Prof. Ryan, the professor of physiology, sent a message that he would not be attending class today, so I allowed myself to get up later than usual. Vic, my twin, was probably already in her first class when I got up. I took a shower and went down to the kitchen to grab something to eat before I left. My mother was sitting in the living room close to the kitchen with her two friends, Mrs. Carter and Mrs. O'Reilly, drinking tea. All three were dressed as if they were about to go to prom and groomed to the tip of their fingernails. That was their normal situation. None of them had worked a single day in their lives. All three were born into very wealthy families, far beyond your imagination, and Mrs. Carter also married money. A lot of money. Their undisputed leader was my mother. In high society, the hierarchy is determined by the amount of money, and my mother was the richest and most privileged of them all. So privileged that when my father married my mother, he was required to take her last name, Walton, and not the other way around.
"You got up late today, honey," Mom said, "you're late for school."
It was just a show meant for the ears of her friends. My mother was never interested in my studies, or in me or my sister. The only thing my mother cared about was herself. I considered correcting her for a moment, "Mom, I'm already in college, you know." But I decided against it.
I was eating some of the pancakes our cook, Sarah, had made for me and my sister, and drinking orange juice when my mother suggested, "How about we make lunch today for the asylum near St. James's Church?"
The proposal was accepted, and I already knew what was going to happen: they were going to make something that would be inedible and thrown away, and then Sarah would be called to the flag to prepare lunch for the asylum.
That, more or less, sums up the schedule of my mother and her friends. They dedicate a few hours each day to exercise, in my mother's case it's fitness training; Then a few more hours for self-care; And in what's left they drink tea, and occasionally engaged in all sorts of charitable activities, just for the sake of the impression. From time to time they play in the kitchen, doing more harm than good, sometimes they try to work in the garden and almost cause our gardener, Ricardo, a heart attack, or any other harmful activity designed to fill their boredom with life.
You have to admit that all this investment in their appearance, plus surgery here and there, paid off. All three of them looked beautiful with a stunning figure that wouldn't shame young women. If you met my mother on the street, you wouldn't give her more than thirty-five. Just a year ago, she underwent a facelift surgery, which took away from her appearance for at least five years. My mother was blonde with short hair, the so-called child haircut, but with a long forelock, and large blue eyes; Mrs. Carter had long curly hair in various shades of walnut and honey-hued eyes; Mrs. O'Reilly was a peony with straight hair that reached her shoulders and green eyes.
The three Primadonnas.
*****
Both Vic and I were outstanding athletes -- I played on the football team while Vic played on the tennis team. Without a scholarship, we didn't need a scholarship, and our mom saw it as a shame for the family if we got one.
It was Tuesday, the day of football practice. The coach dedicated today's training to running training, and I was an outstanding runner, and since I had to submit grueling work in anatomy, the coach exempted me from training.
I was sitting in a corner of the living room closest to the kitchen, a laptop on my lap, gathering material for my work on the Internet when the three demons entered the house. "I think the meeting with Father Paul was very good," Mrs. Carter concluded, "It will be a very successful gala night."
Mom put her bag down in the kitchen and twerked on her high heels toward the bar. "Sherry?" she suggested.
"Of course," Mrs. Carter agreed.
"For me double dose," Mrs. O'Reilly said, "did you see that poor guy sticking to me? I can still feel its horrible smell."
"Smelly, smelly," said Mrs. Carter, "but did you notice his pants? He had a reproductive organ that wouldn't shame an outstanding stud horse." Mrs. Carter understood horses. Her family owned a thoroughbred horse farm just for amusement.
"Absolutely impressive," my mom agreed, "my trainer doesn't have such a fancy instrument." I stopped breathing.
"I would adopt him, wash him and keep him on the farm for a weekend treat," Mrs. Carter said to the laughter of her friends.
Mom put the drinks on a silver plate and walked to the kitchen counter while Mrs. Carter wandered around the kitchen, touching everything. A towel-covered puff caught her attention. "Hey," she exclaimed, "there's dough here. What is Sarah planning for dinner?"
"Oh, I forgot," my mom said, "I asked her to make this dough. How about making pumpkin pie?"
"Yummy," Mrs. O'Reilly said, "I love pumpkin pie."
"Me too," Mrs. Carter agreed.
"Okay, then I'll flatten the dough. Kate, open the fridge and take out the filling Sarah made, and you, Leslie, turn on the oven and make the pan for us. Agreed?"
Mom went to the corner, put on an apron and said, "Be careful not to get dirty. There's going to be flour in the air here."
With Sarah, flour never flies in the air, but trust these three terrorists that in an instant the whole kitchen will be enveloped in a cloud of flour. Mrs. Carter, Kate, went to the fridge and took out the filling while Mrs. O'Reilly, Leslie, took out a baking pan.
"I think I need an apron too," said Mrs. Carter, "a very dirty pumpkin. Marie, do you have another apron?"
"I actually have no idea," my mom said, "look around."
I could already tell them there was no more apron. We only have one cook, Sarah, and she doesn't need more than one apron, but they didn't feel my presence yet and I didn't want to get their attention.
Of course, Mrs. Carter couldn't find an apron. Instead, she began to unravel the shirt she was wearing. "Kate, what are you doing?" giggled Mrs. O'Reilly.
"Pumpkin is very dirty and this is my favorite shirt," said Mrs. Carter. She took off her blouse, revealing a pair of gorgeous breasts resting freely in her bra. They weren't too big, nor small, just the right size, and erect and pointed, with nipples clearly visible through her bra. I have no idea how many surgeries she needed, but the result was definitely successful. A thick gold chain dangled from her neck, And the pendant -- as far as I could see, a cross studded with some gemstones -- rested between her beautiful breasts. She placed the shirt on the back of a bar stool and began editing the sweetened pumpkin slices on a tray. That's not how Sarah made pumpkin pie, but none of them were Sarah.
My mom finished flattening the dough, Mrs. O'Reilly finished lubricating the pan and together they managed to move the dough into it. Mrs. Carter pushed them aside with gentle movements of her rounded butt and began arranging the pumpkin slices on top of the dough. When the pie was ready, my mom opened the oven, bent down and put the pan in it.
Her bulging butt, as she bent over to the stove, caught the attention of Mrs. O'Reilly who patted her butt. "Leslie," my mom giggled, "you naughty."
"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Mrs. O'Reilly said, "You have a lovely butt."
My mom didn't hesitate for a moment. She closed the oven, straightened up, pressed her body against Mrs. O'Reilly's, and pressed a long kiss to her lips.
"Hooray," enjoyed Mrs. Carter, "it's going to be interesting here tonight." She rolled up the hem of her skirt and sat down on the counter, with one foot on the counter and the other folded to the side.
My mom pushed Mrs. O'Reilly away and leaned between Mrs. Carter's legs. "My dear Kate," enjoyed my mom, "you never told us you had such a beautiful nest."
"You never asked," Mrs. Carter defended, pulling her panties aside. My mom's head was buried between her legs and the familiar tune of eating cunt filled the kitchen.
"Marie," Mrs. O'Reilly said worriedly, "aren't the maids home?"
"Don't worry," my mom said, "none of them will say a word. They know that if any of them beeps the faintest, they will immediately find themselves on the first plane back to Mexico."
I quietly shut down my computer and withdrew. I had no doubt that sooner or later they would move into the living room, and I didn't want to be discovered. Actually, I didn't want them to know that I had discovered their secret.
Let me tell you a little bit about our huge house. We have five living rooms each designed differently -- there's the living room that's close to the kitchen and it's the one that's used the most; There is the winter living room in front of the fireplace; another oriental-style living room with low armchairs, seating cushions and all kinds of copper utensils; a 16th-century-style living room; and a living room designed in the form of a shell in a hollow at ground level. In addition, We have three dining rooms -- one large that can accommodate about forty diners; a smaller one with a round table that can seat about ten diners, and which was usually used; and a summer dining room with walls and a glass ceiling, which was slightly elevated from ground level. This dining room was closest to the corner where I sat and to which I retreated.
I put the computer down on one of the chairs and sat down on the floor. I pulled out my mobile and put it into silent mode, then took a few photos of shirtless Mrs. Carter, my mom between Mrs. Carter's legs, and Mrs. O'Reilly stroking my mom's butt.
As expected, they soon found the kitchen very uncomfortable for sexual activity and moved into the living room. My mom took off her elegant dress and placed it neatly on an armchair and then sat down on the couch with her legs spread apart.
"Who has a desire to eat my pussy?" she asked. That's how it is, when the lust rises, elegant language is forgotten in favor of the very primordial language.
Mrs. O'Reilly quickly knelt between my mom's white thighs, and I switched the camera to videotaping, hoping the battery wouldn't run out prematurely.
"Leslie," my mom moaned in pleasure, "you're a champion. I'm going to fire my trainer; he's never eaten my pussy as well as you."
Within an hour, I had a video of Mrs. O'Reilly eating my mom's cunt while Mrs. Carter sucking on her breasts; my mom's and Mrs. O'Reilly kiss while massaging each other bare breasts; And my mom's eating again Mrs. Carter's cunt that she liked so much. As an encore, I got Mrs. O'Reilly on her knees exhausted, her head pressed against the couch, her butt lifted up and her reddish cunt completely exposed against her white skin.
At some point, I noticed smoke coming out of the oven. It probably could be the first time they would succeed to make an eatable pie. Everything was ready for them, just fill the pie and put it in the oven. But once again, they managed to destroy it. When they took it out of the oven, it was completely charred.
I dodged quietly and went up to my room.
*****
I sat in my room working. Through hard work, I managed to suppress all thoughts about my mother and her friends and concentrate on the work in front of me. I worked with total concentration for several hours straight and made good progress. At 10pm, my sister came into my room and put a tray of food on my desk.
"Sarah says you didn't have dinner," she said.
