The Mom Next Door

"Hey, be careful with that, Champ!" Melissa Jacobs called out to her eighteen-year-old son. "It's Grandma Katie's china!"

Ben Jacobs paused in the middle of the wide front lawn of the big house with the "SOLD" sign still planted at its curb, nonchalantly balancing two stacked cardboard boxes. "Mom, we eat outta microwave trays."

"It's an heirloom," Melissa chided, striding down from the front steps where she'd been struggling to unlock the door with a newly-cut key. She took one of the boxes from Ben and set it on the grass. "It's precious," She reached up to tousle his dark curls. "Like you."

"Ah, Mom!" Ben ducked his head and looked past her. "I can get it." He grabbed the key from her hand and bounded away up the long front walk. Naturally, the door popped open for him on the first try and he quickly disappeared into their new home.

Greenleaf struck Melissa as the very definition of "sleepy little town." It was an hour and a half from the interstate highway, nestled in a valley by a placid glacial lake. She wondered on the one hand how the village had avoided being overrun by DINKS from downstate looking for vacation homes, and on the other why anyone chose to remain here at all.

Overpriced latte bars or tumbleweeds,

she mused,

those are our choices these days, right?

"Howdy, neighbor!" Startled, Melissa turned and looked down to meet the gaze of an attractive blond woman in Bermuda shorts, woven sandals, and a white, knotted linen shirt. "Sharon Thompson." she offered. "Welcome to Midwood Road."

"Melissa Jacobs." They shook hands. Ben reappeared from the house, jogging back to the U-Haul truck for more boxes. Sharon's eyes followed him curiously. "Just you two?" she asked.

"Oh, no. My husband took the car straight down to Oakmore. Tom's the new resort manager and just couldn't wait to check in and get right to it."

"Really?" Sharon looked intrigued. "What did he tell you about the job?"

"Just that the old manager resigned on a week's notice and there was no time for a transition, and that Oakmore's a big opportunity and a step up for him. Which I frankly don't get. I mean, sure Greenleaf seems...

nice

, but it's, uh..."

"Nowhere," Sharon volunteered. "Centrally located somewhere between 1947 and 1974. Who the hell would know how to find us, much less want to book a room here?"

"Yeah." Melissa relaxed, relieved at Sharon's easy humor and understanding. "It does have a bucolic splendor about it, though. I don't think I've ever seen so many white picket fences on one street in my life."

"Naturally. Us Stepford wives are a house-proud lot," Sharon joked. The women laughed together and Melissa decided, on three minutes acquaintance, that Sharon Thompson would be her friend.

"What about you?" Melissa asked.

"Me? Oh, same deal, different guy: married to the man who's married to the job. Stan travels constantly, so Connor and I are usually on our own." She took her phone from her pocket and spoke into it. "Call C.J."

"Mom?" a deep male voice answered.

"C.J., get up and get your ass next door, will you? We got new neighbors who can use some help."

Connor James Thompson had Sharon's sparkling grey eyes and shared her easy-going manner, but in all other respects was a complete contrast to his mother. He stood six-foot-four and possessed a tautly muscled physique that reminded Melissa of some of the international soccer idols featured in the sports magazines at the supermarket. Despite Sharon's golden summer tan she appeared to be naturally fair; C.J. had a dark, sepia complexion. He wore his tightly curled black hair cropped short.

When he introduced himself, his rumbling baritone sent tremors through Melissa from her scalp to the soles of her feet.

Easy, Mel. This guy's Ben's age.

Between them, C.J. and Ben made short work of the few dozen boxes and sticks of furniture in the truck. The move had been so rushed that Tom's sister back in the city was still packing up most of their belongings for shipment later in the week. Sharon shrugged off Melissa's effusive thanks, saying "Us work widows gotta stick together. Otherwise, it's pretty lonely in these parts. Say, you want to return a favor, take a break and come by for a swim."

"You have a pool?"

"Girl, I live in the goddamn Playboy mansion. Pool, tennis court...last time Stan was here he had 'em install an outdoor jacuzzi. I need a map to find the damn thing."

"Thanks. I could use a coffee."

"Fuck that. I'll make mojitos."

†††

"This is a lot of house for three people," Ben observed as he and Melissa stacked the last of the heavy boxes labeled 'BOOKS' in the spacious, high-ceilinged den. We'll never see each other."

"Plenty of privacy for whatever it is you do in your room all day. No, no, I don't want to know," Melissa teased. "Hey, Sharon invited me for a swim. Wanna come with?"

"Nah...I'm okay." Melissa looked at Ben in concern. In her eyes, he was the complete package: a bright, good-hearted kid with the chiseled good looks and slim, muscular build of a Calvin Klein model. He'd inherited her espresso-colored hair and hazel eyes. A friend had once remarked that at a glance they looked more like brother and sister than mother and son. Melissa couldn't help but be flattered by that, at her age, but she worried that her son also shared too much of her shyness and solemnity for someone so young. Uprooting him so suddenly from the life he'd known, taking away from his friends and schoolmates, might have been a big mistake.

"You could hang with C.J. You two seemed to hit it off."

"He's cool. But I got to look for a job. School's not gonna pay for itself, and I don't see a lot of 'Help Wanted' signs around here."

Melissa slid her arms around Ben's waist and looked up at him wistfully. "Don't you go and turn into your father, now: all nose to the grindstone, never around. You're all I got, Champ."

Again Ben avoided her eyes. "I wish Dad would just let me work at Oakmore."

"And how would that look? The new boss practicing nepotism, first day on the job? I don't think you'd enjoy that environment much. Now come on, it's not a sin to have a little summer fun."

Ben would not be moved. Melissa gave up and went off to dig through her hastily packed suitcases.

She found an old "mom bikini" that she hadn't worn since Ben was little, a floral print with a camisole top and a bottom that reached up to her navel.

I have to learn to throw things out,

she thought. It fit like a tent; the only place she hadn't lost weight was her big round boobs. She decided it would do, given the circumstances. Sharon seemed cool, but until Melissa got more of a feeling for local mores she didn't want to risk shocking anyone by strutting around in a little black micro.

The walk next door to the Thompsons' place took a good ten minutes. Ben had been right: this was a neighborhood of oversized homes on multi-acre lots. Sharon's front door was wide open. Greenleaf seemed to be the proverbial small town where folks all trusted each other. She wasn't sure she could get used to that.

"Sharon?" Melissa stepped into the empty foyer. The house was even bigger than the McMansion that Tom had insisted on, with an open-plan layout that let her see straight through and out the French doors opening onto the back porch. She saw people moving out there in the glare of the noonday sun and decided there was no harm in just cutting through.

She stopped in the living room to admire some framed family photographs. Stan Thompson was not what she'd expected based on having met C.J. He was barely taller than his wife, just as fair-haired, and a little stoop-shouldered. The collection of photos ranged throughout the years of their marriage. She noticed that by early adolescence, C.J. had already towered over Stan. With every passing year, the son dominated the images more and more, while Stan looked wearier, greyer, and more withdrawn.

Melissa wondered momentarily if C.J. was adopted. Not with those eyes! Those eyes came from Sharon, without a doubt. A previous marriage, then?

The back yard was at least an acre on its own. The rolling, manicured lawn was framed by sheltering pines and dotted with hibiscus and rhododendrons. Sharon and C.J. chatted and laughed together at the far end of a kidney-shaped pool that was at least fifty feet long. C.J. sat in the water up to his waist, leaning back with arms outstretched on the flagstones of the pool deck behind him. Sharon crouched on the deck at her son's shoulder, drink in hand, wearing a yellow bikini that wasn't much more than a narrow band of elastic cloth that barely covered her nipples, paired with a thong so small that it didn't even conceal a little tattoo just above her crotch.

So much for scandalizing the simple country folk

, Melissa thought wryly. She wondered if it made C.J. uncomfortable, seeing his mother exposed that way. Melissa sure wouldn't do that to Ben, not at his age.

They were too far away for her to hear their conversation. She was about to call out to them when Sharon unexpectedly slid her sunglasses up on her head, leaned in, and kissed her son full on the mouth. It was a long, passionate kiss. Melissa's breath caught in her throat. She felt flushed, an unexpected warmth spreading through her body as she watched.

After a very long time, Sharon broke away from C.J. Moving with the rolling, swaying gait of a stripper she descended the stone steps to join him in the pool. The shallow water came up to the underside of her boobs. She lifted her arms above her head and did a full turn, showing herself off for her son.

She really was a vision. Her waist was delicate, her thighs firm, her ass more than ample but without a trace of cellulite or middle-aged droop. Melissa guessed that Sharon's breasts were as big as her own 36Ds, but on Sharon's much smaller frame those supple globes easily stood out as her most remarkable feature. Her golden skin bore no tan lines, nude sunbathing apparently being one advantage of so much privacy.

C.J. stood up in the water, unfolding his long athlete's body to tower over his mother. Sharon embraced him, encircling his lean waist in her arms. When he engulfed her in one huge arm and pulled her to him, her face was level with his chest. She snuggled in close and let her hand roam across his tight pecs and over his belly, tracing the valleys between his chiseled abdominal muscles with her fingertips.

The elevated porch where Melissa stood extended some distance along one side of the pool, almost like a little pier. She slipped off her sandals and padded cautiously forward in her bare feet along the weathered wooden planks, torn between her urgent desire to get a closer look and her fear of being discovered. But the couple in the pool seemed oblivious to anything except one another.

Sharon's small hand slid under the waistband of her son's swimsuit. She looked into his eyes and he smiled down on her with confidence bordering on arrogance. He nodded once, and she loosened the drawstring of his trunks and started tugging them down over his hips. The dense, tightly curled thicket of his pubes came into view, as well as the base and several inches of the thickest cock Melissa had ever seen.

Melissa was dumbfounded. She put out a hand on the porch rail to steady herself. She closed her eyes and took a long breath, but when she opened them again Sharon was still slowly stripping her son. His swim trunks were almost halfway down his thighs now and his prick was still not fully exposed.

Unconsciously, Melissa held her breath, waiting. How big could the young man possibly be?

Finally, Sharon tugged C.J.'s swimsuit down to his knees and his cock sprang free, dripping pool water in the bright sunlight. It hung down between his muscular thighs nearly to the top of his knees, still completely soft.

C.J.'s cock didn't stay soft for long. Sharon ran her hand gently over it the way one might stroke the sinewy neck of a favorite riding horse. Under her ministrations, his prick jerked and pulsed and grew until it was completely hard and curved up and out from his crotch, impossibly long and as big around as a soda can.

Now Sharon reached out to cradle her son's scrotum in both hands, tenderly lifting that full, swollen sack and leaning down to lavish it with little kisses and quick swipes of her tongue. Her delighted giggles carried across the water. Melissa was jealous, even though she could not comprehend why a woman would knowingly have sex with her own son. Melissa told herself it was a thing that

she

would never contemplate, even in her most secret fantasies.

She crept silently along the porch toward the couple. Terrified that she'd be noticed at any moment but inexplicably attracted by the lurid scene in the pool, she paused again when she was close enough to see every detail of the action.

C.J. put his hand on the crown of Sharon's head and her tongue-teasing stopped. She drew back a little, then opened her mouth very wide and ducked her head forward, swallowing the plum-sized head of his cock with surprising ease. She continued to cradle his scrotum in both hands.

I've got purses in my closet that aren't as big as his nut sack,

Melissa marveled.

This was more than just a blowjob. Sharon's mouth welcomed her son's prick as if this was what it had been made to do. Her throat was a welcoming sleeve for the impossible, irresistible battering ram of his giant cock.

Sharon clasped her hands behind the hollows of C.J.'s knees, holding on to prevent her head from being pushed away by his short but powerful forward strokes. She wriggled and rotated her hips under the water, clearly enjoying what her son was doing. Having his giant prick crammed into her this way turned her on. He rocked back and forth, withdrawing his shaft only slightly on every stroke and then pushing forward again until several more inches disappeared between Sharon's tightly stretched lips. In this way, she soon was swallowing most of his long, thick rod.

An inner voice that Melissa scarcely recognized as her own cheered them on.

All the way in, baby. Make her take it all.

What are you thinking...what are you doing?! This is horrible. It's wrong, a more familiar part of her insisted.

You can't be getting horny, watching a woman you've barely met committing incest. What's wrong with you?

She ignored that voice. She'd never seen anything so hot in her life. Her pussy was creaming like crazy, soaking the crotch of her suit. She reached down to touch herself through the thin polyester material.

Come on, C.J., I wanna see those big balls bouncing off your mama's chin!

Alas, it was not to be. Sharon took perhaps two-thirds of her son's prick down her throat and then they both paused. Melissa watched in disappointment as C.J. withdrew all but the tip of his immense cock from his mother's mouth. He still held her head between his hands, though, and after resting for several moments he abruptly lurched forward again. His prick slid three-quarters of the way into her mouth in one motion. He started pumping rhythmically, fucking her throat with long, full thrusts.

Sharon's squeals of happiness were unmistakable, even though muffled by the long cock ramming ceaselessly in and out of her throat. She held on for dear life and bobbed her head backward and forward to meet his thrusts. Maybe she couldn't throat C.J.'s entire cock, but what she could take she took with obvious relish. For Sharon to endure such a face-fucking and enjoy it had to be a tremendous physical challenge, but clearly one that she was accustomed to. She and her son moved together in perfect rhythm, each knowing exactly what to do. They must have practiced together many times.

Melissa slid her swimsuit bottom down her thighs. Watching was driving her crazy. She needed relief. She put two fingers in her mouth and sucked on them, then slipped them into her pussy and began playing with herself. She'd developed great skill at masturbating in the last few years, as Tom had immersed himself more and more in his career to the extent of neglecting her needs. Damn him anyway. It was his fault that she was standing half-naked in a near-stranger's back yard playing voyeur and geting off to unnatural acts. So she told herself.

After several minutes C.J. pulled out of Sharon's mouth and she stepped away from him. He still hadn't shot off, though his cock gleamed in the afternoon sunlight with a mixture of his mother's saliva and his pre-cum. He reached out and hooked his fingers under the yellow elastic strip of her top and yanked it down to her tiny waist so that her breasts tumbled free of their minimal confinement. They were big and perfectly formed, with large nut-brown nipples that were already hard.

Sharon hugged her son around his hips so that his well-lubricated cock was trapped and pressed flat to her chest between her breasts. She tipped her chin up to his face and they shared another long lover's kiss. Then he took her tits between his big hands, held them together around his cock, and started tit-fucking her.

As her son bucked up and down between her luscious firm breasts. Sharon helped hold them snugly against his cock. She licked all around the flaring head each time that it poked up through her cleavage. Every so often she nipped playfully at it with her teeth, causing a visible shudder of pleasure to ripple through her son's taut belly.

Sharon's pretty features were the image of radiant bliss. Melissa's helpless heart was full of envy.

I could learn a lot from her,

the frustrated brunette thought.

For all the good it would do me with Tom.

Finally, C.J. threw his head back, grimaced, and with a final thrust upward between Sharon's pillowy tits his cock erupted, shooting one long thick burst of semen after another into the air. Some of it splashed on his mother's face, but most arced up over her head to land on her back, between her shoulder blades, and roll down the valley of her spine in rivulets to be washed away in the clear gentle current of the pool.

They held one another for a while. When they finally broke their embrace C.J. was still fully erect! Astonished, Melissa waited breathlessly for whatever would come next.

Then Sharon and her son both turned and looked straight up at Melissa standing on the porch. Melissa froze in stark terror, caught with her pants down and her thumb on her swollen clitoris.

Sharon grinned, waved, and called out "Hey, Girl, you ready for that mojito?"