[Spoiler-ish note for readers who feel strongly about the need for affirmative consent: There's a major scene in this story that combines ambiguous prior consent with a request for sexual activity during intoxication. If these things bother you in stories, you may want to skip this one.
Standard note for all readers: all characters in this story are over the age of 18. With those things said, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!]
It took a while for me to get back to the party from dropping Kerry off. There was the drive to her place, then talking out the for-sure-we're-done finality of the breakup, then the drive back, then the sitting in the car a couple minutes to make sure I had my composure. (That bit went pretty quick -- the breakup was way overdue, and I was mostly just glad she was the one who brought it up and I didn't have to.)
Things remained in pretty good swing when I got back inside, maybe about three-quarters of the gang still there, dancing to music a little louder than when I'd left, or yelling and shouting from the game room at whoever just scored the most recent Playstation knockout. In the semi-dark of the front room, lit only by spillover light from the kitchen, Pete and Dianne were making out in the loveseat as I came in the door. Mom lay stretched out completely zonked on the couch across the coffee table from them, with her bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur on the table beside a shot glass. When I decided to have some and went over to pick up the bottle, it was empty.
Holy shit, no wonder she's passed out,
I thought. I'd given it to her on her birthday two days earlier.
A quick second of looking around relieved my worry that people might be as weirded-out as I was by my mom lying drunk on our sofa in the middle of the party. Aside from Pete and Dianne, everybody was elsewhere in the house, and those two had themselves wrapped up in each other way to much to pay attention to Mom's inebriation.
And it's not like she looks sloppy-awful drunk,
I thought. She might have just been taking a nap in her grey cardigan, t-shirt and yoga pants, if you didn't notice the empty bottle of hooch and lipstick from her red, red lips on the rim of the shot glass. Her long, wavy, deep-brunette hair lay in relatively good shape around her head against a throw-pillow and the arm of the couch, not in a wild, booze-plastered mess.
I took the bottle and shot-glass into the kitchen, where I found several of my friends laughing and chatting, Bill with his arm around Casey in a way I hadn't noticed before.
Good for Casey,
I thought. She'd been after Bill for a while. Moving on into the living room, I notched the stereo back down where it had been before I left, earning me a disgruntled glance from a couple of the people there dancing. I glared back sternly, won the staredown, and went to the game room, one door down the hall.
After displacing Sandy to tag into a four-player battle royale, I proceeded to win several matches in a row and handed the controller off to Jill, at which point I decided to check on Mom again. I waved at Kendo, Trace, and Don as I passed them loitering in a cluster at the edge of the space that had been cleared for dancing. Trace and Don said "hi" in a way that felt a little odd, like I'd interrupted something, even though it hadn't looked like they were talking as I walked up. More like ... waiting for something, with at least one of them glancing in the direction of the living room. Kendo raised a beer at me and swigged it coolly, then grinned as I moved on. Don coughed -- pretty loudly, but the music mostly drowned it out.
And then I walked down the front hall and found Sandy standing by the arm of the couch, nervously watching Pete and Dianne for any sign they might look his way while he leaned down and fondled my mothers tits.
My jaw dropped and my eyes bugged out just long enough for Sandy to notice me and jerk upright, his face turning redder than Mom's lipstick. I managed to hold in the "Sandy, what the
fuck!
" that tried to leap from my mouth, which might have woken Mom (although really, it had no chance to break through her level of alcohol-induced catatonia), but I couldn't hold back from striding over, grabbing him by the arm and manhandling him halfway down the hall.
"Adam, oh man, dude, it's not like --"
"It's not?" I was livid, shaking, completely gob-smacked that anyone, much less Sandy, would be so brazen as to grope my mom in the middle of a party. "What the hell is it like, then?"
"No -- I -- you didn't see --"
"Yes, I totally saw! You were --"
"No, you didn't see the ... um ..."
At this point, Kendo, Trace, and Don sauntered past the couch to the front door, having cut around me and Sandy by way of the archway between the kitchen and front room.
Kendo waved and opened the front door and said, "Later, dudes."
"Guys!" Sandy begged. "Wait --"
But the three of them kept moving, Trace and Don waving without making eye contact. I saw Don glance at the couch, then jerk his head away before his eyes made it all the way down Mom's unconscious body. The front door closed behind them and I returned my glare to Sandy.
"Adam ..." he said, eyes shifting helplessly from me to the shut door back to me again.
"What, Sandy?" I asked. I heard Kendo's car start up outside, then saw a defeated slump settle into Sandy's whole upper body. "What's your excuse? Who
does
that?"
He looked like he was about to cry behind his glasses. "I wouldn't have, oh god, Adam, I totally wouldn't have if I hadn't ..."
"If you hadn't what? Stop looking at the door. Do you think the guys are going to come back and save you from this?"
Something clicked then, and he straightened up a little, running a hand through his short blond hair. "I wouldn't have if Kendo hadn't showed me that video."
###
A minute later, we were in the laundry room between the kitchen and garage, door shut, party sounds muted, and Sandy's phone out.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
"They were all gathered around, just staring like robots at Kendo's phone," Sandy told me, although I could barely process his words over the ones coming from his phone.
"Fuck! Oh ... oh, yeah, Mrs. Heath ... fuck yeah!"
"I tried to get them to show me, and Kendo was pushing me away, but then Don says, 'Just show him, man. Or better yet, send it to him. If anybody needs spank material, it's Sandy.'"
On the screen, right there before my eyes, Kendo's swollen cock was going into my mom's mouth. No, her mouth was going down on his cock. As greedily as any deep-throating porn queen ever went down on anything.
"Mm,"
she said after pulling off his wet, veined rod with a pop.
"You boys are
delicious
."
And as the slick cylinder of my friend's engorged dick waved at the center of the view, she turned to her left and went down on
another
cock that she gripped tight in her fist.
"Oh shit!"
came Don's voice from the phone as my mom -- on her knees with an erection in each hand and another one jutting straight at her from camera center -- slurped to the root on that cock and bobbed.
"Oh shit!"
"She came into the game room while they were the only three not playing and asked if they could help her with something in the garage."
All the way down. My mom's beautiful face and red lips went
all the way down
Don's shaft, came almost all the way off, and went all the way down again.
"Wow, Mrs. Heath,"
Kendo's voice said, louder than the rest of it because he was holding the phone.
"You're fucking incredible!"
"Mm-hmm,"
she hummed around my friend's spit-shiny hard-on.
"Oh ... oh ... that's so good,"
Trace said, presumably from the direction of the enormous purple-headed tool she was jacking in her right hand.
"Mrs. H, please ... please, can you ..."
Her mouth released Don, a strand of gleaming saliva swinging between his tip and her lips, then breaking as she said,
"Sure thing, honey,"
and swiveled to lick and then kiss and then envelop the head of that last cock. I could hear Kendo laughing as the view wavered and his dick swung in time to his lusty giggle and Trace's groaning whimper.
"Mmmm -- llhlllmmph -- shlllhphth,"
came the sounds of Mom's mouth working its way down a third rock-hard teenage dingus. Her hand let Trace go and flailed over until it bumped into and grabbed Kendo's unattended pud, sliding along it with her own spit for lube and pulling gutteral noises of encouragement from him as she sucked Trace wildly and continued whacking Don off with equal vigor.
"You can -- I mean, there's --" Sandy's voice continued to barely register on the peripheries of my shock-blanked consciousness. "There's several minutes before -- if you want to skip ..."
It's not something you ever expect to see -- your mom sucking off three guys at once, cheeks vacuumed in and spit running off her chin. I mean, unless your mom's literally a porn actress. But there she was, and I couldn't look away.
Did I want to skip ...?
Seriously, Sandy thought I somehow had enough power of higher reasoning to make a choice about what was going on in front of my eyes.
She switched back to Kendo, who'd started grunting at the hand-job she was giving him. The return of her mouth, swift, sweet, swallowing him by the inch, jumped his voice up maybe two octaves.
"Holeeeey shiiiiit -- eee, Mrs. Heath --"
Those crystal blue eyes of hers looked straight up at the camera as her nose landed in Kendo's pubes. I could see something in them -- fire, and a hungry pride -- and she kept staring as she twisted her head side-to-side, rolling my friend's hard-on in her mouth. Kendo was the one she was staring at, obviously.
But it felt like she was staring at me.
And I realized I was holding Sandy's phone about where Kendo must have been holding his while he videoed my mom fellating him.
