Mum’s New One

Her mother had been seeing him for three months. His name was David. He was forty-six, worked in logistics for a company that moved shipping containers, and he stayed over most weekends now, his toothbrush in the bathroom and a spare shirt in the wardrobe. Emma was twenty-two and still living at home while she finished the last year of her degree. She had watched the way he looked at her when he thought no one noticed—quick, careful glances at her legs when she walked through the kitchen in shorts on Saturday mornings, longer ones when she bent over to load the dishwasher or reach for something on a high shelf. She had started wearing less around the house on purpose.

It happened on a Sunday afternoon. Her mother had gone to the big shops on the edge of town and said she would be at least an hour. David was on the couch in the living room watching a football match with the sound turned low. Emma came downstairs in a thin tank top and a pair of plain cotton underwear because the house was warm from the sun through the windows and she had half-expected him to have gone out. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs when she saw him still there. He looked at her. His eyes moved from her face to the tank top to the bare length of her thighs and stayed there. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The commentator’s voice murmured from the television.

“Mum’s out,” she said.

“I know.”

She crossed the room on bare feet. She had not planned the next part, not really, but she had thought about it enough times in her bed at night that her body already knew what it wanted. She knelt between his spread knees on the rug and put her hand on the bulge in his jeans. He was already hard. She could feel the heat of him through the denim. She undid the button and the zipper with steady fingers and pulled him out. His cock was thick, heavier than she had expected, the head already wet. She stroked it once from base to tip, felt it jump in her hand, then leaned forward and took the head into her mouth.

He groaned, low. One hand settled on the back of her head, not pushing, just resting there, fingers in her hair. She sucked him slow at first, tongue working under the head in flat strokes, then deeper, taking more each time. Spit ran down his shaft and over her fingers. She used her free hand on what she could not fit and kept her eyes on his face the whole time. He watched her. His breathing had gone rough. When she pulled off to breathe, a string of spit connected her lower lip to his cock for a second. He said her name once, low and careful.

She went back down. She took him as far as she could, relaxed her throat, and held it there until her eyes watered and her nose touched the hair at the base. Then she set a proper rhythm—wet, messy, the kind of blowjob she gave when she wanted the person to remember exactly how her mouth felt. She sucked and stroked and let spit run everywhere. He lasted longer than she had thought he would. When he got close he warned her, voice strained. She stayed on him. He came in thick, heavy pulses across her tongue and down her throat. She swallowed what she could and let the rest drip from her lips back onto his cock while she stroked him through the last of it, milking him.

Afterward she sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. His cock was still half-hard, shiny with her spit and his come. She looked at the front door, then at him, then at the clock on the wall.

“She’s back in an hour,” Emma said. Her voice was a little hoarse. “If you want me to do it again before she gets here, say so now. I will.”

He nodded. She climbed onto the couch without being asked, straddled his lap without putting him inside her, and kissed him once—quick, open-mouthed, letting him taste himself on her tongue—then slid back down between his knees and took him into her mouth again. This time she was slower. She licked the remaining come off him first, cleaning him with long strokes of her tongue, then sucked him until he was fully hard and leaking pre-come again. She jerked him with one spit-slick hand and sucked the head while she told him, between strokes and in a low voice, that she had thought about doing this since the second weekend he stayed over, that she had touched herself in her room listening to him fuck her mother through the wall, and that she wanted to swallow him again.

He came the second time on her tits. She pulled the tank top down below her chest and aimed him there, stroking him fast. Thick white stripes landed across her tits and collarbones and the upper curve of her stomach. She rubbed it in with two fingers, spreading it over her skin, then sucked the fingers clean while he watched her do it. When her mother’s car pulled into the drive ten minutes later she was already upstairs with the shower running, the taste of him still thick in her mouth and come drying on her chest under the spray. David was back on the couch with the match turned up. Neither of them looked at each other when her mother walked in with the shopping bags and started talking about the traffic. Emma came down twenty minutes later in a clean T-shirt and jeans and asked if anyone wanted tea. David said yes. Her mother smiled and started unpacking the bags. Emma caught his eye once over the kettle while the water boiled and licked her lower lip, slow and deliberate. He looked away first. Her cunt was still wet. She knew they would do it again the next time her mother left the house. Two weeks later her mother went away for a night with friends. Emma waited until David was in the shower, then joined him. She sucked him under the water until he came down her throat, then let him fuck her against the tiles while she told him not to tell her mother. He came inside her. She cleaned herself with her fingers and made him watch her lick them. They did it twice more before her mother came home. Emma started leaving her bedroom door open at night.