It's late morning and I lay in bed as Stanley and mom's laughter floats up from downstairs, the sounds of their gleeful amusement with one another making my heart tug in apprehension. This makes it several days in a row that he's been over at our house since they first made love on the couch in the basement. After observing the insidious expression on his face that night, his frequent visits have only served to alarm me further than I already was. I had been so distraught watching their tender lovemaking and how fulfilled mom appeared to be afterward that I didn't even jerk off, I just sat there disturbed as they cuddled for the next twenty minutes.
I spent most of that night tossing and turning, worrying about Stanley. I didn't trust him at all, so I couldn't stop imagining what he was up to, if he was planning anything and if so, what it involved. Whatever it was, an instinct deep inside told me it wasn't good.
Evidently, I didn't need to wait long to find out. The evening after their sensual coupling, mom was just finishing up work when there was a knock at the back door. I looked up from the couch as she opened it, revealing Stanley holding several buckets of paint.
"What's this?" she asks as he sauntered in.
"Finally gonna paint those cabinets," he says, gesturing toward them with his head while he sets the cans down. "You mentioned when I was fixing the hinge that you always wanted a kitchen that was warm and inviting, just like your grandma's. The paint is pretty worn as it is so I figured that's the best place to start."
"Yeah it is, but I haven't even seen so much as a sample of - "
She paused as he popped open one of the tops with his key, revealing the robin's egg blue paint inside.
"Oh my god," she said. "What a beautiful color!"
"I thought it'd look good in here." He turns his face, assessing the kitchen briefly. "It's definitely better than the white, that's for sure, but I didn't know if the shade was close enough to how you described it."
Mom bent down to get a closer look. "No, it's perfect," she told him. "I can't believe you were able to match it so closely."
"I'm just good like that," he said, winking at her. "Anyway, I can get started on it tomorrow if you want."
"I can't let you paint the cabinets, Stanley, not by yourself."
"So join me," he tells her, standing back up. "Come on, it'll be fun and we'll get it done quicker."
And that's what they did. The next morning, he came over and they began their joint project. At first, he guided her through the process, taking her right hand in his and spreading the paint against the cabinet with steady, even strokes while he stood behind her. Mom relaxed into his body, a slight blush on her cheeks as his big hand encased hers, moving the brush back and forth.
"There we go, you're a natural," he said into her ear, her blush deepening.
"I think you're just a good teacher."
"Well maybe, but what's a good teacher without a good student?"
She beamed at him as he let go of her hand and stepped back. "I can't thank you enough for this."
"It's no big deal," he says, picking up his own brush. "Just a new paint job."
"But it is though, I have such great memories of my grandma in her kitchen, so painting these cabinets to match hers will remind me a bit more of those happy times."
"She was really important to you, huh?"
"Absolutely, she taught me everything I know about cooking and baking." She smiled softly, a far away look in her eye. "She was from France and there was this saying she had, la bonne nourriture fait la belle figure."
"What's it mean?"
"Good food makes a beautiful figure."
"Well she certainly was right about that," he said, winking at her.
She smiles back at him. "Whenever I was feeling self-conscious about my weight, she'd grip my shoulders and gesture around the kitchen while repeating it."
"Made you feel better, huh?"
"Always, she was great at that."
"Well if painting the cabinets helps remind you of her, then I'm glad we're doing this."
"Me too, I'm also hoping it'll help evoke the same sense of comfort that I associate with her kitchen."
"I think that had more to do with her than the cabinets though," he laughed.
"You know what I mean." She smiled back at him.
"Well, I think you do a good job of that yourself already."
"Aww, thank you, Stanley!"
She smiles warmly at him and they hold eye contact for a long moment.
"Shit, I'm dripping the paint everywhere," Stanley says, noticing the splotches on the countertops.
They painted the cabinets over the next couple of days. It took longer than it should have because of how often they joked around or got caught up in conversation together. On top of that, he'd stay for dinner each night, drinking beer while laughing and flirting with her. I could tell mom really enjoyed herself when she was with him, which didn't sit well with me.
They were nearly done with the cabinets and I hoped once they finished today then he might not be around for a while. But I had a bad feeling that wasn't the case, that he'd find some other project to start up in order to hang around until Tim came home next week.
Sighing, I got out of bed, pausing at the door and steeling myself to venture downstairs into their little cocoon of intimacy. Stepping into the living room, I see them standing in the kitchen, evaluating their work, apparently having already finished.
Both their heads turn when they hear me walk up.
"What do you think, sweetheart?"
"It looks good, mom," I tell her.
"Stanley picked the perfect color, didn't he?"
"...yeah, he did."
Stanley shoots me a shit eating grin as I grind my teeth, loathing to agree with any compliment she gives him.
"Oh, by the way Julie, I've got something to help put the finishing touches on everything."
Stanley walks over to the back door, opening it and reaching out to grab a brown box he left just outside. He comes over and hands it to her.
Mom gently lifts the lid, peeking inside before she lets out a gasp. Reaching in, she holds up a wooden plaque, painted white. On the front, scrawled in neat black lettering, is the french phrase her grandmother used to use.
"I - how - did you make this?" she asks him in amazement.
"It wasn't too hard. The plank was easy to sand down and paint, the real bitch of it was the spelling. I'm still not sure I got it right."
"No, it's perfect, I can't believe it!" She holds up the plaque, admiration in her eyes.
"So, you like it then?"
Mom looks up at him. "Of course, it's one of the best presents I've ever gotten!"
She throws her arms around him in a hug, squeezing him tightly while he returns the gesture. They stay locked in a close embrace before mom pulls back slightly, their faces close together. Her eyes drop down to his lips with an intense, desiring gaze, and I can tell she wants so badly to kiss him, my presence in the room the only thing holding her back. Stanley smirks back at her, relishing in her yearning for him.
After a couple of seconds, he opens his mouth to speak, "How about I grab my hammer and hang that up for ya?"
Mom only nods her head in agreement, biting her lip while she slides her arms back, letting him go. Stanley exists to head next door while she sits down, fawning over his gift.
He returns a few minutes later, using our step stool to nail the plaque above the back door. Mom stood off to the side, marveling at him as if she were seeing him in a whole new light, causing my stomach to tie up in knots.
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That night, I snuck down into the basement for the first time in days. Their last encounter left me so freaked out that I hadn't returned since. But I couldn't stop thinking about the intensely passionate look on mom's face when she had hugged Stanley earlier and my cock was semi-erect the entire day, imagining the passionate sex she'd initiate with him.
My intuition proved right. After she led him down the stairs, I watched from my dark cubby hole as she slowly stripped in front of him. He sat naked on the couch, his eyes greedily taking in her curvaceous figure as she revealed more and more of it to him and his large cock began to harden. Once he was fully erect, she got down on her knees, proceeding to slobber all over his shaft. He grunted as she ran her tongue along his throbbing pole, one of her dainty hands gripping its base. Eventually, her mouth closed around it and she began to suck him earnestly. It wasn't very long before she was taking his entire length down her throat in large swallows, wet gulping noises filling the room as her head bobbed up and down.
"Holy shit, your sucking the fucking life out of me," he said in a strained voice.
She only moaned in response, not breaking stride as she zealously inhaled his large dick.
After a few more minutes of deep throating him, she pulls off and looks up.
