"You're just a thoughtless, heartless bastard," my mother yelled at me.
It was a fairly accurate description. 22 years old, only child, unemployed, expecting all washing and cooking to be done for me and contributing nothing financially to the household. Still, I couldn't let her get away with that.
"Well what about you. You're a sad bitch. Forty-five years old and single again, just like I warned you. He was a loser who used you; so what's that make you?"
"Oh how could you be so mean to your own mother," she said bursting into tears and fleeing to the kitchen.
I really didn't need her bullshit right now. I had problems of my own. A month earlier my girlfriend Cheryl's best friend informed my girlfriend that I'd slept with her. Worse, she'd told her we'd fucked in Cheryl's bed, while she was passed out drunk on the sofa.
"Christ. What a silly bitch," I thought, recalling the events.
In my defense Lisa was a flirt and very hot. I'd been looking for an opportunity to fuck her. On that night the three of us had gone out partying and had a great time. Lisa often picked up a guy, but on this occasion she hadn't; so we all returned to Cheryl's and continued to party.
Cheryl was the first to flake, so she had to take some responsibility for what subsequently occurred. As she slumbered on the sofa Lisa and I danced close to slow songs. As you could imagine in our uninhibited, drunken state, one thing led to another. We were soon kissing passionately and my hand rested on her T-shirt, fondling her small, braless tits.
When I'd moved her hand down and placed it on my cock, Lisa became concerned about our proximity to her sleeping friend. I suggested we adjourn to the bedroom; Cheryl's bedroom. She was a bit hesitant, but finally agreed; saying we'd only be getting down to our underwear and kissing.
That commenced immediately we made the bedroom. The problem was she looked so sexy in her frilly bra and thong, while my cock poked like a tent pole through my boxers. The underwear was soon discarded.
"You're wet as hell," I'd told her, my fingers slipping across her shaven lips.
"I know Greg, but maybe we should stop. It's not fair on Cheryl," she'd lamented.
"Cheryl's a drunk and you're a horny bitch," I said. "Now hold still."
She'd not protested any further, opening her legs and pulling them back. She took me in one long thrust and I'd begun to fuck her with a passion. It was clear she enjoyed this and had forgotten about her friend asleep on the sofa.
"Let me get on top," she said after some minutes.
"Sure," I said, rolling over without coming out of her.
Once on top Lisa showed her true form. She began to ride me completely uninhibited, demanding I give those small, shapely tits some attention. I let her ride herself to orgasm and then followed suit, thrusting up hard into her perky little body and finishing with a groan.
She'd collapsed on top of me and we both dozed off. Sometime later I had a vague awareness of her getting up and leaving. Later still I was conscious of Cheryl crawl into bed naked beside me. I moved in behind her, lifted a leg and slipped my still wet cock into her. I'd needed too so she wouldn't be suspicious of the smell. After I was done I returned to sleep.
I took it for granted that neither Lisa nor I would tell Cheryl about our tryst. That seemed obvious to me. To tell the truth I fully expected a repeat session with Lisa at some stage.
Two days later I had Cheryl screaming down the phone at me about being an unfaithful bastard. Evidently, guilt wracked Lisa had confessed all, among floods of tears. She'd also put her slant on what had occurred. She'd told Cheryl she hadn't wanted to, but was drunk and that I'd pressured her.
I told Cheryl that Lisa had me inside her within one minute of our closing the bedroom door. I added that after a brief rest she'd sucked me back to full hardness, jumped on top and ridden me like a champion jockey.
My version contained more truth than Lisa's, but Cheryll would hear none of that. She called me a liar, which hurt and said she was most pissed that I'd fucked her immediately afterwards. She'd forgiven her best friend, but had no intention of forgiving me.
As a result, for the past month, I'd had a bad case of swollen balls. I needed some relief and wasn't too concerned where that relief came from.
At that moment my mother broke into my thoughts with another loud bout of sobbing from the kitchen.
"How could he," I heard her wail, referring to my stepfather of eight years, who'd run off with the waitress at his local Diner. "I gave him everything and now he's dumped me for that bimbo."
"Shut up will ya," I yelled back at her.
"Oh you're so mean. You're heartless. A heartless bastard."
I was about to deliver her another cutting retort, when the doorbell rang. I remained seated and yelled.
"Get the door. It'll be for you."
I heard her continuing to sob, clearly making no effort to accede to my demand.
"Bitch," I muttered, rising to move to the door.
I pulled open the door to find two conservatively dressed young women standing there.
"Oh fuck; just what I need," went through my mind.
"Good afternoon, we're from the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints. I'm Sister Clare and this is Sister Samantha. Could I ask if you believe in a higher being?"
I was about to slam the door in their weird religious faces, when I noted Sister Samantha hold my gaze a little longer than a missionary should. That grabbed my interest.
I let my eyes flick over them. Both wore white blouses, with Clare in a red and Samantha an orange skirt. Both came to mid-calf with conservative flat shoes and no stockings. Clare was about as plain as you could want a girl to be and very large. However, Sister Samantha, while not slim by any means, had a very pretty face, with long blond hair and high cheek bones. She looked cute and she appeared to think the same of me. I hesitated.
"Is this a Mormon trick to get through the door, or is this chick just a little bit interested in a good looking boy?" I thought.
"Well my mother believes in..." I started, being interrupted by the sound of my mother wailing.
"Oh dear," said Clare. "Is everything all right?"
"Oh no...no it's not...I mean, it's my mother. My stepfather has deserted us and she's taken it very hard."
"Oh that's terrible," chimed in the pretty one. "May we come in and give your mother some comfort?"
"Sure. Come in, come in. I'm Greg. It's not that tidy in here and I'm not very dressed. I hope you don't mind" I said, indicating to my T-shirt, shorts and bare feet."
"Not at all. It's fine. We'd just like to console your mother," Samantha said, flashing me that look again.
"What is this?" I thought. "This little minx, dressed in her dowdy garb, keeps sending me a 'C'mon' look. Is she for real?"
"Please sit," I said ushering them in to the lounge. "Mum some people to see you. To cheer you up."
I knew my mother had heard me invite them in, because her crying ramped up a decibel or two.
I had no interest in my mother right at that minute. With the two young woman now seated before me, I had the chance to appraise them further.
"God she's plain," I thought, looking first at Clare. "But this other one..."
Admiring Samantha's ample bust, I felt my neglected cock stirring in my shorts. I looked to control that, as I wasn't wearing underwear. The sight of a hard on would surely have these two out the door quicker than you could say 'John Smith'.
"Send them through Greg. I'll talk to them. You never talk to me," my mother called.
"Oh Mum you know that's not true," I lied. "It's just that you've been inconsolable lately."
"It's all been very trying," I said turning back to the two young women.
The sound of my attention seeking mother continuing to cry clearly unsettled them.
