It had been four months since I'd gotten the phone call from my Mum. She was in distress, crying so much I couldn't understand what she was saying clearly. I told her I'd be there as soon as possible and drove as quickly as I could.
Mark had cheated on her, again. I told her she'd been stupid to forgive him after the last time, but she'd given him another chance. It was all too usual for her unfortunately, it was about the fifth relationship that had failed since my real father had died when I was young. I told her to sit on the sofa and poured her a large glass of wine, while I went upstairs and packed all of his belongings into black bags.
The following day Mark picked his stuff up, looking angry but not saying anything, just driving off into the distance. Between boyfriends myself, I told her that I was moving back in, and wouldn't take no for an answer.
Twenty-two years old and back living at home wasn't what I'd dreamed of. That said, I knew I didn't push myself, I let things happen around me. I got that from my Mum, but she was a lot more trusting than me, quiet and unassuming she always picked guys who weren't right for her. The fact I still house-shared made things easier, especially as I only worked part-time.
I looked a lot like my mum now, both with long dark hair and blue eyes, and both had fairly pale skin. We had similar body types except mum's tits were a little bigger than mine, 36C to my 34B. We got on well, despite her constant badgering of me walking around naked sometimes, telling me to stay away from the windows or people would see.
She had a couple of days off work to get over Mark, then went back. She worked full-time in a shop, she'd been a carer for a while but got fed up with being called out constantly, and at unsocial times, or more likely Mark had moaned about it.
A week after I'd moved in she told me she was going out. I asked her where to, knowing she wasn't at work until later today. She told me she was just popping up to Fred's house to check on him, and she'd be around an hour at most.
"To do what?" I asked her.
"He's burnt both arms quite badly, he's got them bandaged up. I just go up and do a little cleaning, and make stews and casseroles that he can help himself to," she replied.
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked.
"No, no, I'll be fine on my own," she quickly said, although I did notice her flushed face as she said it.
She left, walking up the alleyway next to our house, and looking out of the kitchen window I saw her walking up the slope to the street behind ours. I was glad she'd said no, I wasn't in the mood for any hard work today anyway.
Over the next three weeks, I noticed Mum went to see to Fred more than I'd realised. I'd stopped asking if she wanted me to help her, and she hadn't mentioned it.
Today, Friday, was my favourite day. I didn't have to go to work today, Mum usually left at around 11 am for her shift to start at mid-day. She didn't finish until 8 pm and although it meant me cooking later, it gave me the whole day to lounge around, usually naked, usually masturbating. There wasn't anywhere in the house I hadn't done so, and there wasn't a surface in the house where I hadn't tried to stick my suction dildo to.
My favourite time had been using the glass-top coffee table, facing the front window, and being glad of the net curtains Mum insisted on when a driver turned up with a delivery I'd forgotten was coming and knocked on the window and tried to peer through. I froze, mortified at the time, then exhilarated afterwards at the rush of nearly being caught.
Since then I'd opened the curtains a little in the middle, riding my dildo with my back to the window, wondering if anyone had walked past while I was doing so. Today was a reasonably normal day, no fuss just edging myself using just my fingers, getting as close as possible then forcing myself to stop right on the brink, before I finally allowed myself to use the dildo.
I'd been doing so for a while when my phone pinged, a message notification. I looked at the time, it was almost 2 pm.
"Fred has phoned, he needs some help but I can't leave as people have phoned in sick so we're short-staffed. Can you go up, please? Number 46, the key is hanging up," Mum had messaged.
I wanted to say no, I was busy, and I had needs that I hadn't seen too properly but knew I had to see what he needed doing and not be spiteful. Besides, I didn't want to upset Mum.
"Okay, I'll go up and check on him," I sent back reluctantly.
"Hurry please, he sounded urgent," she responded.
I hadn't been wearing anything all day yet, so ran upstairs and grabbed a vest top and some lycra shorts that I hadn't put away. I pulled them on quickly, slipped on my trainers and grabbed the key. I left, locking up behind me, then jogged up the alley and up the slope to the street at the top. I quickly checked, found number 46, and walked down the driveway and opening the door with the key, called out to him as I walked in.
"Is that you Helen? I'm in the kitchen," he shouted.
"No, it's her daughter Gabby," I called out, walking in the direction of his voice.
Walking into the kitchen I got a shock. Firstly, Fred wasn't an old man like I'd been expecting. Secondly, he didn't look much elder than she is. Mum is forty-four, this guy didn't look any older than fifty. The second shock was the vest top he was wearing was covered in what looked like stew, the rest of it splattered over the kitchen floor.
I took him in, his biceps were reasonably sized, and his chest looked quite broad too. Even with the vest on a thick covering of grey and black hair peeped out, his hair thinning and dark but with a lot of silver that looked like highlights. His arms were both bandaged from his wrists right up to his shoulders.
"Wow, you look just like your mum," he exclaimed, "is she not with you?"
"She's at work so she asked me to come up and see what you needed," I told him.
"I'm sorry for dragging you up here, I can hold things a little but can't grip, I tried to pull the pot closer and it fell off instead, now I can't clean it up properly," he answered.
He pointed to a towel, telling me to use that and keep rinsing it out under the tap, and it could go straight into the washer later. I got down on all fours and started wiping the floor,
"You look a little flushed, you don't mind doing this do you?" he asked.
"Yes, I ran up the hill," I quickly replied.
I carried on cleaning, he didn't need to know exactly why I looked so flushed. Each time I got up to rinse the towel out he seemed to be standing in a different part of the kitchen. I glanced up on seeing his feet, seeing him staring straight at me from by the sink. My vest top was a little loose and hung down a little so he was probably trying to look at my tits.
I could have turned around, or changed angles, but a mixture of playing with myself earlier and teasing him made me stay as I was, pretending I didn't know what he was doing. Going over to the sink I turned the tap on too hard and water sprayed across my top.
"Ooops," I cried out.
I rubbed across my vest top, trying to dry it off, rubbing across my tits and making my nipples big and erect. I got back down and cleaned again, then heard his footsteps. Hearing him stop I glanced behind me, where he was staring straight at my arse. I rubbed the floor a little harder, making my arse wiggle. I knew from where I could feel them that my shorts were wedged into my buttocks.
I intended to carry on teasing him, it could add to my edging myself when I got home by running through it over again in my mind. I cleaned the floor, wiped the front of the oven off, and then rinsed the towel out again. Fred pointed to the washer and I threw the towel in. I stood and turned to face him.
"Oh, it's over your clothes too isn't it, you should take them off and I'll put them in the washer too," I said.
"I could do that, but it takes me long enough to get dressed," he told me.
He looked at me pleadingly, then asked if I minded. I nodded, although I wanted to return home. He held his arms out in front of him while I pulled the straps from his shoulders and down his arms carefully, then pushed the vest down his body and let it slip to the ground, where he kicked it off his ankles. I picked it up and placed it in the washer too, then looked back at him.
"It's all over your trousers too, you're going to need to take them off," I said.
"I need to go into the bedroom to get me something else to wear," he said.
I watched him walk up the stairs and wondered whether to leave or not when he shouted out.
"I'm going to need your help, sorry," I heard him shout.
I sighed, I'd been moving towards the door, but turned and walked up the stairs. I called and asked which room he was in, then walked in. I nearly laughed when I saw him, he'd been wearing baggy jogging trousers which he'd started taking off, but they were on an angle and he looked very frustrated.