Misty Breas

** This story was inspired by a member of Literotica, who doesn't know it, purely by a description of herself. I hope she gets to read it, and takes it for what it is - pure fantasy. **

Middle-aged mom Misty Reynolds was walking towards the doors of the little grocery market she usually shopped at after her workout, when she heard someone behind her say, "No, no, no. Oh, HELL, no!" The voice was male and sounded very authoritarian, and seemed to be directed at her. She stopped in her tracks.

She looked quickly down at herself. She was wearing tights after her yoga class, and was suddenly horrified to think that maybe she had a rip or a wet stain in some revealing spot that no one, not even her friend Elaine, had noticed. A quick assessment showed nothing. Likewise, her top, a cut-off t-shirt, wasn't blowing up or otherwise showing anything other than her lean tummy and bare mid-back.

All this occurred in mere seconds. In that time, a young black man had come up to her. Seeing him, she began to walk again. She didn't have the time or patience to have some homeless kid hit her up for money.

"Hey! You listening to me?" She was a few yards from the store entrance, but she knew, if she went on in, he would probably follow her inside, making a scene that would embarrass her. She halted again.

Turning to him, she decided to confront him out here. "What do you want?" she asked, irritated that she even had to deal with this. She was an attractive blonde woman in her late-40's, and had been hit on by men many times in her life. She had a cute, impish face that seemed to convey innocence and thus, blind trust. That was a miscalculation on any man's part. She had had her share of confrontations, including a couple of times when Tom was away on business. She was no pushover. She would let him know that, right now!

The young man hesitated, feeling her anger. His eyes widened momentarily, then crinkled at the edges as he smiled at her. "Hey, easy, miss," he began, "I just wanted to tell you..."

"Miss?" She frowned at him. "What are you, like sixteen? You don't call an older woman miss! That's entirely inappropriate."

She had exhausted her anger on the boy, who now looked hurt. She felt bad all of a sudden. He didn't look homeless; he was decently dressed, his hair was neatly parted, and his face was open, it seemed. If he was hiding any deception, she felt sure she could have read it.

"Hey, I'm sorry," she said demurely. She looked the boy up and down. He was handsome in his own way, though she considered very few black men as handsome. 'Harry Belafonte, perhaps, or Denzel Washington,' she thought. 'Or Sidney Poitier or Idris Elba. Hmmmm,' she concluded, 'at least I couldn't be considered racist.' She was proud to be what she considered inclusive, though she had never had any close social contact with a person of color.

"So, what's up?"

He was smiling now, apparently confident that he hadn't scared her, or offended her with his profanity. He seemed to be staring into Misty's blue eyes, and she wondered again what his 'game' was. When he spoke, it was in a soft voice, though; not that of a huckster.

"I'm sorry myself," he said, "I know it's not my place..."

"What isn't?" Misty inquired. 'What was this kid about?' she thought again.

"First of all, I'm not sixteen," he told her. "I'm eighteen, goin' on nineteen. And I know you thought I was getting all up in your business for no reason, but I seen a couple of people go in just ahead of you that... well, they looked like they was up to no good."

"Yes?"

"Yes'm," he continued, "and I just wanted to make sure you wasn't involved."

"Weren't involved."

He blushed and looked down. "Yes ma'am. WEREN'T involved," he corrected himself, grinning embarrassedly.

Misty patted his arm and smiled. "Well, thank you, young man, but I don't think th..."

At that moment they both heard two quick pops, and people began running out the doors of the market. Misty froze, terrified, but the boy grabbed her by the bicep and yanked her backwards. She stumbled, got her feet under her and ran with him, taking cover behind a car in the parking lot. Her heart was pounding as she turned to him.

"How did you...?" She was breathless, and couldn't even finish her sentence without stopping to inhale.

He took the opportunity to speak. "Huh," he said, "growin' up in the hood, you start to notice things like this." He took a moment to gaze at her body as she crouched beside him. "You okay, ma'am?"

She had a moment of confusion. 'Okay? Of course I'm not okay,' she thought, but then gazed into his eyes. "I am," she said, "thanks to you. Now what do we do?"

The boy advised her to keep her head down, and his advice proved stellar as two young men rushed out of the store and angled across the parking lot. One held a plastic bag so full of money it was leaking bills onto the pavement. The boy pointed, and Misty followed their path as they ran to a car, piled inside, and squealed out of the lot.

"Oh my god!" She slowly stood, helped by the boy. "I can't believe that just happened!" She hesitated a moment, then pulled the boy with her. "We need to see if anyone is hurt"

The police arrived, and an hour later the two were dismissed, after giving statements. It hadn't gone well; the police at first acted as if the boy was part of the robbery. Misty had to tell a half dozen officers what exactly had happened. Finally, she let her anger show.

"He's a goddam hero!" she shrieked. "He literally may have saved my life!"

Misty looked into the boy's eyes as they stood next to her car. "I didn't even get my groceries," she chuckled, then stared at him again. "Do you..." she began, "do you? I mean..." She looked flustered, then collected her thoughts. "Do you have somewhere to go? A home, I mean?"

He grinned at her. "I got a place I stay," he said. "My mom won't be home until tomorrow sometime, though."

"Why not?" She felt compelled to make sure he was safe, after he had done the same for her.

"She workin' a bunch of doubles," he told her. "She be home, I think, tomorrow evening."

Misty was overcome by sadness at hearing his words. On impulse, she said, "You should come home with me, then." He began to speak and she cut him off. "I'm single. I mean, I'm divorced, so it's just me and my son. So we don't have to worry about my husband making a fuss." She remembered how racist Tom had been; how unwilling to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Including her. That was one reason why she had divorced him; that, and the cheating. Some dreams just die, she had decided. At least she had Davey with her.

And now this boy, it seemed. She wondered what Elaine or any of her other friends would say if they knew she was bringing some teenager off the streets into her home, especially this young black man. Pushing it from her mind, she implored him again.

"Okay," he finally agreed. He allowed her to lead him to her car, an 80's minivan. He may have been thinking, 'what are my friends in the hood gonna think about this?' but he didn't say anything.

Misty, admittedly, was still thinking of him as a young teenager, not as an almost nineteen-year-old, who could vote or buy cigarettes if he chose. He did look younger, but she had no idea what thoughts were running through his head.

"My name DeShawn," he said, while sneaking sidelong glances at the MILF in the yoga pants. "How old your boy?"

Misty, intent on her driving, didn't notice his searching eyes. Had she, she might have been a little more guarded as he imagined those tights and the womanly charms they barely hid; that flat belly with just a hint of the child she had borne, or the pert round breasts her crop top hinted at.

"Davey's twelve," she told him. "He's my little man. He helps me with all the chores around the house since his father and I split up." She smiled briefly at DeShawn. "I'm Misty, by the way. It's nice to meet you, DeShawn."

"You gonna stop somewhere else for your groceries? You kinda got gyped outta that. They a little store near here. If you want, I can help you with that."

Misty hit her forehead with the flat of her hand. "Gosh, yeah. I do need milk and a couple of things," she said. "You mean the Biggins market? I've never been in there."

DeShawn thought, 'Yeah, I bet you ain't. Not many white ladies have, 'specially none as hot as this one.' He told her, "Yeah. I know some people in there. We can get what you need there, easy."

"Okay, it's settled, then. Thanks!"

Misty normally drove past this place with her doors locked, but having DeShawn, who had already saved her once, to go in with her put her at ease. She'd never seen any white people around this store, but she considered this a chance to broaden her horizons. 'Take that, Tom, you asshole!' she thought with a grin. She pulled the mini-van into a space between a new Escalade and a big rusty Buick, even older than her car.

Inside the market, though, she began to feel uneasy. Every eye was on her as DeShawn walked beside her, grinning. He slipped his arm into hers, and she pulled him closer, glad to know she was safe with him.

"Hey, DeShawn," a deep male voice said, "what you got there?"

DeShawn turned Misty to meet an older black man. "This my new friend Misty," he told the man. "Misty, this be Jerome." The man put a massive hand out and Misty slipped her tiny hand into his, marveling at the size of the man. He must have been six and a half feet tall and massively built.

"H... hi, Jerome," she said meekly. The man intimidated and, surprisingly, excited her. He seemed to emit male pheromones! She had never seen such a large man up close. As he cradled her hand, she had a thought. 'He could overpower me with no problem.' As he continued to hold her hand in his, she briefly fantasized about what that might be like, and felt a tingling. He was speaking to her, she realized.

"...whatever you want, Miss Misty. You got cash, right?"

Misty blurted, "I... Ive got a credit card." Someone behind her laughed, then was joined as others leaned in, eavesdropping on their conversation. Jerome was still holding her hand, anchoring her to this spot. Her arousal gave way to sudden fear. Just then DeShawn spoke.

"We just need some milk and whatever," he told Jerome. He turned to Misty. "They don't take no credit cards here," he said, "just cash and EBT cards. You got enough for that?"

Misty quickly ransacked through her purse, pulling out a twenty and two fives. Jerome just as quickly plucked them from her hand, saying "that's just enough" as he let her hand go with his other. "Any girl of DeShawn's is welcome here."

"He... no! I'm not his..." Misty thought better of it then, and took DeShawn's arm again. "I mean, yeah. I'm his girl, I guess."

DeShawn slipped his arm from her grasp and slid it around her bare waist, noting how trim she was as he put his hand on her hipbone. 'She got a little fuck-belly,' he thought, 'but this cradle be fine!' He pulled her tightly against him, winking at Jerome as he did. "She my girl," he said possessively.

They gathered a few things, as much as she could carry. DeShawn kept his arm around her waist, only consenting to take the milk carton in his free hand. There were no carts, no shopping bags offered. It was obvious that most people only bought a few things here; mostly liquor and cigarettes, she guessed. She estimated the things they got probably totaled less than twenty dollars, but it was worth it to get away from this place. She had a bad feeling in her gut. Thank god for DeShawn!

Once at her house, she began to relax again. She could still feel the lingering imprint of DeShawn's hand as it rested possessively on her hip. It made her feel... something. She wasn't sure what, but she had an idea it wasn't exactly proper. 'He's just a kid,' she thought, 'not old enough to make a middle-aged lady have those kinds of thoughts.' Still, she felt safe when he held her like that. She...

"Hi, mom," her son David said as she opened the front door. He paused, eyed the black guy coming in behind her, then asked, "who's this?"

Misty pulled DeShawn in. He again slipped his hand around her waist and smiled at the younger boy. "I'm DeShawn," he announced, "you momma said I could stay here a couple nights. Who are you?"

DeShawn's possessiveness of the boy's mother took David by surprise. He'd seen cocky black guys before, but this was right in their own home! He stiffened and raised his shoulders as he glared at the guy. "I'm David," he said. "This is my mom's house."

Misty felt the obvious tension between her two young men, and tried to diffuse it. "Hey, c'mon guys. Davey, this young man probably saved your mother's life this morning, so I offered to let him stay until his mother got home again. So, be welcoming, okay?"

"David," he corrected her. "I'm twelve now, mom!" He turned and stomped off to his room, leaving DeShawn standing in the foyer with his hand around his mother's waist.

Misty turned to DeShawn. "Sorry about that," she apologized, "he's a little protective of me since his dad left." She didn't attempt to withdraw from DeShawn's arm; in fact, she enjoyed having the young man feel as though they were bonding, and actually pressed her hip into his. Then she remembered the groceries needed putting away.

"Hey, let me get this stuff put up," she said, slipping out of his arm, "and we can sit and talk."

DeShawn watched the mom move cross the room, heading for the kitchen. Her hips had a nice sway to them, he noticed. He stared at the motions her adult ass was making beneath those yoga pants; the way her thighs didn't even touch as she walked. He liked a little ass on his women! It meant they had a nice soft place in between those legs. Thinking about Misty's cunt, he felt himself growing hard.

'She gonna love my dick,' he thought, 'once I get it inside that sweet mommy-pussy.'

Later, as they sat at the breakfast bar, he was still musing about the charms this middle-aged lady had displayed to him. He had gotten a glimpse at her tits as she bent to retrieve a dropped onion. Though they were encased in a sports bra beneath that little half-shirt, he could see their size and the generous cleavage between them. He was fully hard now, having adjusted his cock so it ran down along his thigh beneath the satin shorts he wore. The head almost peeked out at the hem. He rubbed it every time she looked away.

'I gotta get rid of that kid,' he thought.

Misty, meanwhile, had fixed herself a cup of coffee, and was babbling on about her divorce, her temporary unemployment because of the pandemic, and how her workout sessions were about the only things saving her sanity.

"Well, you sure look good," DeShawn assured her.

Misty put her shoulders back a little. "You really think so?" She was aware that she was in excellent shape for a woman her age, but it was nice to have this young man reinforce that image in her mind. "I am almost fifty," she said, in a voice so low he almost didn't catch it.

"Seriously," he told the mom. "I thought you was like, thirty or something."

"Awww, I wish! No," she admitted, "I just turned forty-nine. It's getting harder and harder to keep ahead of my age."

DeShawn leaned into her. "When your husband leave?" he asked.

She shook her head, musing. "It's been, what? Almost three years now." She sighed. "Long time."

'Yeah, long time with no dick,' he thought. 'God, I bet that pussy tighter'n a coil spring about now!' Speaking aloud, he said, "You must be lonely, huh?"

Misty only sighed in response. Her mind had drifted to the teenager again, and though she tried to push the thoughts out of her head, his proximity and his scent had them twisting inside her mind again. She wondered how wise it was to bring him into her home, but dismissed that immediately. 'I'm a grown woman,' she told herself. 'I can certainly take care of myself, and there's Davey, besides.'

Thoughts of her son troubled her. She found herself wondering what things might be like, were he not under the same roof. She hadn't dated for that reason. Now her mind began to envision scenarios, all of them sensuous and enticing. She had noticed the bulge in DeShawn's shorts, and had sneaked a look as his hand rubbed stealthily over its mass, beneath the satiny surface. It was bigger than any cock she'd ever seen, if that was all him! She snuck another look.

'He's hard,' she mused, feeling that corresponding tingle between her thighs again. Suddenly she felt naked, knowing he was hard because of her; from walking behind her, watching her ass through the extremely thin material of her tights. She knew it, and yet she didn't dare admit it to herself, for there was a path she should not take. Indeed, could not take. 'He's eighteen, for god's sake!' She was almost three times his age, she knew. And yet, there was that niggling question: how could someone like him make her feel? Again, she berated herself. Why would she even think that, if not for a flaw in her character! 'I've got a son! He's almost a man, but he's still a boy in so many ways. What would he think of his mother if I...?'

DeShawn's knee touched hers, and a jolt of electricity went straight to her core. Not the core they talked about in yoga; no, this was the core of every woman! She felt her pussy leak. 'Oh my god, what was that?' She felt sure that if she looked, there would be a wet patch...there. That place that was beginning to ache. She squeezed her legs together, her tummy tightening at the feeling of damp flesh against damp flesh. She felt like a teenager again for a fleeting moment. Then she jolted back to reality.

"What was I saying?" she asked, not remembering the last of their conversation.

"You was saying you ain't had none in a long time," DeShawn said confidently, moving his knee against hers again. The long pause meant she'd been thinking about him, about his dick. She was working herself up into a cock frenzy, and he'd barely touched her!

"Oh! Did I say that? Oh, no. I mean, I don't think I used those words..." She trailed off, more conscious of his knee against hers than ever. Then his shoulder was against her shoulder, as he leaned to whisper in her ear.

"Means the same thing, Miss Misty. Not gettin' any ain't good for you, you know." He remained there, their shoulders together. They were joined at two points. DeShawn longed to make it just one, the one that mattered. He could hear her breathing, and wondered whether to push his luck now. Then, unable to wait, he said, in a voice barely audible, "I make you feel like a woman again."

Misty heard his voice, as in a dream. It was a dream she'd just been having, a waking dream that was inappropriate, she knew, but was oh, so enticing! Thoughts of that cock, the one more than hinted at in his shorts, were boring their way into her consciousness. She found herself responding, in an equally hushed tone, "Yeah?"

Just as she was about to berate herself for daring to respond, she saw his cock pulse beneath the satin of his shorts. His hand slid down toward the hem, then, and pulled upward, slowly revealing a huge, thick black mushroom head.

'Goddam,' she moaned inwardly. As she watched, she saw a hand moving across his lap, sliding across the material as it moved toward the massive erection. Too late, she realized it was hers! Her fingers closed around its thickness and she slid them upward, pulling more of the shorts with them. 'My god, this thing is for real!' She almost gasped, feeling its heat and hardness, and then it jumped in her hand. She could imagine the blood coursing through such a monster, feeding its growth; making it even hotter under her grasp. DeShawn closed his hand on top of hers, encouraging her.