A Mother's Lust

As I had already predicted beforehand, that little adventure with Betty, Karla and her son was the last time I got to enjoy those family escapades for a while. When I was dragged off to college, I had failed to predict just how addicted I'd become to my friend's mother and her insanity.

I found my mind wandering off during each and every class. I got unusually turned on when I saw any red curls on campus. Particular intonations of the word 'fuck' were enough to give me a hard-on. And, worst of all, I was almost certain Karla

knew

all of this. The nerve.

I'd grown so paranoid at this point that I even assumed her radio silence was part of some twisted plan she'd conjured up just to torment me. I did not hear from Betty either. Had her husband grown a pair of eyes? Worse; had Karla convinced him to grow a pair of eyes? These were the unsettling thoughts that plagued my mind as I found myself stuck in an urban center I had no interest in exploring.

I've wondered often enough if those months I spent adrift at college couldn't have saved me from Karla's clutches. Could I have found a nice girl, grown accustomed to a loving relationship that fosters trust and warmth instead of adrenaline and paranoia? Could I have learned not to pursue married women and instead value a properly built relationship?

I'd be lying if I said those questions didn't haunt me even as I was wasting those very same months. Every time I turned on the phone to find no new words from the one woman I craved, those questions ran through my head at full speed. And yet I never managed to move on. I grew resentful, depressed and borderline reclusive. My stupid pride did not even let me reach out to either Karla or Betty. At some points, my routine was no more than a grim loop of heading to school and marching back home.

Things changed when I woke up to a series of texts ringing rapidly on my bedside table. We were in November, at a point during which my social life was so inexistent I did not even bother to toggle sleep mode on my cellphone. It was only when I saw Karla's name on my screen that I really woke up. I still remember how my heart pounded as the messages kept coming. I almost didn't mind the torrents of emojis that interrupted each message. I missed her

that

much.

"Peter!

"Hi!

"How's my favorite boy toy?

"Any married teachers there for you to fuck?

"Big news!

"Come home next weekend

"We'll fuck!

"Lots!"

The messages kept pouring in. I stared at nothing for a few minutes while the phone vibrated in my hands, its screen being the only thing illuminating my room. The thing about catching sight of what you want after losing it is that it reminds you of how badly you've dropped the ball in the meantime. I hesitantly read the remaining messages, trying my best to cut through the emoji walls Karla was dumping on me.

"Get here Friday

"Skip classes if you have to

"You must be here by Saturday, midday"

My sleepy fingers managed to type out a single answer:

"Why?"

"Wait for my son's message"

That filled me with some newfound dread. Those months of solitude hadn't been good for much, but remembering how cruel I'd grown had certainly given me a new sense of disappointment with myself. Had I been less of shitty person, perhaps my friend would have given me a respite from my solitude by occasionally checking up on me during that time.

Instead, he'd been turned into yet another toy for Karla's amusement, and not one with any particular enjoyment to be had on the side. I could complain about the risks and the pain and the mind games. Yet, after becoming Karla's toy, I'd still been able to have sex with two gorgeous women. That was a deal her son would not be getting. Needless to say, the pity and shame I felt at that point did not make me exactly thrilled to hear from him again, even knowing well enough that those feelings would evaporate instantly once I got my hands on Karla.

I remember being halfway through a history lesson on the American century when my friend's message arrived. This is, curiously, one of the few things I still remember from that first semester. Unlike the two previous months, I felt motivated enough to pay attention merely thanks to having heard from Karla. I hated myself for even letting such a thing influence my mood and productivity. The text, while clearly not enthusiastic, gave me far more clues about Karla's plans than her emoji-riddled spam.

"Family potluck this Saturday. Ur invited. Bring food."

I didn't doubt for a second which family member had actually invited me. At that point, the gloominess of early morning had worn off. I felt happy. I felt

excited

for another round of wild sex with my friend's mom. The prospect of his whole family gathering around a single apartment did not even concern me, such was my optimism.

I remember giving it my all for the rest of the week. I stopped skipping lessons. I showed up on time. I took notes. Though these things may sound trivial for anyone serious about finishing college, they could not be further from what I had been doing until then. When I got on the train to head back to my hometown, I could hardly keep myself from smiling.

"On the train," I opted to text her.

Karla gave me a predictable response in the shape of a wall of eggplant emojis. I couldn't help but chuckle.

That

was the extent of my good mood. I thought of texting Betty too, but ended up dissuading myself from it. Perhaps bumping into her at the potluck without warning would be the most exciting option. At that point what I

needed

was just that: excitement.

I could hardly sleep that same night. I was horny, happy, excited, completely unable to shut down my brain for even a second to rest. The only reason I didn't jack off was precisely because I had hopes of making up for all these lonely weeks the following day. Even when morning came, I did not have it in me to feel tired. I got up at the first sound of my alarm and rushed into the kitchen. There, I spent much of the early morning preparing a few fajitas to bring to the potluck.

I had reread Karla's messages so many times I knew by heart she expected me to show up at midday. My eagerness was such I still arrived a full twenty minutes earlier than the agreed time.

It was impossible not to hasten my steps while approaching my friend's house. Inside that building, somewhere, Karla and I were going to fuck each other's brains out. The new cars parked in front of it only made me feel more confident in ringing that doorbell before my twenty spare minutes flew past me.

The door was rung open without a word from the communicator. To be expected from a party with multiple guests. I hurried into the elevator, fajitas in hand, barely able to notice my heart was starting to beat faster.

Fear

, I noticed. I felt fear that Karla's games wouldn't make things this easy. It wasn't enough to stop me, but it did make pressing that button take a little longer.

I was greeted at the door by a bald man with a grey-white mustache in a black coat.

"Ah, you must be my grandson's friend," he shot me a friendly smile. "Come in! And tell me what you brought there!"

I forced a smile. It still stung to be called his friend after this whole mess. Still, I managed to provide an adequate description of what I did to make those fajitas come to be. It was only then that I was guided by that old man to the table in the living room. There, I finally saw my friend's mom.

Karla was leaning over the dining table, arranging the many dishes to the best of her ability. Her red curls were styled in loose waves that fell over her shoulders. The deep green sweater she was wearing was certainly the most conservative thing I had ever seen on her since we'd started our affair. Even then it was a tight, form-fitting piece of clothing, and it hinted at the curves beneath it well enough to arouse me.

Her green eyes glanced upwards at me. At that moment I felt my heart skip a beat. The malice, the

desire

. My God, but I loved this woman's evilness. When she smirked at me, I could barely tell where I was placing those fajitas.

"Careful, not so close to the edge!" the old man took the bag off my hands.

"Peter's always like that," Karla chuckled nastily. "Head's always in the clouds."

I wanted to undress her there and then. I wanted to kiss her and feel her nails dig into my skin as I struggled for control with her. I wanted to drag her into her husband's bedroom to fill her with pain, pleasure and joy. But, and I only noticed this once those fantasies had burnt their way across my mind, what I truly wanted was for all those guests to leave us be first.

My eyes had been so busy undressing Karla that I had failed to notice just how unbearably crowded the apartment looked. The armchair where my friend had watched me and Karla was covered by a pile of coats. The couch had four people sitting on it, some of them elderly. There were voices coming from the kitchen, and none of them sounded like either of Karla's sons.

The grandfather happily put the fajitas in a corner of the table.

"Best keep them close to my seat, eh?" he winked at me.

I smiled, lost in the confusion that reigned supreme in that house at the moment. The old man departed from my side to join the people on the couch, leaving me looking even more aimless than I already did.

"Aw, Peter," Karla put on a motherly tone as she approached me. "This is no way to treat a guest, is it? Where's my son?"

She shouted his name. Before long, a few of the people I assumed were his grandparents were shouting for him too.

My former friend dashed out of his room. Words cannot describe how obvious the erosion of his smile was when he saw me.

"Peter's here," Karla said sternly. "You should have been here to welcome him. Why don't you introduce him to your family?"

He glanced at me sourly, before gesturing to me to follow him to his room. The looks I got from the younger relatives there gave me pause. Did they all know of my affairs with Karla and Betty, or was it just the regular rudeness you can expect of kids these days? I hesitantly followed Karla's son.

I must ask you to forgive me, but many of the people I was introduced to were forgotten that same day. I know we were sixteen people total, and a few of them did linger in my mind. In that bedroom, few faces or names remained. There was Ricky, of course, whom I had already known before this. There was a girl too. Red haired, little older than my friend's younger brother. Knowing she wasn't Karla's, I was willing to bet she was Betty's daughter.

There were two older kids there too. A boy and girl, siblings, if I recall correctly. Their lack of green eyes or red hair was all the proof I needed to know they were not from Karla's side of the family. Their eyes had a mix of contempt and disinterest when I walked in. Neither seemed too keen on setting down their phone to look at me for more than a second. I would hazard their names were Lars and Claire, but with practically no certainty.

I was thankful not to have been kept in that room for too long. Once the introductions to all those cousins were dealt with, I was quickly taken to the kitchen. There, I found a black-haired, slender woman with brown eyes and olive skin. I found her pretty, if not too skinny as a courtesy of my fun with Karla and Betty's delicious bodies.

What really caught my attention was the ring on her finger. This woman was married. Little did she or her husband know, perhaps, that this was the last place anyone would want to bring a wife to. I wondered if Karla had already orchestrated some plan for us to drag this unknown relative into a mad, lust-fueled affair.

"This is my aunt, Silvia," my friend mumbled unexcitedly.

I tried to give Silvia no more a polite greeting than I had given his rude cousins, if only to spare her nephew from any assumption I wanted to have sex with her too. It seemed to go completely amiss. Next to Silvia, a skinny man was doing the dishes. His features, in particular his nose, were quite similar to George's.

"This is my uncle, Joseph."

"Or Joe, for short," he shook my hand without washing the soap away first.

Again I calculated my greeting to be no more or less friendly than it had been this far in. Internally, I cursed myself for overthinking yet again.

By the fridge, Bernard seemed to be checking up on some cheese. I was spared a single glance from him, on account of us having already met. That single act of indifference, believe it or not, filled me with more comfort than any other interaction I'd had since my arrival there.

Finally, we reached the balcony, where a tall figure seemed to be on the phone. Betty. I could hardly stop myself from casting my hungry eyes all over her. She was wearing a brown sweater dress on top of tight black leggings. I stood by my statement: there was nothing that Betty could wear that stopped her curves from looking delightfully plump.

"You already know my aunt," I could practically feel the hatred in my friend's words.

"Peter?!" Betty's voice sounded far too enthusiastic for her own good. Even my friend cringed. "I didn't know you were coming!"

We exchanged a hug as we greeted. Not by my own initiative, I assure you. Even her warmth felt familiar and nostalgic during our embrace. My friend's aunt wasted no time to run her hand past my nether regions.

"Mm... but I'm sure glad you did," I heard her whisper while she held me close.

That had been more than enough to get me hard, needless to say. So when the time came to let go, I was desperate to ensure nobody who'd paid too much attention to Betty's voice would stare at my crotch for a while. As if the universe had deemed it fit to give me some consolation, I noticed upon exiting the balcony that Bernard was still as invested in the fridge as he had been moments before.

I was then taken to the living room. There were now two older men and two older women sitting on the couch, with Karla's husband casually occupying a chair next to them. My guess was that those two couples were Karla and George's parents.

The old man that had let me in was the first to introduce himself when I was brought to them. Ron? Robert? I cannot quite recall what his name was. The other two elders were no easier for me to memorize. A mundane man and a mundane woman, the two of them. The last person on that couch stuck with me, though.

Just as I was done greeting the second man, I locked eyes with a silver-haired woman. The recognition I felt at that moment cannot be understated. Cruel, ruthless green eyes, cutting into my soul as she stared at me. Very similar to Karla's in every aspect. The only thing missing was the gleeful mischief and mirth Karla's emeralds seemed to always have in their glint. I felt petrified as those hardened jade eyes stared at me; no doubt this woman was my two lovers' mother.

"This is my other grandmother," my friend hurried to say.

"Marilyn," the woman spoke with the kind of hollowness reserved people save for common courtesy.

It took every bit of effort for me to stop drowning in her unforgiving eyes. Marilyn was a woman in her 60s, early 70s at most. She was relatively untouched by wrinkles, although her deep laugh lines were certainly an indicator of her age. Her lips were adorned with dark red lipstick, and those malicious green eyes of hers had a thin line of eyeliner around them.

I managed to blurt out a greeting to Karla's mother too, earning myself a raised brow from the woman once I was done. Without anyone else to introduce me to, my former friend took the liberty of ditching me in the middle of his family and retreating to his bedroom without another word.

Words do not do justice to how awkward I felt. George resumed his chat with his parents and in-laws. Karla had already gone back into the kitchen. I found myself very much alone and idle in front of the lunch table, too uncertain to make a single move until lunch started. When Karla finally came back and summoned everyone, I thanked my lucky stars.

As everyone started moving towards their seats, I cast another glance at Marilyn as she stood up. My certainty that that woman was Karla's mother only grew once I saw her figure clearly for the first time. She was shaped like an hourglass, boasting large, if not slightly sagged breasts. Unlike her busty daughters, Marilyn herself looked quite slender, which in turn only made her tits look more oversized than they probably were. I averted my eyes the moment she turned her head towards me.

Karla immediately readied a chair next to the one in front of her.

"Come on, Peter. You can sit here."

To my surprise, Betty objected.

"Why would you separate him from the people his age?" she smirked as she readied a chair next to hers. "Sit him here and he can be near your son's half of the table. You know, the

reason

he is here with us?"

There was a devious smirk on Betty's face that stunned me. I didn't think she had it in her to pull off this stunt in front of her whole family. Karla was smirking too; a competitive, slightly astonished grin which she had fixed on her sister. The other family members seemed to be slowly picking their seats, oblivious to the undertones of what the two sisters were saying. I chose to hold my breath.

"Don't be ridiculous, Betty. He's our guest.

Shouldn't

he get to be closer to the head of the family? You agree with me, don't you, dear? Or do you mind?"

Karla glared daggers at her son for a fraction of a second. Suddenly, all eyes were on him. I could only imagine the shame he must have felt while knowing the true reason behind this dispute. With his head cast down, on the opposite end of the table, I barely heard his reply.

"No, I don't mind," he mumbled.

The reply made Karla double down on her smirking. I couldn't imagine Betty being shameless enough to try any harder to get me to sit next to her.

"Fine," she sighed. "You're the boss."

I still remember exactly how the seating was arranged around me. George had taken the seat at the head of the table. To his right was Karla, and to her right was my seat. To his left, the mundane elderly couple - his parents - took their seats. To

my

right, the mustached man that had let me in immediately joked.

"Guess you'll be sitting close to those fajitas too, huh?"

I smiled politely. The last thing on my mind was my own cooking at this point. I was mostly focused on finding where every person that could give me trouble during that meal was seated. There was Karla, of course, right next to me. George, at the head of the table, could perhaps grow a pair of eyes in the meantime and notice his wife lusting after me. Their son, at the

other

end of the table, could snap and reveal the secret to everyone. Marilyn, one seat away from me, still seemed less oblivious to this whole affair than the rest of the family. And then there was Betty, sitting next to her mother. From my angle, these last two were impossible to properly keep an eye on without being obvious about it. In either case, my real concern was Karla. As usual, I knew being surrounded by her closest relatives would not to prevent her from engaging in thrill-seeking behavior. The real question was how many risks she would be willing to make us take this time.

Karla's sadism reared its head sooner than later. We had barely started eating when she chose to break the ice in the most excruciating way possible.

"So, Peter. Why don't you tell us about your first months in college? I bet the girls there are crazy about you."

I gritted my teeth and cursed myself. For all my longing for Karla, I had completely forgotten her gift to make people miserable in social settings. Before I could reply, she was already moving on.