, right between her legs. I wasn’t going for the elastic. I dug a finger underneath, touching her pussy lips with the back of my finger, and pull them down. The quick touch sent a full, violent shiver up her spine. The back of my finger returned soaking wet, just from the brief touch.
Her panties fell to the floor and exposed a wet pussy with a light shield of pubic hair above. It was pulsing, begging. Her moisture spread onto the table. We looked at each other from that touch, both of us panting.
“What do we play for now?” she said, her hand subconsciously covering her pussy. She realized it and took it away for me to see.
I turned around and could sense her immediate disappointment. I walked into the kitchen, leaving her behind, and grabbed the phone.
She tiptoed in, naked, wondering what I was doing.
The phone rang. “Hey, Dad. Yeah, yeah, I know you’re on your way back, but we didn’t know we were out of butter. It’s not that long of a drive. Okay. Thanks.”
I hung up and she smiled back at me.
“I’ll remember to throw out the butter” she said and walked back to the pool table. Her tight ass swung as she walked away.
I came into the room and found her bent over, attempting another shot. She must’ve been fully aware the sight I would see, her ass pointed at me, her legs spread slightly. It took every ounce of my being to not walk up behind her and enter her.
I caught myself taking a quick stroke of my cock. It was already on the verge of blowing. I needed to calm myself. I sat down in a chair near the table. My mom turned from taking her shot and looking at me, her mischievous look dissipated.
“Should we be doing this?”
The question lingered in the air, and I thought about it. She looked genuinely escort bursa concern. But my eyes went down to her pussy where her hand lingered, gently caressing the lips. No, we shouldn’t be doing this. But I wasn’t saying anything, and neither was she.
“I haven’t had sex in two months” I said.
“Try two years,” she countered with a laugh.
I stared at her soaking wet pussy and motioned for her to come closer. She stood at my knees and I grabbed her hips and had her sit on me. My cock rested up against her stomach, her pussy hairs tickling the shaft. Her body rocked slowly, letting it rub against her lips. I held her breasts close to my chest. And whispered in her ear…
“Can I kiss you?”
She was caught off guard by the question, oddly intimate and simple.
“I’m not a prostitute. You can kiss me.”
I delayed for a second, my lips considering where to touch.
“I want to make you my whore.” She pulled back away from me, surprised. Despite being naked, on top of each other, her wetness dripping on my leg, she seemed caught off guard by how dirty this became.
Her heart pounded against my chest.
“Then fuck me like one.” She stared into my eyes. I was still unsure, and with that slight statement, she was back in control. She was dictating this. She lifted herself up, ready for me to enter her from this position, but I pushed her back and stood up. We stood erect next to each other. I let her feel the heat of my cock up on her stomach and then put my hands on her shoulders. And I pushed down.
She obeyed and went on her knees. My cock right at her face. She licked her thick lips and considered the bulging head in front of her. I urged my cock forward and she raised her hand.
Now or never.
She grabbed it. First contact. We both felt it, the shared heat, and nothing was stopping us now. She took the tip in her mouth, wetting it. The feeling was incredible, a tease of a feeling. I reached behind her and felt her head, not forcing anything.
She looked up at me, eyes wide open, and inched down my cock. Engulfing it. She never stopped her stare until she met the base of my cock. She pulled back out with a gasp.
“You’re full of surprises,” I muttered, trying to keep control.
This time she was the silent one. She stroked my cock with both hands, twisting and tugging. She lips took in the tip between strokes. She pulled back and lifted my cock, running her long tongue from the base to the tip before taking it in once more.
She sucked with force, I could feel her expert breathing through her nose onto my shaft.
I tightened my fist, trying to last.
I put my hand behind her head and forced her mouth down my cock, dictating the pace.
She sucked until I almost couldn’t handle it.
And then she stopped.
She knew what she was doing. She knew I was on the edge and she stood up. She paraded her body in front of me and put my hand on her pussy, just so I could feel how soaking it became in the past twenty minutes.
She pushed me onto the chair and got back on her knees and started sucking without abandon. She wanted to push me to the edge again. And she did.
I could feel myself on the verge of cumming. I gasped it out loud and she kept going. About to cum. Cumming. Blowing a monster load in her mouth. She kept bobbing back and forth as my cock spasmed in her mouth, filling it with white cum.
She pulled back, showing me how full her mouth was.
A screech was heard outside. A car pulling up.
She swallowed without a second thought and scrambled to grab her clothes. She dressed quickly.
“We’re not done here” she said. I only smiled.
Our clothes were barely on when we heard a key in the door.
“You have some cum on your lips,” I said. She smiled and licked her lips clean. She walked toward the kitchen.
I whispered, hastily, “don’t forget to throw out the butter” just as my dad opened the door.
He knew nothing. He saw me, smiled, and said “hello.”
The following day was Thanksgiving. And it promised to be anything but normal.
This author is a twenty-two year old writer who has been known to engage with his fans in very special ways. If you enjoyed this story, please message him, he’ll definitely enjoy it as much as you will.
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