Stacy's Mom

Just a little light entertainment inspired by a parody video clip about a new gaming console controller. This story is closer to R-rated than XXX, so YMMV.

*****

The two-story brick house looked like it had seen better days. Things hadn't been the same since Stacy's dad walked out, thought the young man walking up the front steps. He was of average height, but well-built, with a pleasant face.

When the door opened Oliver smiled, expecting to see his friend Stacy. She was a year younger than him: years ago the two had flirted in junior high school and went on a few dates in high school, but somehow never clicked romantically. Still, they had stayed in touch, and while he was home from college on break she had called him for help with a chemistry test.

Instead of his friend, though, an older woman opened the door. Freckles dotted her smiling cheeks, and she wore her blond hair in a high ponytail. Still trim and athletic in middle age, she came to the door in yoga pants and t-shirt. A string of pearls completed her outfit, simple and elegant.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Wells. Is Stacy here?"

"I'm so sorry, honey." Stacy's mom held the door open. "It's sooo nice of you to help her, but she just called and said to tell you she's stuck at school for another hour at least."

"Oh. Um." He rocked from foot to foot indecisively.

"Helping Stacy with school must be the last thing you want to do on vacation, I bet." Mrs. Wells said sympathetically.

"No, ma'am. I'm not busy or anything." Oliver admitted.

"Well, honey, I know she does want your help; would you mind waiting a jiffy?" She brightened at his nod. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Thank you, ma'am. Some tea would be great." Oliver followed her inside where he spotted a sleek black box sitting under the TV.

"Cool." He breathed. "I didn't know you had a Zbox Two."

"Here you are, dear." Returning from the kitchen with a tall glass of sweet tea. ""Stacy didn't tell you about that?"

"Ma'am?" Oliver mumbled, taking a sip.

"It arrived last week from Bobby." She scowled at the memory of her absent husband. "I have no idea why, and he didn't even include a return address. Just this."

"Was it a present for Stacy? " Oliver bent down to look at it. He'd heard how awesome the new game console was supposed to be, but hadn't seen one in person. Along with the Zbox Two were two of the new Konect controllers that were supposed to be the hottest new thing in gaming. "Controls like you've never felt before," the box read.

"Have you played it yet?" He asked.

"Heavens no." Mrs. Wells rolled her eyes. "I've only just gotten back from a business trip. I wouldn't even know how to set it up."

"I can set it up for you if you'd like." Oliver offered hopefully, peering behind the big screen TV to find the input jacks.

"Would you please? That would be wonderful, honey." Mrs Wells smiled. "He sent a game, too. You can play it until that ungrateful daughter of mine gets home."

"What game?" Oliver asked as he unpacked the controllers. ÔControls like you've never felt before.' That's an odd slogan, he thought.

"Tennis. Probably Bobby thought he was being clever."

Many years ago she played on her college team, and playing regularly still kept her physically fit. Secretly, Oliver had always enjoyed seeing her in skimpy tennis clothes. Even now he couldn't help sneaking glances at the older woman as he connected the Zbox, and the way her yoga pants displayed the tight curves of her rear.

"All done, ma'am." He said after a while.

"Thank you, Oliver." She smiled. "I bet Stacy will be excited, too."

"Would you like to play?" He offered her one of the Konect controllers in hopes of keeping her around to look at.

"Oh, I don'tÑ"

"Please? This will be my only chance to beat you in tennis." Oliver was a swimmer; balls didn't interest him much.

"Beat me? You think you can beat me?" The older woman's competitive spirit spoke up. "Not a chance, honey. Move over."

She sat down primly beside him onto the plush sofa, legs together. Taking a control each, they went through the instructions. Partway through the game start-up, amazingly lifelike outlines of the pair appeared on the screen. A voice suddenly emerged from the Zbox.

"Confirm player identity?"

"How did it do that? How did it know who we are?" She said, surprised.

"I've read about this on the web. It has a camera, and it can scan the room to see who is playing. Isn't that incredible?"

"Confirm player identity." The voice hardened.

Mrs Wells frowned.

"They really should make it more polite."

"I think we just need to point the controller at our figure and press the A button, ma'am." Oliver said. As he did so, his outline glowed red momentarily. Mrs. Wells followed suit.

"Identity confirmed." The voice softened again.

Oliver continued with game set-up. When it asked whether they wanted to play doubles as a team or singles as opponents, Mrs. Wells arched her brows.

"Opponents. Definitely."

On the screen, a new window appeared. ÔPlayer identities compatible with special rewards mode. Use? Yes/no.'

"Special rewards... What is that?" Mrs. Wells asked.

"I'm not sure. I think that's like when we clear a level we earn something, like getting new ammunition in a shooter game." Oliver guessed.

"Ammunition?" Mrs. Wells looked dubious. She didn't object when he pressed Ôyes,' though. When he was done, two lifelike characters appeared on a digital Wimbledon centre court, with anonymous faces lining the stands.

"Practice game ready." The Zbox said.

"That's just weird." Mrs. Wells shook her head.

Unfamiliar with the controls, she fumbled her way through the first game, letting Oliver win easily. He didn't play tennis, but he knew how to play video games.

"Rewards game 1 ready." The voice said.

"No!" Mrs. Wells suddenly spoke up. "One more for practice."

"I don't think it-"

"Practice game ready." The voice agreed.

"Woah..." Oliver looked awed.

This time the game was closer. Mrs. Wells made fewer control errors, and returned more of Oliver's shots. In the end, though, Oliver's skill with the controller was still too much.

"Rewards game 1 ready." The voice repeated.

"Alright. I've got this now." Mrs. Wells told herself.

She almost did, too. Now that she had a sense of how the controller worked, her experience put her almost even with the boy's finger coordination. When it was done, she let out her breath with a gusty sigh of disappointment.

"Rewards mode active. Player 2 select reward." The voice said.

The digital court vanished, replaced by Mrs. Wells' electronic character.

"What is that that supposed to mean?" Oliver wondered. As he moved his controller, though, he discovered that he could make different parts of Mrs. Wells figure turn red. First her shirt, then her pants, then back to her shirt.

Oliver looked confused, but went ahead and pressed A anyway.

"Player 2 reward chosen. Player 1 will remove her shirt." The Zbox pronounced.

"What!" Mrs. Wells yelled, telling herself she'd misheard it.

Oliver's mouth dropped, staring at the screen, where the figure's shirt now flashed red.

"Player 1 will remove her shirt." Came the same voice.

"This is crazy!" She said, standing up. "I-"

"Sit down." The machine warned, and Mrs. Wells dropped back into the sofa, mouth hanging open.

"Player 1 will remove her shirt." The Zbox continued. Louder now, it had an edge that hadn't been there before.

"Gosh darn it, Bobby. I should have known this would be some kind of sick joke." She turned to the boy next to her. "I'm sorry, Oliver, this was-"

"Player 1 will remove her shirt." The voice grew louder still.

"I-" Mrs. Wells spun to face the TV.

Oliver watched expressions run across her face: anger, exasperation, fear, and finally settling on panic.

Without taking her eyes off the TV, she put the controller down on the sofa beside her. Taking the hem of her shirt she lifted, exposing her flat belly. A whimper escaped her lips as her hands moved unstoppably upwards. Her breasts came into view, held tight in a dark brown sports bra. Up, over her head, and her shirt ended up on the floor by her feet.

"Turn it off. Turn it off, Oliver." Mrs. Wells begged, back in control of her body.

The boy ripped his eyes away from her chest, only to hear the Zbox speak again.

"Rewards game 2 ready." It said. When Mrs. Wells character appeared on the court this time, she was shirtless, wearing only a bra and pants.

"Do something, Oliver!" Her voice rose.

His body tensed, like he was trying to rise, then sank back into the sofa.

"I-I can't!"

"Player 1 serve." The Zbox continued. A ball appeared in Mrs. Well's on-screen hand.

"No. I'm not playing anymore!" She shook her head. The ball tumbled from her digital hand.

"Serve time limit exceeded. Player 1 fault. Player 1 serve."

Still she refused to play. Once again, the ball fell to the ground.

"Serve time limit exceeded. Double fault. 0-15." The Zbox was remorseless. Another ball appeared in her hand.

Mrs. Wells' eyes expression changed. Her eyes narrowed, she set her shoulders with a grunt.

"Um, I think-" Oliver began.

"-that if I don't serve, you're going to win again. And if you win again I'll have to take something else off. I don't understand what's going on, but that is NOT going to happen!" She growled.

This time, she played like a woman possessed. Taken aback by her ferocity, Oliver fell behind early and never managed to catch up.

"Rewards mode active. Player 1 select reward."

All at once, Mrs. Wells realized what she had done.

"Um, it's okay, honey. You don't need-"

"Rewards mode active. Player 1 select reward."

"I...ah...sorry, Oliver." She tried not to look as he pulled off his shirt, but she couldn't help sneaking a glance at his chest. Not a bodybuilder's six-pack abs, but firm in all the right places. ÔDon't think like that,' she told herself.

"Rewards game 3 ready." The voice said, and this time Oliver's character only wore shorts.

"Wait. We're even now, can't we stop?" Mrs. Wells asked.

"It doesn't look like it." Oliver shook his head. His character prepared to serve.

"Wait-hey!" She yelled as Oliver took advantage of her distraction.

"15-0" The Zbox sounded satisfied.

"Cheater! That's not fair." She complained to the machine after Oliver won the match. "I wasn't-"

"Rewards mode active. Player 2 select reward." The Zbox cut her off.

"Oliver, can we talk about this." Mrs. Wells pleaded.

"Um. I have to pick something, ma'am." He replied. On screen, her character's bra and pants alternated red as he moved the controller.

"Can't we just call it a draw?"

"I...I don't think so."

"How long does a tennis game last?" Oliver asked.

"A match? Three sets." She replied, worried.

"But we've already played three. Shouldn't this be the end?"

"We've played three games. There are up to 12 games in a set, and a match is three of those."

"Oh." Oliver said in a small voice.

"Close your eyes, honey." She said as her on-screen pants turned red and stayed that color. After he turned away, she shimmied out of her yoga pants, exposing matching brown bikini panties, with just a slice of turquoise lace trim at the top.

"Rewards game 4 ready." The voice said. This time, Mrs. Wells character appeared in her underwear.

"Eyes front, young man!" She scolded as he turned towards her, but not before he took in her firm thighs and well-toned legs.

"Wow. Great legs, Mrs. Wells." He blurted out.

"Oliver Triplett!" She exclaimed, momentarily at a loss for words. "How could you say something that at a time like this?"

"Sorry, ma'am," He blushed and admitted, "but I always though you looked great in a mini-skirt."

Her eyes widened in shock, but before she could decide on a response, the Zbox interrupted.

"Serve time limit exceeded. Player 1 fault. Player 1 serve."

"Hey! Stop trying to distract me." She said with a scowl. Try as she might, though, she couldn't stop thinking about what he said. Did he really think she was hot? A 39-year old woman? She worked hard to keep up her appearance, but still. The first quiver of excitement sped through her body. Unfortunately, the distraction was too much, and she lost again.

"Darn it, Oliver." She cursed, watching his cursor move across her on-screen body. "This has to stop."

"I know, but-"

"Rewards mode active. Player 2 select reward." The Zbox cut him off.

"We don't want to play anymore." She pleaded to the box, but the machine was implacable.

"Player 2 select reward."

This time Mrs. Wells didn't bother to hide as she unsnapped her bra, and Oliver couldn't help but stare as she exposed her chest. The freckles on her face flowed down her chest and up the slopes of her small breasts, to where they peaked in pointy brown nipples.

"Don't tell me you've always wanted to see these tiny things. I know that's not true, honey." She rolled her eyes in self-depreciation.

"What?" Oliver tore his attention away from her chest before the swelling in his pants became uncomfortable. "Seriously, Mrs. Wells. Remember that summer when Mr. Wells broke his leg and he paid me to mow the lawn?"

"Yes, what about it?" Mrs. Wells asked, confused.

"Well, that time you came out in just a towel-"

"I did not!"

"It was pink. You had it tied about here." He motioned with his hand and grinned at the memory.

"I did that?" Mrs. Wells sounded dubious.

"I kept hoping that it would slip just a little bit and I could see-"

"Oliver Triplett!"

The boy shrugged. Of course he hoped it would.

"Woah, I didn't know you had a tattoo." He continued, catching sight of the small anchor tattooed next to her breast.

"I was your age, once, Buster. And we knew how to party, too." The middle-age mother's indignation momentarily got the better of her embarrassment. Then she softened. "My high-school boyfriend went into the Navy, so I got this tattoo during his first deployment."

"Wow. You've totally got it going on, Mrs. Wells." He said in awe. His own mother wouldn't be caught dead with a tattoo. She wouldn't even let him get one.

Stacy's mom smiled, suddenly more at ease showing her breasts to the boy. She knew it was wrong, but it wasn't like she had a choice, she told herself. And it is nice to be appreciated.

This time, Oliver was the distracted one. As if Mrs. Well's naked chest wasn't enough, her on-screen character was equally exposed. Every time the ball went into her court his eyes tracked her nipples instead.

"Ha!" Mrs. Wells pumped her fist as she won game five.

"Player 1 select reward." When she remembered what came next she suddenly reddened.

"It's okay, ma'am." Oliver shrugged and slipped off his shorts. He wasn't fully hard yet, but he had to adjust his boxers to keep it contained.

Mrs. Wells tried not to stare, but she couldn't help notice the motion, and the bulge it covered. A flutter of excitement ran through her.

Game six left her feeling lightheaded, as if this was all somehow a dream, and she wasn't sitting topless in her own living room with a boy, watching his thickness shift inside his boxers. Her scantily-clad game character danced across the screen, effortlessly returning Oliver's shots. The final score was almost as lopsided as their first game, but in the opposite direction.

"Player 1 select reward." The Zbox announced.

When it was done, Mrs. Wells fought the urge to click on his shorts immediately. Feigning reluctance, she turned demurely away, letting him pull off his boxers.

"It's alright, ma'am. I don't mind if you look." He said casually, settling down beside her.

'That's not fair' she thought. Was he sitting closer than before? Oh, goodness, what if their hips touched? Her chest heaved in shallow breaths as forbidden emotions ran through her body. She knew she shouldn't, but she had to look.

"Oh. My. Goodness." Mrs. Wells eyes whispered, staring at his erection. "You're not a little boy anymore."

"No, ma'am. I reckon I'm all grown up." He responded proudly.

Yes, he certainly was. She agreed silently. Good-looking, muscular, and equipped to satisfy any woman he met. Her first boyfriend had been like that. She and Johnny had made beautiful music in bed, she thought-and everywhere else, for that matter. Her crotch tingled with the memory.

She gave him a shaky smile, more nervous about what she might do than about what he might.

"Be honest with me, Oliver." She began, desperate to change the subject from how yummy he looked. "How far have you gone with my daughter?"

"Ma'am?" Oliver hesitated.

"Don't "ma'am" me, young man. I asked you a question." She tried to look stern. It was hard, though, when she wanted to stare at his privates instead. "Has my daughter seen your...you know?"

"No, ma'am." That, he could answer truthfully.

"You two haven't, you know, fooled around?"

"Well, we've kissed and stuff."

"'And stuff?'"

"You know, put our hands in each other's pants."

"So she's touched it."

"Yes, ma'am." Oliver flinched, expecting a reprimand, but Mrs. Wells fell silent, imagining her daughter's hands wrapped around it. Would they even reach?

"Can I?" Her hand twitched.

Oliver's eyes widened.

"Oh, goodness. I'm sorry, Oliver, I shouldn't have said that." She closed her eyes and blushed. "It's this game. It's just-"

"Sure, Mrs. Wells. Go ahead." It felt harder than it had ever been in his entire life. He wasn't a virgin-other girls he had dated had gone farther than Stacy-but sitting naked with Stacy's mom was driving him crazy. He shifted in his seat, aiming it in her direction.

"No, no. I can't." She told herself, shaking her head. "We need to get this game over with. Hurry and pick up your controller so we can play."

"Okay." He agreed. "But what happens if you win this time?"

"Maybe that's it!" She exclaimed, ignoring the ball in her excitement. "You don't have any more clothes to take off, so one more loss and we'll be done."

"Maybe." He said. Her idea seemed logical, but he hoped not. The last thing he wanted was for the game to end and Mrs. Wells to put her clothes on again and never let him see her naked.

The young man redoubled his efforts in game seven, forcing himself to focus on the play, not on her breasts-real or on-screen. It was a close game, but he pulled out a victory, leaving the score at 4 games to 3.

"Player 2 select reward." Her on-screen panties glowed red.

"Darn it, Oliver." She complained. "You didn't have to do that."

"Um...sorry." A sly grin belied his apology.

She stood, hands on her hips.

"Oliver Triplett, I declare! You did that on purpose so you could see me without any clothes on. What would your mother think?!" Mrs. Wells was warming to his attentions, but still wasn't ready to accept where this might lead. The proper thing to do, she thought, was to try and escape with some of her dignity intact, at least.

Oliver had the grace to look bashful, but that didn't stop him from staring as she pulled off her panties. To his disappointment, she did it sitting down, keeping her legs as close together as she could. All he could really see was a neatly trimmed bush of dark hair, framed by the tan lines from her bikini.

"Didn't your mother teach you it's not polite to stare?" She asked rhetorically. In truth, her insides were tingling, as if his gaze was beaming electricity deep into her abdomen.

"I-um." Oliver mumbled.

"Satisfied?" Mrs. Wells toyed with the idea of spreading her legs for him. Just a little. The last vestiges of her modesty won a final, rearguard action, keeping her knees together for a while longer.

"Wow..." Was all he could manage, fighting the urge to jerk off to the beautiful sight.