Seducing My Friend's Mom

Author's note: The concept behind this story is relatively straightforward, but my hope is to give it more depth than it normally receives. It aligns more with my usual style of slow burn with strong payoff.

Read Part 1 if you haven't already... or reread it if it's been a while. I realize Part 2 is over 4 months late, and for that I apologize. But it's here now.

And the usual disclaimers: all characters are fictional, similarities to real-world people/events are purely coincidental, everyone involved is of legal consenting age, etc.

I was on day four without power.

Once again, my parents had either forgotten--or couldn't afford--to pay the electric bill. Neither would surprise me, and ultimately, it didn't matter. The result was the same.

It wasn't the first time I'd had to make do without. Turns out, you can live a semi-normal life even without electricity at home--the trick is to use it wherever else you can. I charged my phone at school. Washed my clothes at Drew's house. Microwaved my dinner anywhere I could and kept it in an insulated bag until I was ready for it. Bought new batteries for my portable lantern.

Not an ideal situation, but I got by.

But then I was struck by inspiration. Maybe there was a way to turn this to my advantage.

Even now, just a few weeks after my explosive one-night stand with Mrs. Hartsell, I was once again fixated on Mrs. Carson. In some ways, as hot as Mrs. Hartsell had been, she'd only worsened my desperate need for the woman she called best friend--the same woman I knew as my best friend's mom. After all, Mrs. Hartsell was proof that women their age could want me, even though I was just an eighteen-year-old senior in high school. Plus, Mrs. Hartsell had been confident that I was Mrs. Carson's type... even if young. I still didn't entirely understand why Mrs. Hartsell encouraged me to pursue Mrs. Carson, who was married with children, but she did. I vividly remembered her advice:

"Keep up your flirting. Spend time with her away from Drew. Be assertive but not pushy. Most importantly, be patient. Plant the seed in her mind, and then watch it grow."

The hardest part of Mrs. Hartsell's advice was to spend time with Mrs. Carson alone... but now I had an opportunity. What if I used having no electricity at home to my advantage?

That was how I found myself moving into the Carsons' house. It was a temporary move, but it should be enough. Both to live in a normal house... and to seduce my friend's ultra-MILF of a mom.

Drew loved the idea of having me as a roommate. He ranted about all the cool shit we'd be able to do together. I imagined he'd be a bit less approving if he knew my real goal, but I kept quiet and went along with his excitement.

Drew's parents didn't take much convincing either. They knew about my home situation and assured me I was more than welcome to stay with them as long as I needed. I could take the spare bedroom down the hall from Drew, so I'd even have my own space. I thanked them for their generosity and promised not to overstay my welcome.

"Just long enough to get into Mrs. Carson's pants," I added silently to myself.

My own parents didn't seem to care at all. When I told them, they'd grunted in acknowledgement and said nothing else, even when I warned them I might be gone for quite some time.

That first night I spent in Drew's house, I couldn't resist taking a picture of my new room and sending it to Mrs. Hartsell.

Guess where I am.

Her response came a few minutes later:

That's Sydney's house, isn't it?

Yes.

I sent back.

Parents didn't pay electric bill, so the Carsons let me stay with them. Should be plenty of chances to be alone with Mrs. Carson now.

Sounds exciting. My Sydney could use a little fun. So could I. Keep me updated? I want to know all the juicy details.

Will do.

I promised.

With that, I turned off the light and crawled into bed, but a few minutes later my phone buzzed. Mrs. Hartsell again.

Curious, I reopened my messages and saw she had sent me a picture. My mouth dropped open. "Holy shit!" I whispered to myself.

The picture was taken from above and showed Mrs. Hartsell lying on a bed. She was stark naked, and although her face wasn't visible, there was no mistaking her breasts and perfect stomach centered in the photo. The view sent my brain reeling back to my night in the hotel with her. The way she had so casually disrobed in front of me... the way she used her toned core to grind her pussy on my cock... her intense focus and my intense pleasure... I was hard instantly.

I was so fixated on my memory that it took me a moment to notice that Mrs. Hartsell's pussy was barely visible at the bottom of the photo. And then another moment to notice the vibrator head on her clit.

Look how excited I am already

her message read.

Sleep was now the furthest thing from my mind. I reached for the tissues on my bedstand and began to stroke myself, memories of Mrs. Hartsell replacing fantasies of Mrs. Carson. Feeling bold, I opened my own phone camera and took a shot of my cock towering up from my body. I sent it to Mrs. Hartsell, adding the caption

Me too

.

I came a short time later.

***

Life at the Carsons was amazing. Besides having electricity again, I could hang out with my best friend all day. Plus, living in their house felt like living in a mansion, complete with home-cooked meals and laundry service. I should have done this a long time ago.

The cherry on top, of course, was getting to see much more of Mrs. Carson. I had to be careful--Drew would be furious if he caught me lusting after his mom again--but I couldn't keep my eyes off her. That long black hair... those big brown eyes and innocent-housewife smile... not to mention her full breasts and the best MILF-ass I'd ever seen. Mrs. Hartsell's line came back to me: "Sydney's always had a fantastic ass."

Amen to that.

Mrs. Carson's ass was so perfectly toned I could barely resist smacking it whenever she passed within arm's reach. I would love to spend an afternoon behind her, doing nothing but admiring the view.

Of course, I was hoping to do more than just stare. Now that I'd moved into the Carsons' home, I restarted my seduction in earnest.

I hadn't gotten anywhere in my earlier attempts to flirt with Mrs. Carson, so with Mrs. Hartsell's guidance, I changed tactics. I began finding reasons to run into Mrs. Carson more often--volunteering to help her with dishes and laundry, asking if I could grab her something from the kitchen whenever I passed her in the living room, and so on. Mrs. Carson seemed pleasantly surprised by my helpfulness, gladly welcoming my assistance. Drew wasn't blind to what I was doing, but he assumed I was being a suck-up. Little did he know just how impure my intentions were.

I restarted my compliments to Mrs. Carson slowly, but they became increasingly flirtatious. Rather than tell her she looked pretty, I'd say that she looked good enough to eat. Instead of commenting on how good her shirt looked, I'd say no woman had better curves than her. Mrs. Carson didn't know how to respond to my remarks--alternating between awkwardly thanking me and shaking her head as if I'd made a bad joke.

But compared to her complete non-reactions from before, it seemed like progress. Mrs. Hartsell seemed to think so too:

If Sydney didn't approve, she would have told you by now. Keep it up

.

And so I did.

After my first week with the Carsons, my dynamic with Mrs. Carson had turned electric. I knew that it was one-sided, but I couldn't help myself. With each flirty line, I wanted Mrs. Carson more and more. I yearned to tear Mrs. Carson's clothes off and ravage her for hours. How good would it feel to thrust myself into her perfect MILF body... to watch her moan in pleasure under me...

Between my fantasies of Mrs. Carson--and the X-rated texts Mrs. Hartsell and I continued to exchange--it felt like I was trapped in a near-constant state of horniness. Even when I was at school, I found myself daydreaming about Mrs. Carson's body, counting down the hours until I could see her again that evening.

As more days passed, my comments to Mrs. Carson crossed the line from flirty to openly infatuated: "if you were a girl in my class, I would have asked you out ages ago," "I'm so jealous of Mr. Carson, getting to marry a perfect woman like you," and many, many more. By this point, I don't think she paid my comments much mind, writing me off as an excessive, but ultimately harmless, flirt.

But one night I pressed it too far.

It was a school night. Everyone--or so I assumed--was in bed, myself included. I was drifting off to sleep when I suddenly remembered I had forgotten to complete my math homework. I sat up in a panic, climbed out of bed, and quietly made my way to the stairs--my backpack was down in the living room. As I approached the landing, though, I realized I could hear something.

A woman was moaning downstairs.

Disbelief and hope flooded my brain. There's no way that could be Mrs. Carson... could it? Careful not to make a sound, I reached the top of the stairs and peeked into the room below.

Sure enough, Mrs. Carson was indeed down in the living room, lounging on the couch with a blanket and glass of wine. But she wasn't moaning. She was watching TV... the true source of the sound.

I was disappointed, but then the thought occurred to me: was Mrs. Carson watching porn? And if she was, did I really want to interrupt her? She didn't seem to be outwardly horny in any way, but maybe if I continued to watch, I'd see something...

I squashed that idea. I wasn't satisfied with observing Mrs. Carson from afar. If she was watching porn, I needed to be down there. Give her something else to satisfy her needs.

And so, I quietly crept down the stairs. The TV came into view, and I saw that while the on-screen characters weren't showing any real skin, they were still going at it: a man and woman lustfully pleasuring each other and moaning in unison.

Mrs. Carson's eyes were locked on the screen. She still hadn't noticed my approach.

"Wow, they're having fun aren't they?" I said, announcing my presence at last.

"Jesus Christ!" Mrs. Carson yelped, somehow managing to avoid spilling any wine. "Luke, you scared the heck out of me!"

"Sorry," I quickly apologized. "I forgot to do my math homework, so I had to come back for it. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," Mrs. Carson said, still clutching at her chest with her free hand. "Just maybe be louder on your way down next time."

"Will do," I promised. I went to grab my backpack from near one of the lazy chairs, sparing a moment to take in Mrs. Carson. She was wearing a t-shirt--perfectly fitted to emphasize her full chest, as usual--but her lower half was mostly covered by the blanket. Still, I spotted the hem of her jeans poking out underneath. So much for catching her in an undressed state.

Mrs. Carson had taken the moment to pause whatever she was watching. The carnal sounds had stopped, but she had paused it right as the TV was focused on the woman's face, highlighting her ecstasy.

"Looks like you're watching something good," I said suggestively.

Mrs. Carson turned sheepish. "I promise it's not what it looks like. It's actually a very high-quality show full of drama and suspense. You just came in at an awkward time."

"I don't think it's awkward. I dream about making you moan like that all the time."

The words escaped from my mouth before I could stop myself. It was only when I saw Mrs. Carson's expression of indignant shock that I realized I'd finally gone too far.

"What did you just say to me, Luke?"

Uh oh.

"Nothing, nothing," I said, quickly disengaging and trying to escape to the stairs.

"No, you're not going anywhere," Mrs. Carson said, stopping me cold. "I'm pretty sure I heard what you said. And you have no business saying stuff like that that, Luke. You're just a kid for crying out loud! You shouldn't even be thinking those things!"

Now it was my turn to be indignant. "I'm not a kid. I'm eighteen. I'm just as much of an adult as you are!"

Mrs. Carson scoffed. "Hardly. You might be an adult legally, but that's it. You're still in high school, for goodness sake."

"I'm an adult in all the ways that matter," I shot back. Before my night with Mrs. Hartsell, I would have never been so bold. But now I knew I was right. "Besides, I bet you had the same type of thoughts when you were eighteen."

That took some of the wind from Mrs. Carson's sails. "Maybe," she admitted. "But I was never disrespectful enough to share them, especially not around my elders. You should know better. And what would Drew think?"

"Drew doesn't need to know," I replied, but I knew I'd overstepped. I took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry, Mrs. Carson. I just can't help it. You're so fucking hot that I can't stand it. Being around you makes me lose control."

My confession hung in the air.

I knew I was long past the point of decency, but I didn't care. It was a massive relief to finally tell Mrs. Carson how I felt about her. Even if she kicked me out of the house, at least I wouldn't be bursting with secret lust anymore.

But Mrs. Carson surprised me. She laughed.

"Luke, you don't really think of me that way," she said, and held up her hand as I started to protest. "No, I'm sure you think you do, but it's just your hormones talking. You're at the age where your hormones are stronger than your good sense. You fixate on a woman and suddenly she's all you can think about. I remember what it's like to be that age."

Mrs. Carson fell into her memories for a moment before she continued. "Look. It's flattering that you've got a crush on me, but it's not real. Not really. I'm much too old for you. You just don't realize it yet."

"Mrs. Hartsell didn't seem to think she was too old for me," I countered. Mrs. Carson may not have realized just how intimate Mrs. Hartsell and I were, but she'd seen how shamelessly Mrs. Hartsell flirted with me when we'd first met.

Mrs. Carson sighed. "Lori likes to chase things she shouldn't. That doesn't mean it's right. But enough of this. You got your backpack. Time for you to go back to bed. And for me to forget this conversation ever happened."

Her tone indicated our exchange was over. I nodded obediently and headed to the stairs. But as I reached the bottom, I decided to get the last word in:

"Maybe you're right. Maybe it is just my hormones. But you're still the sexiest woman I know, Mrs. Carson. You can't blame me for showing my appreciation."

But Mrs. Carson had moved on. "Good night, Luke," she said, shaking her head and taking a swig of her wine.

I went back to my room and tried to focus on my homework that I'd almost forgotten.

***

Despite being chastised by Mrs. Carson, I never felt like I was in trouble for my slip of the tongue. Not really, anyway. In fact, Mrs. Carson's dismissiveness only increased my boldness in flirting with her. I was still careful to contain myself when others were around--especially Drew--but whenever we were alone, I stopped caring about silly things like decency.

Over the next few weeks, my comments to Mrs. Carson turned explicit. One night while cooking steaks with her, I announced she was welcome to taste my meat anytime. Later, helping with laundry, I suggested adding the clothes she was wearing to the washer too--for efficiency, of course. And then my personal favorite: adding a sticky note to her "World's Best Mom" wine glass, transforming it to read "World's

SEXIEST

Mom". Mrs. Carson ripped it off in a hurry, but I'd caught the amused smile on her face first.

As always, Mrs. Carson took these moments in stride, dismissing me with a headshake or a comment about out-of-control hormones. Yet as Mrs. Hartsell pointed out, Mrs. Carson never stopped me either.

I think she likes the attention

. Mrs. Hartsell had texted me.

You think I really have a shot with Mrs. Carson?

A few seconds later, her reply:

Yes.

And then another suggestive selfie with the caption,

Here's something to get you through in the meantime

.

I replied with a video showing just how much I appreciated it.

***

Just as I had fully settled into living in with the Carsons, my parents texted me out of the blue: power was back on.

A part of me had hoped our electricity would never return. I'd just spend the rest of my senior year living with the Carsons and stay away from my own home completely. Or at least until I had gotten further with Mrs. Carson. But now my seduction progress was in danger.

I considered pretending I'd never received the text, but I knew I couldn't put it off forever. Mr. Carson still asked me from time to time if there were any updates about my home situation. I suspected letting me stay as long as I had was more than he'd bargained for... even if I'd tried to be a good houseguest.

I told Drew about the restored electricity first. He'd responded with a muted, "oh," and I knew instantly he'd support me staying longer. I told him of my plans to ask his parents to finish out the school year with them, and he was all for it. He just had one condition: "stop spending so much time around my mom. I know you're helping with chores, but it's weird. Besides, she's used to doing housework herself. She'll be fine."

I lied through my teeth and said I'd cut back.

I shared the news with the rest of the family that night at dinner--along with my hope that I could stay anyway. As always, Drew's sister was a non-entity, having no opinion either way. Surprisingly, Mrs. Carson was openly supportive of the idea: "It's been nice having an extra set of hands helping around the house."

Mr. Carson seemed hesitant, but faced with the open support of his son and wife, he gave in. "Sure, Luke, you can stay the rest of the school year with us. I'm sure it's not easy living in a home like yours. Just to be clear, though, when you graduate, you'll need to find your own place. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," I promised. "Thank you, sir."

With that settled, I texted my parents that I was glad to hear they had their power back... but it would be easier for me to just stay at the Carsons until graduation. I hesitated and added that I'd be happy to visit if they wanted.

I hoped they wouldn't.

***

The fall semester passed quickly. And yet, as the weeks sped by, I felt no closer to seducing Mrs. Carson.

I'd kept up my explicit flirting, but anytime I tried to push further, she shut me down. I 'accidentally' brushed hands with her while cooking. I offered a friendly body rub when she talked about tightness in her muscles. I even left my door cracked while I masturbated at night, hoping she would pass by and sneak a peek.

But nothing. Any touch, suggested or actual, brought me a chiding reminder of "hands to yourself, mister". And she never came by my room at night either.

The one time I pushed physical contact further--rubbing her foot under the table with my own at dinner--Mrs. Carson shot me a look so severe that I was afraid I'd ruined my chances with her entirely. It was only that weekend when she asked for help with laundry that I returned to flirting again.

Mrs. Hartsell reassured me, though, that I was doing just fine with the seduction. We'd kept in touch, our conversations a mix of sexting and advice for me to get further with Mrs. Carson. I'd come to realize Mrs. Hartsell was enjoying Mrs. Carson's seduction as much as I was.

With respect to the seduction stalling, Mrs. Hartsell had one piece of advice:

Be patient. You may not think you're making progress, but every day you're around Sydney you are. You just need to be there when the right moment hits.