A Mother’s Desperate Deal

18+ Disclaimer: All characters involved in erotic scenes are 18+. This is pure fiction written for adult enjoyment only. It has no connection to real life and should not be taken as such.

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I’m going to get right into it because this is still blowing my mind. It was summertime, and I had just turned eighteen with one more year of high school to go. So, now I’m an adult. I can do everything an adult can do but drink, so I get most of the benefits, but I also get all the blame. There are legal consequences to my actions that I had never thought about before, not really, and to tell you readers the truth, I don’t give a shit about the unfair legal consequences. A jury would understand, right? I would. But just because I don’t care, it doesn’t mean that my mother doesn’t. My mother cares. She cares a whole motherfucking lot.

As I’ve said, I’m eighteen years old, but my girlfriend was fifteen with a month to go until she turns sixteen. I’ve known her for my entire life. She’s my neighbor. So, let’s say that I’m two years older than her just to round things out. So, fourteen and twelve? That may be an iffy age range for two people to start dating. Fifteen and thirteen? That sounds skeptical. Sixteen and fourteen, though, that’s getting to seem more reasonable. Fifteen and seventeen? Yep, not so bad. Twenty and eighteen? Perfect. Thirty and twenty-eight? That’s the way it should be. Sixty-two and sixty? Aw, lifetime lovers. Eighteen and sixteen? Statutory rape, say hello to your cellmate; you’re a pervert.

You see, no one had had a problem with my relationship with Jenna—I’m Mark, by the way—not my mother, not my father, not Mr. and Mrs. Mason, not anyone, until Mr. Mason walked in on me with a mouth full of his daughter’s hairless pussy right before my eighteenth birthday. Could you blame me? Jenna was fucking hot.

We’re both teens, and porn was everywhere. Sex sells, and teens are supposed to resist their urges while under the onslaught of 13 Reasons Why, Euphoria, and Taylor Swift writing songs about every guy she’s taken between her legs. Then there’s Miley Cyrus being a whore, and Ariana Grande talking about dick size and social media oozing sex all the fucking time. You can’t watch a teen drama without someone getting fucked. If people were fucking at my age before the invention of TV, then why the fuck wouldn’t modern teens want to blow a load or two as often as possible? Sex is everywhere, and we like it.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, Jenna was fucking hot. There’s more to her than hotness, but she was fucking hot. She has long blonde hair, tan skin, an oval face, bright blue eyes, and perfect teeth. Her tits are over a handful in size, and her stomach drops straight down with an almost six-pack look that ends at the cut in her hips leading into the smooth skin of her mound and the bare lips below. She doesn’t like hair. She doesn’t want any. It gets in the way of her sexy bikinis and her even hotter panties. While her pussy is heaven, she has one hell of an ass. She has a soccer chick’s round butt, firm thighs, and long legs. You can’t beat that for sexiness.

Dad used to say, “She reminds me of your mother,” before Jenna entered high school, and sports thickened her body.

One day, we were on her sofa, and she was wearing a black shirt with white trim, and printed across the front was the word EASY. She was also wearing a pink schoolgirl skirt that was way too short for school, and if a girl was going to wear that, she had better expect to be flashing her panties to the world. Lucky for me, Jenna doesn’t mind one bit. She was wearing them for me. We were on her couch, and her panties were on her coffee table, and that’s when the lock on the front door rattled.

We parted in a hurry and went back to watching TV as her dad walked into the house. He greeted us, then he went to the kitchen, and then he came back, and that’s when he grew silent. It was kind of freaky. We both looked at him, and we both noticed that his eyes were staring at the ultra-small, transparent panties his daughter had been wearing. This was right after he had caught me going down on his daughter and had told us both to knock it off until Jenna turned eighteen.

So ... ah shit.

“Jenna,” he said in a calm voice that was more unsettling than if he had yelled. “Put your panties back on right now.”

Jenna stood, grabbed them, and facing sideways to her father and me; she straightened her panties in her hands, then she lifted her right foot and put them through the strings of her leg hole, and then her left foot after her right and then she pulled them up her legs, fitting them into place. Her hips shuffled, and her skirt came up over her thighs, baring the sides of her hips to her father and me, along with a flash of her muff as her skirt flared when she adjusted the crotch against her softness.

Her dad left the room after that. I left the house shortly after, walking to my house next door. That night, my parents talked with Jenna’s dad, and Jenna’s dad told them that if this continues, he will end our relationship himself. He also said that if this happened after I turned eighteen, he was pressing charges against me. What the fuck? Did he think his daughter didn’t have an appetite for cock? Fuck him.

Fuck him!

That’s what Jenna and I said, but my parents agreed with his parents, especially my mother.

“Do you want to register as a sex offender for life?” Mom asked. “Once you turn eighteen, that’s it—no more fooling around for you.” She shook her head at me. “No, you know what? We’re not even waiting for you to turn eighteen. It stops now!”

Fuck my parents, too—not in a bad way—just their idea of going along with Mr. Mason.

Sure enough, on my eighteenth birthday, Jenna and I decided that it was time to fuck just to fuck our parents over. In hindsight, that was a stupid way of thinking, but when you’ve never been in trouble with the law before, you never think that you’re going to be. Lucky for me, my mother had watched Jenna and me all night long.

We had the party at my house, nothing special, just a bunch of teenagers running around in boardshorts and bikinis, grilling food, and drinking sugary liquids that we poured alcohol into on the sly. Mom watched us. First, from the outside, when the party had started, then she went inside, and I could feel her green eyes on me from her upstairs bedroom. Jenna sat on my lap, and we kissed once, and Mom appeared outside less than a minute later to ask us if we needed anything.

We didn’t.

Several of my friends had told me to tell my mother to put on her bikini and join us, which led to me throwing them in the pool against their will, but that’s life for you when your mother was a MILF, and she was a MILF. When I was younger, before I became aware of my mother as a woman, I always used to tell her how beautiful she was, which she loved to hear. She thought it was cute, and I’d never fail to remind her how beautiful she was compared to everyone else. Then I discovered masturbation and flirting with my mother, as my father had said I did—without telling me what flirting meant at the time—came to an end.

My mother was tall and willowy, with smooth, light golden skin and lower-back-length and layered, sun-blonde hair—flaxen hair descended from her Norwegian blood—that almost glints white in the sunlight. She has elegant features and high cheekbones, the kind that any fantasy fanboy may have imagined a regal elven queen to bear. She’s slender and tight, with a flowing body unobstructed by the cut of leanness that some CrossFit moms have going for them. Her breasts were just over a handful, while her butt was small, widening sideways from her hips like a pear. Her cheeks were round and as golden as the rest of her skin thanks to her sunbathing in her whale-tale, micro G-strings that I’m sure I’m not supposed to know about, but I did.

I haven’t seen her in them, but what kind of boy hasn’t rummaged through his mother’s panty drawer at least once in their lifetime? (A normal fucking boy, I’d guess.)

So, Mom left us once Jenna slid off my lap. The party continued until sundown, when people started heading home. Jenna and I changed into shorts and shirts, then we watched a movie with my parents, cut some cake in a quiet ceremony around my dinner table with my loved ones, and then Jenna and I went up to my bedroom. Mom’s eyes followed us, but mostly they followed me, and Dad called us over to tell the both of us what Jenna’s father had promised to do to me if we fooled around beyond her age limit.

“You’ve waited eighteen years,” Dad said, “so what’re another two years and a month?”

We nodded our heads, and we went to my room to say, “Fuck our parents,” in the most physical way possible.

I should have known that my mother wasn’t going to let that happen.