All participants are 18.
Warning: Joe goes full on satyr here and, as everybody knows, satyrs are not gentle lovers. He gets violent and aggressive in this story and its level of consent is not absolute. So, you've been warned, but, honestly, if you're into donkey punches, nothing else here should be a problem.
I walked past the electronic gate and up the road to the single three-story house on the cul de sac that Cherry had said was hers. I looked around. There was an actual stone wall around the backyard so I couldn't see what was there. The three-car garage had all its bays closed and one cheap Toyota in the driveway. The glass front door was opened by a charming appearing middle-aged woman. She was about Cherry's height and had Cherry's freckled skin and fiery red hair, but she had enough breasts for three Cherrys. They were positively huge. She was wearing a diaphanous robe that barely went down to her thighs, tied at the waist, her cleavage exposed. It was sheer enough that I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. Yet, her huge tits, obviously natural, were practically floating.
"You must be Joe," she smiled. She had what looked like a martini in one hand and extended the other to me to shake hands. "I'm Cherry's mom, Carol. Please do come in." She led me through the foyer to the central living area. She was wearing heels so her hips and ass swayed, occasionally slipping the bounds of her sheer robe. There was a living room with a central gas fire to the left, open kitchen to the right and a dining room straight ahead. Between the kitchen and the dining room was a bar. She gestured at the barstools. "Have a seat."
Cherry came in, wearing a plaid schoolgirl skirt which was way too short, long socks, an oxford shirt untucked and half open, and a loosely tied necktie matching her skirt. Her thick, radiant red hair spilled around her shoulders insouciantly as if unconcerned at its beauty. I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in to kiss her passionately, our lips locked, our tongues working together. She melted into me.
"Sweet, savory, spicey or hard?" Carol asked, completely unphased. I released the kiss and looked at her daughter, puzzled.
"She's going to make you a cocktail," Cherry said, nodding at a pint glass in front of us filled with a thick orange-brownish liquid and garnished with a stick of celery.
"But, I'm..."
"Underage," Cherry finished. "She knows." Carol looked pleasantly back and forth between us. "You should just choose." I chose spicy and got served tequila and tabasco sauce in a shot glass with a chaser of a spicy bloody Mary.
"Drink up!" Carol said, and I did the tequila, and it burned, so I chased it with the delicious tomato juice drink. Cherry matched me in drinking.
"So..." Carol said, "Cherry says you want to rape me." Cherry and I, still holding each other around the waist, both spluttered out our tomatoey drinks.
"Well, not, um, like, um..." I started.
"Which is impossible," the older redhead continued, making both her daughter and me shut up. We all paused. Carol took a sip of her cocktail and continued. "First of all, you're what? 20?"
"Eighteen," I said.
The older woman seemed to choke on her cocktail, stared for a second at me and her daughter, then continued. "The reason you can't rape me is because rape requires forcing a person into a sexual act against their consent. I always consent."
"She does," Cherry said ruefully.
"It bought us this house, young lady."
"I know, Ma," Cherry huffed.
Carol looked at me. "Thank you for removing that proverbial stick from her ass, Joe, and replacing it with your own, very real, stick. Last week, the day I took my daughter for birth control was a watershed moment in a mother's life, mine more than most."
"What, you didn't get someone to take her virginity before me?" I asked sarcastically, deciding Carol was a huge slut and some sort of sex worker, to boot.
"If she'd asked, I would," the mom said dreamily.