Author's Note: All characters are 18 years of age or older.
The bed frame squeaked, and the headboard thumped against the wall. Lacy moaned, soft and sensuous, over the steady beat of Simon's hips against hers. Above them, the ceiling fan whirred and creaked. Her legs were hooked around the backs of his thighs, and her hands caressed his toned arms as he worked her over. She watched him. His knitted brow beaded with sweat, tousled brown hair matted. The tension in his jaw and neck. His muscular chest and abs -- fit but not bulky.
They were in his 2nd floor bedroom -- naked, covers and clothes strewn on the floor. As they fucked, her wet pussy squelched happily between her spread thighs, and her natural, musky odor wafted up around them. Somewhere outside, through the open window, she heard a dog barking and children playing and the low droning hum of cars on the highway. The spring heat rolled in on the breeze with the scent of cut grass. She wondered if anyone out there could also hear her sluttish moans.
"Oh god, Simon!" she panted hotly, "your cock feels so good inside me."
"Mmmm, babe, I've missed this tight little pussy."
"My naughty little pussy's all yours, baby," she moaned, caressing him with her hands and legs.
As Simon rutted her, Lacy could feel the rhythm of his strokes deteriorating as his climax approached. She tipped her hips up to meet his thrusts, squeezing his waist with her thighs. His cock pulsed within her snug confines, swelling with his imminent release.
"Ah, fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned, his legs and abs tensing.
"Do it. Cum for me, baby," Lacy cooed, clenching her muscles around his shaft.
Growling and baring his teeth, Simon slammed deep into her cunt and shot his load. Jet after jet of his young, potent seed sprayed into her, as his hips jerked and spasmed. Lacy moaned, her hands caressing up and down his back and sides. She loved the feeling of him cumming in her and knowing how good she felt for him. So what if she never came with him? When he was spent, he collapsed over her, groping her tits and kissing her lips amorously.
Once he could feel his legs again, he stood, yanked off the condom, and tossed it into the trash. Sitting up, Lacy grabbed her water bottle off the nightstand and chugged what was left.
"Need a refill?" Simon asked, but Lacy shook her head.
"Nah, it's fine -- I'll just fill it before I leave."
Simon leaned in to kiss her and groped of her sweat-slick tits, which somehow felt bigger than before.
"Join me in the shower?"
"You go ahead -- I've gotta walk home, so there's no point."
He was disappointed but didn't push it. Grabbing his clothes, he disappeared down the hallway towards the bathroom. Minutes later, she heard the shower running.
While he was gone, she ran her hands over her hot, damp skin. Her fingertips grazed her taut, tingling nipples before gliding down from her mountains, over the flat plain of her tummy, down to the moist valley between her thighs. As she dipped a finger into her gaped opening, she strummed her little button with her thumb. Her other hand slid under her, and two fingers slipped into her anus. Her sensitive, forbidden passage rippled with pleasure. Her body ached for release, and with little effort, she was already barreling towards it. Hanging on the cusp, an image of Weaver surfaced in her mind -- his taste, his smell, the feel of his body on and in hers. Her chest tightened, and her orgasm dissipated in an instant. Frustrated nearly to the point of crying, she withdrew her hands from between her sticky thighs in defeat. In the ten days since their arrangement ended, she hadn't been able to cum at all.
After a while, Lacy stood and padded over to close the window. A cool breeze fluttered over her hot, damp skin, flowing between her thick thighs to caress her bare, sticky sex. Peering out over Simon's backyard, past the swaying trees, she spotted his elderly neighbor standing on his back patio, wide-eyed and mouth agape.
The busty teen froze. Standing at the tall, double-wide window, she was exposed from mid-thigh up. Her first instinct was to cover herself with her arms, but a tremor of excitement raced up from her core, stopping her. Leaving the window open, she slowly slid up her panties -- a fire-red thong with lace sides -- and slipped into her cream-colored lace bra. It was a tight fit, and she was certain her breasts had gone up to at least an E-cup. Once her bra was fastened, she smiled and waved goodbye to the old man, saw him return the gesture, and closed the window and drew down the blinds. Not long after, she had her bag slung over one shoulder and was bidding Simon goodbye.
Claire's car was out front when Lacy arrived home. With her work project wrapping up, she was home a lot more often. Stopping outside the door, Lacy took a deep breath before going in. If she was lucky, her mom would be in the kitchen making dinner already, but as she slipped her shoes off in the entryway, she heard her moaning in the throes of passion instead. The sound had become a constant presence in the house, ever since she came home and caught her Claire bed with Weaver.
She'd just returned from Simon's that day, too. While dropping her bag in her room, she heard a suspicious noise coming from Claire's bedroom. Poking her head out into the hall, she heard it again. Unmistakable. The bedroom door stood ajar. As if driven by an invisible hand, she tiptoed down the hall, heart pumping. A few paces away, she heard it a third time -- her mother's soft, needy moan. This time accompanied by wood creaking and the dull thumping of the head board against the wall. Just on the other side of the door, Lacy took a deep breath and ever so carefully peeked in.
Her mom lay on her back with her legs in the air, blindfolded, leather-cuffed wrists above her head. Breathless gasps fell from her open mouth, rouge with smudged and faded lipstick. The squished peach sound of her fucked pussy accenting the squeak of the mattress springs. The sight of Weaver's naked back hunched between her spread thighs. Lacy felt the floor fall out from under her. Why the fuck was he here? Was this really happening? She couldn't make sense of the scene before her. It played out fuzzy and dreamlike through the scratched-record dissonance fogging her mind. Like a reflection of a reflection. The distant echo of Claire's voice cut through the static, bringing her out of her stupor.
"Oh, Andrew, your big cock is so deep in me," she moaned. "Fuck me harder. Make me cum."
Lacy flashed crimson, heat washing through her from the top of her head down to her toenails. Cold sweat clammy on her skin. She'd never heard her mom like this -- not even when she was still married to her dad. For the first time, she recognized Claire not as a mother but as a woman. Or more accurately, a bitch.
Is this what I look like when he fucks me?
she wondered. Her heart palpitated with a pang of something she couldn't place. It wasn't anger or disgust. She couldn't bring herself to put a word to it. With the tension ratcheting up between Claire and Weaver, Lacy retreated down the hall to her bedroom. She didn't want to see her mom cum on her former blackmailer's cock. Mere moments after shutting herself in her room, she heard a cat-like keening reverberate down the hall followed by palpable silence. Her unfulfilled cunt clenched wetly.
That had been a week ago.
Since then, they were fucking almost daily. In the process, Lacy learned more about her mom's sexual proclivities than she ever wanted to know. Catching glimpses of her through the crack in the door, often with her hands bound. Fucked from behind while being fishhooked and choked. Skull-fucked with her head hanging off the side of the bed while getting her pussy slapped and fingered. Face-down, ass-up with a vibe in her cunt getting her ass cheeks paddled dark red.
Today, the door was shut -- for all the good that did. The noise permeated the house like invisible, deadly fumes. From the percussive snaps resounding down the corridor followed by her mom's pitiful yelps, she was taking it from behind while getting spanked again. Lacy's bottom tingled sympathetically, while fresh honey dripped into her already stained panties.
They didn't always keep their fucking contained to the bedroom, either. A couple nights earlier, she'd chanced upon them in the kitchen after dinner. Claire was sitting on the counter with Weaver standing between her legs. Top pulled down, huge breasts exposed, panties hanging off one ankle. Weaver's thick cock slamming her juicy slit. Her stifled whimpers were barely audible over the plap-plap sound of their hips colliding. Lacy stood out of sight and watched her mom's tits wobble, saw her toes curling, her white painted fingernails clawing helplessly at the smooth counter top. Unable to bear another moment, she retreated down the hall, sodden panties sticking to her swollen cunt.
And so this had become her new "normal" -- unless she found some way to break them up, but no matter how much she racked her brain, she couldn't figure out a way without revealing their relationship or hurting her mom. Unable to see any way out of her situation, she continued to stand by impassively while this slow-motion car wreck unfolded before her eyes.
That night, he stayed for dinner. Somehow sitting at the table with him was worse than listening to them fuck nonstop. Having to play nice after he used and discarded her and moved on to her own mother. Having to watch them flirt, watch them kiss, watch him cop a feel of her ass and tits. Having to watch her be happier than she'd ever been. Lacy wished someone'd dig a hole and bury her. None of it seemed to faze Weaver -- he acted totally normal, the two-faced prick.
