My Friend's Mom - Mrs. Par

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, or non-consensual sex.

*****

I normally spend my summers playing computer games, eating sloppily made PB&Js, and masturbating. It's a heavenly time. Both parents at work, no siblings, no looming deadlines to stress over.

Like every other guy in school, I have a thing for MILFs. Lately, I have last semester's biology teacher, Miss Blake, to thank for that. Not a day goes by when I don't dream about the day she wore that tight, translucent tank top through which I could see her large areoles and protruding nipples. If she was wearing a bra that day -- big if -- it must've been as thin as the Kleenex tissues I wipe by jizz with after I tit fuck those breasts.

From that day on, Miss Blake -- or rather, her tits -- promptly dislodged Max's mom -- or rather, her ass -- as our goto MILF fantasy. Miss Blake is also a more convenient choice because we don't have to worry about Max appearing out of nowhere or risk him eavesdropping.

Eric's last message appears on my chat window, "I'm being ordered to sign off. Lets hangout?"

"Ah, fuck. Alright. I'll see if Max is around and meet you at the bleachers."

"Cool, cya soon. Say hi to Mrs Park for me ;)"

"Lol"

That's all the trigger I need for Max's mom to claw back to her rightful place in my MILF fantasy world.

I lift myself off my cushiony leather chair and marvel at how well its holding up. That chair to me is what a car is to a motorist. The upholstery is peeling off in places, there are scruff marks on the arm rests, and one of the wheels is moody. But I don't mind at all because it serves as a reminder of all we've been through. First ejaculation, first Counterstrike win, first IM with a girl. I've abused that chair to no end.

I get hard thinking about how I'd love to abuse Mrs. Park on that chair. I picture myself leaning back and her sliding up and down my wet dick, reverse cowgirl style. I'm twisting her long auburn hair with one hand and smacking her ass cheeks with the other while I pound into her mercilessly. Her weight counterbalances mine, so I don't tip over. The chair's squeaks merge with her moans to produce a symphony so pleasurable that even Mozart can't match.

"Save it for later, Romeo." I laugh as I tuck my already slimy dick back into my boxers.

I stretch out my legs. My hamstrings are sore from the endless sitting, but I'm relieved I can still touch my toes. I thrust my hips into Mrs. Park a few more times to get my blood flowing.

Even though Max usually answers the door, my fantasy compels me to freshen up, just in case Mrs. Park answers. After a quick shower, I check myself out in front of my bathroom mirror. I graze my damp beard, admiring its recent growth spurt. I circle anti-acne cream around the zit on my jawline and apply deodorant under my armpits. A bottle of citrus-noted cologne catches by eye while I place everything back. I generally save that for dates and family functions, but I decide to pull it out and spray a couple puffs on my neck. "Fortune favors the bold," I nod into the mirror.

I put on jeans, a faded AC/DC shirt, and beat up sneakers and walk over to Max's house, the cool Californian breeze further lifting my spirits.

Their lawn is freshly mowed and wind chimes jingle on the veranda as if announcing my arrival. I don't spot their Mercedes 4MATIC SUV in the driveway and wonder if Max is even home. I hope he is because I've genuinely grown to enjoy his company, even though -- I admit -- his mom was the primary reason I befriended him a year ago.

I'd first seen her when she trotted up on stage with her well-oiled legs in 4-inch heels to give Max an encouraging hug before our class rendition of Peter Pan. I'll never forget how she squatted to adjust his costume, her tight navy blue suit bucking under the strain of her voluptuous ass. I envy the men standing on the other side who, if they were as opportunistic as me, must've won a peek at her pussy like the fat cop in Basic Instinct. Thanks to my ensuing friendship with Max, that was the first of many silent overtures I've made towards Mrs. Park over the last year. As expected, they've all gone unheeded, except in my imagination of course.

I skip over the stepping stones and ring the bell. No answer. I ring again. Nothing. The door is slightly ajar, so I gently push it open and holler, "Hellooo? Max? It's Darren." I remove my sneakers and step inside. I've been inside his house many times, so I don't think twice about it. His house is immaculately clean as usual; polished hardwood floors glow under the sunlight and family photos adorn the off-white walls in perfect ninety degree angles. Suddenly, I'm glad of my decision to shower and wear clean clothes, the only exception being the smudge of wetness on my boxers, brought forth by the potentiality of meeting Mrs. Park.

A stray sock catches my eye. It's jutting out from under a door down the hall. I walk towards it. Although my room is littered with stray clothes -- it's convenient to always having something nearby to wipe off my cum -- something about a stray sock in a spotless environment bothers me. As I squat to pick it up, I lose my balance and brace myself against the door. The door squeaks open just enough to reveal a wooden staircase to the basement. At the foot of the stairs, I recognize Mrs. Park's naked feet on their tippy toes. I've sucked on those red polished toes in my dreams God knows how many times. A washing machine churns away in the background, which explains why my calls went unanswered.

I stand up and tentatively go down one step. Mrs. Park's smooth calves enter my line of sight. I quickly check my rear to make sure no one is watching and take one more step, feeling for creaks. Her creamy thighs and the onset of her wide hips come into view. They're not oiled up like in my fantasies, which is oddly refreshing. I'm transfixed by the creases in her skin and stretch marks on her thighs. Being privy to her secret rawness fills me with a special desire that no fantasy can match.

She suddenly comes back on her heels and the fullness of her child-bearing ass comes crashing into view. Even though she's not nude -- she's wearing black panties under what looks to be a silky white chemise -- my eyes pop out like baseballs. I have to grab onto the handrail to prevent a forward fall. This produces a loud creaking sound. Mrs. Park swings around and instinctively covers her chest. I consider making a run for it. I mean, if I can't see her face, she can't see mine, right? But as I'm about to bound up the steps, I lose my footing and tumble down the rest of the way.

"Uhhh," I groan after coming to my senses. Her freshly pedicured toes are staring me in the face as I half open my eyes.

Despite my ill timed fall, I can't believe my good fortune when Mrs. Park performs one of her Oscar worthy squats and gently lifts my face to her knee. Her pussy is a thigh length away from my face. I close my eyes to an imperceptible slit and keep groaning so I can peer at her pussy without her noticing. It's so close I can trace the outline of her vulva behind her black panties. I want to reach out to it like Adam reaches out to God in the Sistine Chapel. Fuck first aid. I want the juice from Mrs. Park's pussy to breathe life back into me.

"Darren?" Mrs. Park searches my eyes, oblivious to my thoughts as usual. "Are you ok?"

No, I'm not okay. My head is throbbing. I think I may have sprained an ankle. My cock is sore from the tight constraints of my jeans. Unbeknownst to you, you've placed the cure within arms reach. It's driving me absolutely crazy. You're a cocktease and you don't even realize it -- the worst kind. I keep groaning to get more face time between her generous thighs towards her concealed yet blatant offering until I can't control myself any longer.

I lift myself a little further and slowly bring my right arm around her neck in an embrace. "Thank you," I whisper unsure of what else to say. Her motherly instinct welcomes my advance. Her breasts squeeze between us. I can feel her nipples swell through her chemise. My cock rages further at the possibility that I might actually be turning her on.

"Darren, honey. I should fetch some ice." Mrs. Park says as she starts to break the embrace. But I resist just enough that her legs -- tired now from holding a squat and my weight -- buckle under pressure. "Ahhhh!" she cries as she falls backwards.

I adjust my weight so I'm firmly on top of her, my face conveniently buried in her hair so she can't see my shit eating grin. Hell, I'd eat her shit if that's what it took. Her legs are splayed, and one of my legs are between each of hers. She can probably feel my raging boner on her hip flexor inches from her pussy. I contort my face to appear confused and innocent and lift up to meet her gaze. The motherly compassion has vanished. Her eyes are wide and blazing. "Darren! Get off me this instant!" she commands.

I respond by planting a firm, awkward kiss on her lips. She twists her face away and shrieks, "Darren! What's the matter with you?!" as she inserts her palms under my chest. But I can't back off now. I've committed. I bring my right arm down to her panties start rubbing it in hurried circles. It's damp on initial contact which gives me hope. She gasps and her eyes roll back. I part away her black panties and take a few laps around her pussy lips with my middle finger before sticking it into her hole. The resistive force from her palms wanes as she surrenders to the pleasure. "Darren... please... stop... this is... highly... inappropriate," she gasps between breaths.

I just hope to God she doesn't actually mean what she's saying. In all my fantasies, Mrs. Park has seduced me, not the other way around. Excuse the Counterstrike lingo, but I've never played on this map before. I selfishly decide to respond to her moans instead of her words. Her pussy easily swallows my middle finger, so I bring my index finger in on the action. Her vagina constricts, resisting the extra girth, but I force it in. She screams "Oh, GOD..." while I unzip my jeans with my other hand. My desperate cock flings out like a slave who's just won his freedom, and I groan into her hair relief.

Feeling her juices trickle down her fleshy thighs makes me want to drink all her holes dry. But I'm afraid of what she may do if I relinquish my weight on her torso even for a moment. I'm still not convinced we're on the same team.

The panties are a more immediate nuisance. They keep sliding back and grate against my fingers. I pause my fingering to pull her panties further down her legs with one hand. To my amazement, Mrs. Park raises her legs into the air and lets me slide them off completely! "Don't... stop..." she pleads.

Holy shit, she wants it! Ecstatic that I've won her over, I exclaim, "Mrs. Park! Ok!" like an overeager puppy. I finally lift myself off her torso and bring my face down to her dripping cunt.

Till this moment, I was working her blind. Now, I take in her pink pleasure cave for the first time, and my senses red line. It's as well tended as her house. But instead of keeping it spotless, I can't wait to make a complete mess of it. While my mind goes in circles trying to decide which piece of her to eat first, Mrs. Park's palms grab the back of my head and pull my face into her. She lets out a drawn out moan while I drown in her puddle, my eyelashes soaked and heavy with her fluids. I eventually turn my head to inhale a lungful of air. Then reorient my lips to suck on her swollen bean. "Oh, fuck!" she screams as she begins to gyrate her hips and slap the floor with her left hand, her right still kneading my hair.

Eager to feel her most prized asset, unfairly neglected till now, I wriggle my hands between her ass and the basement floor and squeeze with the cumulative force of all my Mrs. Park fantasies till now. She arches her back and I watch her nipples shoot up like a cork off champagne while I continue to suck on her clit.

Then, all of a sudden, "Mooooomm!" I recognize Max's high pitched voice. He must be inside the house for it to have reached us. We both freeze and look at each other as if we're both trying to convince ourselves this is all a twisted sex dream. Spittle trails the edge of my mouth and I lick it off with my tongue, unable to resist a sheepish grin.

Mrs. Park gets to her feet and points to a stack of cardboard boxes five feet away. "Quick. Hide behind those," she orders. I stand up and immediately wince at the pain that knifes through my right ankle, no longer insulated by lust. Mrs. Park breaks my fall, locks her elbows under my armpits, and starts dragging me away. I feel her tits swinging into the back of my head and her firm nipples grazing my earlobes. Despite the urgency in the air, I entertain the idea of turning around and sucking on them.

"Mom?" Max is at the top of the stairs now. We've made it to the boxes and out of his line of sight. I manage to crawl to a more inconspicuous spot and slowly zip up my jeans so it's inaudible. Mrs. Park fixes her hair, lifts her breasts into her chemise, and takes a deep breath before walking back to the washing machines. "I'm here Max. I'll join you upstairs in just a minute."

"But I really want to show you something." I hear the stairs creak.

Mrs. Park in a raised voice, says "Max, don't come down!" And, after a short pause, in a softer tone, "Honey, I'm not appropriately dressed. I'm doing laundry you see. I'll be up in a minute."

"Okay, Mom. By the way, whose sneakers are those outside?"

Mrs. Park glares in my direction. I make a grimacing face.

"Honey, uh those are Darren's. I uh told him he can wait for you in the TV room. Go check."

Max runs off.

Mrs. Park sinks her face into her hands. "I cannot believe this is happening!" she wails, straining to keep her voice down. She grabs a nearby towel to cover herself, gives me a resigned look, and chucks it away. "Oh, it doesn't matter now," she mutters to herself.

For the first time, I feel ashamed at myself for forcing this situation upon her. For making her feel violated and vulnerable. Propelled now by my conscience more than lust, I try to think.

"Mrs. Park, I'm... so sorry. I, I--"

"Just... not now," she says between her teeth.

"I'll get us out of this." I say encouragingly, but my baritone betrays my naiveté.

She gives me a amused and contemptuous look. I suppose it's justified -- to a career woman like her, intelligent, experienced, accustomed to being in control, placing trust in a nineteen year old seems ridiculous.

"Go up, lock the door." I say, unfazed.

Her eyes widen at the insinuation.

"Not what you're thinking," I shrug. "After that, put on some clothes from the dryer, go upstairs, and distract Max and Mr. Park. Meanwhile, I'll hobble my way up the stairs using the handrail. Then I'll join all of you and say I slipped in the backyard or something." I speak fast, with conviction like I'm laying out the strategy for a Counterstrike team game.

She hesitates out of self pride, but eventually walks up the stairs to lock the door. I watch her ass sway under her satin chemise but force myself to look away in shame. She comes back down and reaches into the dryer for a fresh pair of clothes. I can't help but trace the outline of her hourglass figure as she leans in.

She feels my gaze and swivels her face to me. "Do you MIND?"

I promptly obey and caress my swollen ankle while she changes into clothing. I only look up when she announces in a severe tone, "I'll take them to the kitchen. Wait here for ten minutes and then come up." Her face is devoid of any emotion, like they've been drained out from under her, no pun intended. I just nod.

Fifteen minutes later, I am leaning against entryway to the kitchen. My shirt is damp from sweat. I'm not sure what contributed to it more: my arduous journey up the stairs or my unforgettable time on top of Mrs. Park. The scene in the kitchen couldn't be more different. It looks like a page torn out of a Christian living magazine; the three of them sitting around a kitchen counter digging into pieces of chocolate cake on pristine white plates. Mr. and Mrs. Park appear amused at a story Max is animatedly sharing. Mrs. Park is back to her wifely and motherly role, her imploring gaping cunt presumably dried up by now.

Annoyed at my crude thoughts, I push them aside and clear my throat. Their heads turn to me in unison. "Darren, honey. You're in pain! What happened?" Mrs. Park exclaims. It doesn't surprise me that she's a good actress.

"I slipped in the yard and landed wrong, I guess."

Mrs. Park rushes to fetch an ice pack while Mr. Park looks at me curiously. I avoid his gaze and make conversation with Max to fill the time. After nursing my ankle back to a bearable state -- noticing Mrs. Park didn't offer to help -- I get out of their perfect house as fast as my legs are able.

I pull out my phone and see several missed calls from Eric. Undecided on whether to entrust him with my adventure, I simply text him saying, "I'm so sorry, dude. I sprained my ankle and was away from my phone."

As I put the phone back in my front pocket, I feel an uneven bulge in my back pocket. I reach back and feel a damp piece of cloth. I bring it into view. It's Mrs. Park's black panties. The memory of sliding them off her, her making it easy, floods back. I take a quick whiff on the street, stuff it back, and limp home eager to give it a more thorough valuation.