Getting Over Samantha

Imagine this: within the span of an hour, you've just found out that your girlfriend of two years, Samantha, was not only cheating on you, but she's been "trying to figure out how to break up with you in the nicest way possible."

You're sitting on the edge of her duvet when she tells you this. Downstairs, you can hear her mother casually laughing at something on television, as if your whole world hasn't just crashed down around you. You feel everything at once, but more than anything, you feel the crushing weight of defeat.

That was the case for me on a regular weekday. I came over to my girlfriend's house because she said that she wanted to talk about something. I didn't even have a hint about just how far left our conversation would end up going. Really, it wasn't much of a conversation, as it was more or less her revealing her dirty secrets all in one sitting--but still, I hadn't seen it coming.

"I just wanted you to come over so that you could take your stuff with you..."

I looked down to where she just nodded, and there was a box with all of the old clothes I had left at her house in the past, a few miscellaneous things like video games I stopped playing, some shoes--it's all there. Somehow, it was more offensive that she folded everything carefully, like it didn't bother her to pack up everything that reminded her of me. It was a figurative nail in the coffin, there was no coming back from her decision.

"So, who is he?" I asked, because the whole time that she had been talking, I stayed silent--but the anger had started to rise.

"He's nobody you would know," she said, "It all happened organically. I wasn't looking for him, and he wasn't looking for me."

"And here we are..." I mumbled, "...so, you really mean it? Two years down the drain?"

She nodded, "I mean it...I just had to be sure."

I couldn't help but to laugh, "You know...you haven't even apologized for being a fucking cheater...you just kind of blew everything up, and I'm supposed to stay calm and let you get away with it?"

"No, no--" Samantha started, grabbing me by the forearm, "No, I'm just trying to give you the chance to find real love."

I shook her off, beginning to raise my voice even with her mother downstairs: "So, we didn't have real love? So every time that you told me you loved me was bullshit?"

"Not every time, but at some point..."

I was already standing up and grabbing the box of my stuff. I guess I did notice a shift in her behavior at one point, a level of disconnection--less time that we spent together, getting brushed off for dates that I tried to initiate. She would always say she was tired from her university classes, but now I knew that she had been using her energy on someone else.

When we decided to go to different universities, I guess we had already sealed our fate--but it still just felt too abrupt.

And then to have to do the walk of shame (a different kind) past her mother...

My face was burning, I could feel how red my cheeks were. Ms. Dawson was sitting on the sofa as I eased past her, but not without interaction.

"Adam," her voice was bright, lively, oblivious.

"Goodbye, Ms. Dawson," I said, but before I could leave she piped up: "Wait, wait--"

She powered off the television, and came to stand in front of the door. My hand was already wrapped around the knob, ready to bolt, but she placed her own hand over mine and I let go.

"What's going on?" She asked, and her eyes markedly landed on the box I held in my hands. She looked in my eyes then, and I could tell that she knew. I had to stop myself from shedding a tear, any tear at all wasn't fucking worth it. My older brother would be hysterical with laughter if he knew that I was even close to bawling over a girl; he, unlike me, chose the life of a bachelor over commitment.

"You and Sam broke up?" She asked, and I figured that no answer was equivalent to an affirmative one, so I grabbed the doorknob again and mumbled another goodbye. This time, she didn't try to stop me, and I felt it then: that one chapter of my life had come to an end.

______

I had to admit that being at home every day was starting to drive me insane. I didn't have too many friends because most of us grew apart when I started dating Samantha, so a lot of my time was spent playing games or going to class, and those two things had begun to bleed into each other.

It felt like I had to learn how to live individually again, like every part of my life was somehow related to Samantha. Without her, I was aimless.

I had spent at least two weeks moping when out of the blue, I received a text message from the cause herself: Samantha.

"Adam, I know how I ended things really wasn't fair to you, but I wondered if you would be willing to come over tomorrow night...so that I can make it up to you."

It reminded me of the text messages that Samantha would send after she and I had an argument, the sexual innuendo wasn't wasted on me. Truthfully, heartbreak had overridden lust a week ago, but I had been still holding onto the hope that I would get a text from her--and there it was.

It wasn't a promise that we would get back together like I wanted, but it was something that showed me that she was remorseful about blindsiding me.

I didn't even think about it, I just responded: "I'll be there at seven if that's okay."

"Seven is perfect," she responded.

I had no idea what to wear, I just knew that I wanted her to regret leaving me. So, for the first time in two weeks, I dragged a comb through my hair, I put on fresh clothes, a spray of cologne--the works.

It was six-thirty when I left my house, and a few minutes to seven when I got to Samantha's. I knocked on the door that I hadn't expected to see again, and I waited.

A few minutes went by before the door opened, and Samantha's mom stood there instead. She was wearing a short, black dress and a pair of high heels, but I was so caught up in getting to see Samantha that I hardly looked at her.

"Uh...Sam asked me to come over." I said to her, and she stepped aside with her response, "Oh Adam, please come in."

"Thank you," I said, going straight to the couch to sit down.

I couldn't stop myself from erratically tapping my feet on the floor as I waited for Samantha to come down the stairs. I was so eager that my stomach was all knotted up.

But, then, all of that just evaporated with one question from Samantha's mom:

"Adam," she said, as she sat down on the couch next to me. I turned to look at her, and she looked at me: "Can I be honest with you?"

I didn't say anything, not a yes or a no, I just stared at her because I was starting to pick up on something--like maybe Samantha had sent that text message and then backed out at the last second, maybe she wasn't even here. The longer that I looked at Ms. Dawson, the clearer it became that Samantha really wasn't around.

"I'm sorry, honey...but, she's made it clear that she's really done, and she's already moving on."

And suddenly I was right back in that room where she broke up with me, and the two weeks that I had spent away to process weren't worth anything.

"B-but," I said, "She texted me, she told me to come over..."

Ms. Dawson shook her head, "She didn't text you...I texted you."

I processed that slowly, feeling my heart break all over again. There really wasn't a chance of reconciliation. But, before I could completely spiral out of control, Ms. Dawson cupped the side of my face affectionately before she continued to speak in a softer, more personal tone:

"Ever since my ex-husband cheated and left me, I have a particular disdain for how my daughter handled your relationship. I don't think anyone deserves to be treated that way, and I know that when it happened to me--at first, I wanted my husband back...but, then I wanted revenge."

And then it happened: her smoldering blue eyes unmistakably went down to my lips, as she proceeded to hint at something I hadn't thought of until then: "I wanted to do something that would make my husband feel as much pain as I felt when I found out that he cheated. You see, my daughter takes after her father in that way...and I'd prefer to teach her this lesson sooner rather than later."

"So..." her hand tightened slightly around my jaw, nails firmly pressing into my skin, before she leaned forward and kissed me softly, just a brush of our lips together and then she released me. I sat there panting, barely breathing as my nerves bounced out of control. Her smell was as lusty as she seemed: a blend of roses, soap, and something that was reeking of pheromones, like she was already...wet.

Just thinking of Samantha's mother being wet should have been triggering more guilt than it was, but I had started to picture things that went past guilt and far into territory that couldn't be returned from.

Samantha's mom was sitting apart from me now, although her legs were closely touching mine when she made another surreal statement, something open-ended that called for action on my part:

"...if you're interested in teaching my daughter this harmless little lesson, then you'll come on up to my room. It's the second door on the left side of the hallway."

She stood up, drawing attention to her buttery-tan, long legs in the dress that she wore, and her dress only rose up higher as she climbed the stairs that I had traveled so many times to get to her daughter's room. I got a full-fledged look at a pair of lacy navy blue panties that hugged her rotund ass, before she reached the landing area and disappeared from view.

I sat there with a racing heart and thoughts that were racing even faster. What would I do when I got up there? Would I just grab her and kiss her? Would I let her take the lead, like she already had? I could still walk out the door, as she had left the offer open-ended on purpose, but that just didn't feel like the right answer.

I stood up, and instantly felt like my knees were at risk of giving out. I was shaky on my feet, even shakier as I neared the steps and stared up at them longingly.

She's my girlfriend's mom.

But, my girlfriend cheated on me, proving that she didn't care about me anyway. So, what was it to her if I fucked her mother?

There was no violation happening here, just an indulgent mindset...I was letting my cock guide me up the steps, just like how Samantha let her cunt take her to a whole new boyfriend.

Fuck it, being single meant that I could screw whoever, right? I didn't care about convincing myself anymore.

First door on the left she said...

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, and I had already caught a stiff one as I fantasized about what would happen when I entered Ms. Dawson's room, when a door was closed with just us behind it.

I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, turned it, and pushed it open. I smelled her everywhere then, and I realized that, that was because she was standing right in front of me...and completely naked. I couldn't even take in the details of her room, couldn't tell you what color her walls were, or the carpet was...but I could describe her perfectly.

Her breasts were bigger than Samantha's, the size of cantaloupes with ruddy pink nipples that stood out against her complexion. I couldn't wait to get my hands on those, but I didn't dare grab her yet.

A little past her supple, dimpled hips was her pussy--and she only had a landing strip there which told me that she valued self-maintenance enough to get professionally waxed. I wasn't a stickler for stuff like that, but I did have to admit that the neat appearance of her pubic hairs was making my cock throb.

And then throbbing became too light of a word as Ms. Dawson walked up to me, and crushed her lips to my own again. I groaned this time, and kissed her back loosely while still keeping my hands to myself. She moved closer though, until I could feel her bare breasts pressed against the front of my shirt, shifting against my cotton tee as her tongue roved my mouth. Then, as hot as that kiss was becoming, her lips went down to my neck while her blue eyes stared into mine seductively. She kissed my skin tenderly, but her lips kept descending lower until she was kissing my collarbone, then my chest. They were moist, open-mouthed kisses too, I could feel the sweltering warmth of her saliva that marked where she had been so far.

She wasn't stopping me from leaving if I wanted to, but there was a distinctive firmness to the hold she had around my waist until she started to lower herself down to the floor.

I stared down at her, knowing that the position she was assuming was meant for only one thing. She didn't so much as fumble with my pants in her quest to get to my cock, and I grunted when her palm inevitably wrapped around me.

"Oh, honey..." she purred, a noise that absolutely rattled me.

"You're harder than I thought, you poor thing...so needy. Don't worry," she was breathing on me, careless with the proximity of her mouth to my tip, "I'm going to take such good care of you, just relax..."

I jumped, even though I knew it was coming, her soft mouth closing around me was too much of something that I wasn't supposed to be having--too wet, too warm, her slick throat was too accommodating. Again, I ended up comparing her to her daughter as she looked up at me while she sucked, tenderly grabbing the base of my shaft with one hand at the same time.

Samantha couldn't ever look me in the eye while giving me a blowjob, as rare as those were, she just couldn't get over how 'weird' it was to her. Sometimes, I thought it was sexy in its own way to watch her blush while she sucked me.

Other times...I wanted her to do it like a slut, to stop caring about what she looked like in the process and stare at me like she wanted to screw my brains out.

I just never thought I would have to wait for her mom to suck me before that became the case. I felt another pang of guilt looking down at her mother with my cock down her throat, but the juxtaposition of my guilt was overtaken as Ms. Dawson stroked me into her mouth faster. Even as her eyes filled with tears, bleeding into her eyeliner, she stroked me, sucked me wholly until I could feel my cum painfully bursting free and into her throat. I could hear her gargling me, and then she took my cock out of her mouth, letting my semen seep out of her mouth.

"I hope you're not done yet," she said, and any deflating that had taken place started to rise again as she got up, gently wiping the cum from the corners of her mouth before sucking it off her finger.

Then, tauntingly she laid on the bed and spread her legs wide. Against her dark sheets, I truly saw just how naked she actually was. I had never been with an older woman, but I knew that Ms. Dawson was in particularly good shape. Her body didn't remind me of a supermodel, but she was tight in most places and smooth-looking all the way around.

But what I couldn't get over was how free her breasts were, how unabashedly ripe her nipples had become, how she didn't try to hide them from me.

Then, with her spread open legs, I couldn't see much of her cunt from the door but I could see enough that, that steady throb in my cock began to ramp up.

There hadn't been any hiding from Ms. Dawson so far, from the second that I walked into her room.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" She questioned, and I realized that I hadn't moved yet. Her question caused me to be honest, though, like I couldn't help myself:

"Nothing...Sam just always liked to have a shirt on."

I wasn't sure about the protocol for a hookup with your ex-girlfriend's mom, but bringing up her daughter at a moment like the one that was before me seemed like taking a gamble. It was an unstoppable blurt though, because it was something about Samantha that I never really noticed until then.

I had probably seen Samantha completely naked a handful of times, but her mother wasn't shy in the slightest with letting everything be out in the open.

She smiled at what I had admitted about her daughter, but she didn't comment directly, she just encouraged me: "You can look all you want," she said, "And...you can come and touch me when you're ready."

I didn't want to pounce on her, but I knew that the time had come for me to be direct with my next step. She had taken the lead so far, but she had left some room now for me to decide how I would fuck her. The closer that I got to the bed, the harder I became.

Then, I was on her, with my knees pressed onto the bed, I went for her breasts first. As twisted as it was, I reminded myself that I wasn't a virgin, that I had been having sex before Ms. Dawson offered herself on a silver platter. I didn't have to hold myself back just because she was older, and she wasn't looking at me in a way that prompted obedience anyway--her eyes were lower, reflecting bald desire, and her face had darkened with a flush.

She wanted me, even if her daughter didn't.

I usually never got to touch breasts that were as large as hers, but I grabbed them the way that I saw men in porn videos do to huge breasts, palming and rolling them insistently. But, I had to admit that feeling them was distracting enough that technique went out of the window, and instinct ruled again. All I knew was that I loved how warm they were, how they felt so round and doughy, how her nipples pressed against my hands, if I played with them long enough--I could probably come again just from watching them jostle together, then apart, bouncing and slapping against each other with little force on my part. They had a mind of their own.

Ms. Dawson was panting when I stopped, and looking up at her face, I knew that she wasn't interested in prolonging things anymore. She sat up on her haunches at first, then she reached down between my legs and gently grabbed my cock.

"You want this, right?" She asked, and I nodded, swallowing the heavy, heavy weight in my throat as my cock was placed against her cunt.

"Give it to me, baby," she said, "I'm ready for it if you are."

The last time I had sex with Samantha had been almost a month ago, but even without the gap in time, there was something completely different about pushing deep into her mother versus her. I didn't have expectations, but when I felt her hot, wet walls grip me without ventilation, and felt her legs wrap around me passionately--passion, a thing that had always been missing from my sex life, even if it was lust-fueled, it was the intensity that I had been missing--I realized that she was already better than anyone I had ever had sex with.

Daughter included.

"Oh, honeyyyyy," she moaned softly when I started to thrust, and her bottom lip was clutched between her teeth while she stared up at me, making a shameful 'sex face,' one of those stuck, open-mouthed moans that pierced me to the spot.

A face Samantha would never make so openly.

Ms. Dawson was the open book that I preferred.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm not gonna' last long,"

"It's okay, baby," she sighed shakily, "This doesn't have to be the last time, just use me, baby, use me..."

Her voice melted away into moans as I started to hurtle into her, groaning when I didn't catch it in time. I loved watching her tits jump up to her chin before coming back down as I thrusted, it was something hypnotic about their motions, and Ms. Dawson's pleased expressions.

I started to feel it, the beginning of something I wouldn't be able to forget, so I tried thrusting slower but there was something so achy about that, about hearing her moisture thicken like I was slowly churning butter, that ache I felt forced me to speed up again. She moaned sharply then, like she could feel it too, that impeding ache of a climax if I just kept going...

The strokes of my cock became back-to-back slams, while Ms. Dawson encouraged me still with croons of, "Yes, harder!" and, "Just like that baby, use me!"