"You think I won't?" Jasmine asked the young man sitting on her couch.
Malcolm gave his best friend's mom a lazy smile. "Not in a million years."
Jasmine hated that grin. Hated that she liked it so much. Hated that she wanted to fuck the smile right off his face. In Malcolm's irregular visits when he came home from college, it was like some lightbulb came on. She felt something raw and primal she didn't understand. Malcolm wasn't ugly but he wasn't handsome either. At twenty, he was pretty much a physical wallflower, not fat, not skinny, not anything. But the way he looked at her, devouring her with his eyes, it made Jasmine want to drag him to the bedroom and never stop fucking him. And then there was the way the girls his age looked at him. Whispered about him. Giggled about him. Not at him. They watched Malcolm with secret smiles, the kinds of things that made a woman want to know just what they were smiling about.
It would be an odd pairing to any outside observer. In her late thirties, Jasmine was the definition of a hot mom. She worked hours in the gym every week to keep up a trim waist and a tight ass. Her tits had always been what men noticed first, but it was when they caught a look at her innocent face that they realized what a fuck bunny she really was. Jasmine knew it, and liked it. Liked being the hottest mom at the bake sales, at the games, at her husband's work functions. She liked men drooling over her.
But none of them, not even her husband Francis, made her so fucking wet as Malcolm goddamn Williamson, and she had no clue why.
She did know why he was home. It was their special day, and it happened to fall on a weekend. Ever since Malcolm started hanging around with Loren when they were just kids, he shared a love of April Fool's with Jasmine. The two of them were the only ones in their respective families who didn't see the holiday as a pain in the ass. It started small. Malcolm bought some fart spray -- he was twelve at the time -- and squirted the driver's seat of Jasmine's car generously with it. She put a fake but realistic-looking spider in his backpack, nearly making him pee himself at school when he found it.
The next year, he got her by coming over the night before, ostensibly to hang out with Loren and play games, but in reality to add cayenne pepper to the blender. Jasmine was on a smoothie kick back then, and got a hell of a surprise when she made one the next morning. She got him back for that by driving to the school and bribing her friend May in the principal's office to let her into his locker. She filled it with stuffed animals and left a note on the door saying, "I know you get scared sometimes, so I left you some friends to keep you company. Hug one, and all your troubles go away!" He called her up twenty minutes later, laughing so hard he was nearly crying.
So it went throughout the years until he turned eighteen and the games turned to yearly dares. That April Fool's, when Loren was out golfing with his father, Malcolm came over. On her third glass of wine for the night, Jasmine was pleasantly buzzed and told him she was disappointed there weren't any pranks that year. Malcolm told her he was pranked out, and truthfully, so was she. Then he suggested a game instead. She thought he meant a board or a video game, but no, Malcolm had a different idea in mind. Truth or Dare, but in the years since, it had always been dares.
There were limits then. Malcolm asked to see Jasmine's boobs with a hopeful dopey grin and she laughed him off. But by the end of the night, she agreed to jump on the trampoline in her tight tank, and he watched, stunned and so hard by the time she finished she knew he had to hurt. It made her giggle, and secretly, the thought of the eighteen-year-old wanting her that badly turned her on a bit too.
Then came college, and that vague seed of attraction planted that April Fool's Day blossomed into something more, something darker, more urgent. With every visit, Jasmine had a harder and harder time remembering the sanctity of her vows to Francis. She saw Malcolm, saw the unchecked lust in his intelligent eyes, and a fog of desire slipped through her mind. They missed last year's April Fool's since he was in college and it was on a weekday. But it didn't stop Malcolm from texting her and saying they should keep the game going. She replied with a simple, "How?" knowing full well he would want a picture of her boobs or her ass.
"Do something sexy for me," he responded.
"Little pervert," Jasmine wrote back.
"Yup."
That made her laugh. She meant to ignore his request and let it go, but all day, she thought about those words -- do something sexy for him. It was hot the way he commanded her like that. If she thought about it for overly long, inevitably she started thinking of more, of Malcolm in his dorm room, jacking off to her, to her ass, to her tits, to her smile. And when Jasmine started down that road, a dizzying heat swept through her, making her so wet all she could think about was fingering herself to him. By the late afternoon, she got no work done and was staring sightlessly at her computer when she finally said fuck it, and went into the bathroom to tug up her blouse and take a picture of her tits in her bra. It wasn't anything particularly sexy, so she turned in profile to the mirror, raised the shirt, and made a face like she just came. That was it. That was the one. Before Jasmine could think about it overly long, she sent it to Malcolm with the line, "Now do something sexy for me."
Predictably, he sent her a picture of his hard cock tucked away in his shorts, followed by another of his hand inside his boxers with a caption of, "This is what you do to me." She fucked herself silly to those pictures for two weeks, then the guilt settled in and she texted to tell him they couldn't do anything like that again. His response had been simple. "I'm okay with that. But we have to have April Fool's." After an hour of thought, she agreed.
Now it was April Fool's again, and Malcolm was back. Oh Lord, Jasmine was thinking of some very bad things while he sat there right in front of her.
Like now, his first dare of the early afternoon.
"What do you want to see me in?" Jasmine asked, blushing under his scrutiny.
"Your sexiest outfit," he said. "Something that says you're the hottest mom on the fucking planet."
"Language," Jasmine said mildly.
"Really? Now?" he asked with a smirk.
"Brat," she said, and stuck out her tongue. "You have to phrase it like a dare, or it doesn't count."
Malcolm chuckled. "All right. I dare you to go dress like the MILF you are."
"Be right back."
Jasmine tried not to run to her bedroom upstairs, but it was a close thing. She felt giddy, and more than a little sick. This was far more than just a sext back and forth. This was borderline cheating, and given the way she thought -- hoped -- the afternoon would go, that would probably be a line that she crossed too. And it wasn't that she hated her husband or her son. Francis was a good husband, sweet and funny and a good father. Yeah, maybe he took her good looks for granted and their sex had become stale, but that was just as much on her as it was him. She could have told him some fantasies and he would have acted them out for her.
Similarly, Loren was a good son. He knew his friends liked to look at his hot mom and tolerated it with passably good humor. Sure, there was the usual teenage angst and she wished he was pulling better grades in college but he was, at his core, as kind a man as his father. This would be nearly as much a betrayal to him as it would be to Francis.
If they found out.
Jasmine dug through her closet, looking for just the right outfit. A gown was far too formal. A nightie too informal, though it definitely went into her mental maybe pile. Her little black cocktail dress? Closer to the mark. Jasmine's hand rested on it, then moved across the fabric of a red dress she bought for a cruise. The thin shoulder straps could barely keep her breasts in check, and the hem came to just above her knees. Combine it with some heels and... yeah. That was it.
She changed in a hurry, waves of heat pulsing through her. Her pussy begged for attention but she couldn't give it any, lest she call Malcolm up to the bedroom and tell him to pound her into the mattress right there and then. No, she wanted to play this game a while longer, and maybe pull herself back from the edge.
Yeah. Right.
