My Mother's Boyfriend

MY MOTHER’S BOYFRIEND

James.

He has one of those voices that just sends chills down my spine, low and raspy, naturally husky — one of those voices that can make a girl wet with just one word. In his mid-forties, he’s a police officer with a fighter’s body — not excessively large and bulky, but lean and muscular with broad shoulders. His hair, naturally dark brown but now with the lightest hints of gray, is just long enough to cover the tops of his ears, but he keeps it combed back normally, and he’s got steely blue eyes that are always alight with intensity. And not to mention the prominent jaw bone that gave him an even larger air of masculinity and power.

And I’ve been lusting after him ever since he’d moved into mine and my mother’s large house.

I always tried to flirt with him when my mother wasn’t around — flaunted my eighteen-year-old body around in short skirts and tight shirts. He only encouraged me by looking, even though he seemed to think he was being inconspicuous.

It was a Sunday morning like any Sunday morning — he hadn’t come down to the kitchen yet, and I was there waiting. Of course, I was just innocently making coffee, wearing my newest nightgown — a thin, silk thing that was a light pink color. I’d primed and primped myself in front of the mirror before coming down, and I knew I looked my best.

I have a short build for my age, curvy hips and large breasts — I’d inherited my body from my mother, whom in her day, had had what some would consider THE perfect body. I’d also gotten my creamy white skin from her as well, though everything else came from my birth father: my shoulder length, wavy red hair, my whiskey-colored eyes.

I was just spooning some sugar into my coffee when he entered, wearing torn jeans that clung to his thighs in a way that made heat rush through my body, and a black muscle shirt — black always made him look younger, I’d learned one day. He glanced at me, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched him drink me in with his eyes, no doubt noticing how much shorter this nightgown was compared to my others. I went to say something to him, but my mom entered the kitchen like a banshee, fire practically coming from her mouth.

“How dare you?” She was practically yelling at James, not even noticing me. “You have the nerve to say THAT to ME?”

I quickly ducked my head and turned my back on them — they’d been fighting a lot lately, and to be quite honest, it always seemed like her fault. I remember her being fun when I was younger, but she’d grown into a real tight-ass. They argued for a moment or two, James never raising his voice — but he already had that commanding way of talking that a lot of officers did. He was intimidating enough without yelling. Finally my mother snapped something about getting her nails done, and she stormed from the kitchen.

James appeared beside me suddenly, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some coffee. I side-glanced him, offering one of my best smiles.

“It’s way lame the way she treats you,” I said, my teenage-vocabulary showing. “Almost like she doesn’t appreciate you.”

He gave one of his sarcastic chuckles, one that rumbled in his throat, and he shrugged one of his thick shoulders. “Sometimes I think you’re right,” he said.

I innocently put my hand on one of his arms, and I was almost surprised by the firm muscle I could feel pressing against my fingertips. He tensed just slightly, but continued making his coffee.

“Any woman would have to be crazy not to respect you, you know?” I said, “She doesn’t seem to realize how lucky she is.”

He glanced at me as he raised his mug to his lips, a crocodile-grin on his face, and as he sipped at the hot coffee, he turned to me, leaning a hip against the counter. “You’re a card,” he said, “Where’d you get that gown? The sex shop down the block?”

I flushed slightly — he’d never said the word ‘sex’ around me, and quite frankly it was turning me on. I grinned at him, shrugging my shoulders. “My little secret,” I answered. “Why? You like it?”

“I’m not supposed to,” he said, still smirking, and he turned to walk away.

I grabbed his arm again to keep him facing me, and I stepped closer to him, pressing my body against his. His chest was hard beneath my breasts, and I noticed his gaze flicker down to them — they were almost popping out of my nightie. I took his coffee from his hand, setting it on the counter and reaching up to grab a handful of hair at the nape of his neck.

“You need a change, James,” I said, making my voice low and husky. “A change from that bad evil woman.”

“You know this is wrong,” he said, but one of his large hands was on my waist. Warmth spread from his fingertips like spiderwebs, and from just this simple touch I was feeling a stirring between my legs.

“It’s not,” I said, leaning up towards him. “I’m eighteen,” I whispered, before capturing his lips in mine.

I kissed him hungrily, sucking and biting on his bottom lip as I stood on my tip-toes. He didn’t react for a moment, but then he grabbed a fistful of my curly hair in his free hand, and crushed me closer to his body, devouring my kisses. I was quickly growing wet, my heart beating so loud that I couldn’t hear anything over it. Actually kissing him was a hundred times better than the nights when I touched myself and imagined myself kissing him — this man had to be mine.

But suddenly, pulling roughly on my hair, he snapped my head back slightly. And for a split second I thought he was going to make me stop. But then I noticed the gleam in his eyes, and the devious way in which his lips curled up.

“You really wanna play?” He asked me darkly. “I can give you something to play with.”

I pressed my body against his again, though he held my head away from him by my hair. I could feel his already hard cock pressing against his jeans and I gave a mewl-like noise.

“I want to play,” I said softly. “Please?”

And suddenly, he was shoving me to my knees and undoing his jeans. I was sure I was dreaming — no way was this really happening to me. He pulled out his cock, surely nine inches at least, and I eagerly reached up with one hand and grabbed it. He put his hands on his hips as I started to stroke him, squeezing my fingers around his shaft lightly and moving slowly. I held it up slightly, leaning forward and dragging my tongue along the large vein on the underside of his thick member. Then I sat back again, moving my hand slowly up to the head of his cock, and back down to the base, causing precum to ooze from the tip.

“Suck it,” he ordered, apparently none-too-impressed with my teasing.

I flashed him a little grin again, leaning down and kissing the head of his dick — he wasn’t going to win so easily. I’d wanted this forever, and I was going to savor it. I then snaked my tongue out, swirling it over the helmet leisurely and almost enjoying the sickly sweet taste of his precum.

“Not too good with orders, are we?” He asked.

I flashed him my best innocent look — eyes wide, slightly surprised. “I don’t know,” I answered. “Are you gonna punish me for it?”

That devious smirk came to his face again, but instead of answering, he buried both of his hands in my hair, twisting the copper-colored locks around his fingers and holding me in place. Then he pushed his hips forward, rubbing the head of his dick against my lips, which I immediately opened for him.

And then he pushed himself completely into my mouth, none-too-gently might I add, driving his cock down my throat practically. I started to gag, not moving though, and he pretended not to notice, starting to thrust forward against my face. His balls slapped against my chin as he humped my mouth quickly, holding me in place so I couldn’t get away — not that I would have.

“Oh yeah,” he groaned raspily, “You like it r
ough.”

He seemed pleased that I was one of those girls, and I offered a moan in response, which I knew would feel good against his di
ck. He gave a moan at this, but let go of my hair — he wanted me to continue to deep-throat him on my own.

Something I did with immense pleasure.

I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock again, engulfing him completely once more, and I started to bob my head on his dick, gagging every now and then but never stopping. He grunted again, reaching down and sliding the strappy-sleeves of my nightie down my shoulders. Knowing what he wanted, I pulled the gown down to my waist, baring my large breasts, my light pink nipples already hardened into tiny rosebuds and paining me they were so desperate for attention.

He then reached down and cupped a breast in each hand, squeezing in an almost possessive way and causing me to moan around his dick again. He started to pinch and squeeze my nipples, rolling them between a thumb and forefinger with enough force so that it was both painful and pleasurable. I had to pull my mouth off of him to let out a whimper, and I wanted nothing more than to touch myself — I was so hot.

“Did I say you could stop?” He demanded harshly, giving one of my nipples a rough pinch that made me cry out.

“Please,” I whined again. “I want you to fuck me.”

He seemed to pause thoughtfully, before grabbing me roughly by my arms and hauling me to my feet. He crushed his lips against mine again, reaching down to push my nightie down completely — it dropped down my shapely legs and pooled around my feet. It occurred to me that I should be self-conscious, standing here in my pink cotton panties, and him fully-dressed. But I was too wet to care, and I was grinding against his body, searching for a sweet friction.

His hands settled on my ass as his lips moved to my neck, and I moaned as he squeezed both cheeks appreciatively. He bit at my collarbone before sending a sharp slap to my backside, making me flinch and gasp.

He was then picking me up and carrying me across the kitchen to the table, setting me down on it and pushing me back slightly. I wrapped my legs around him as he lowered his head to my chest, and I groaned as he wasted no time in wrapping his lips around one of my nipples. I ran my fingers through his hair which was surprisingly soft, and I started to pant as he sucked greedily on my poor nipple. One of his hands was cupping my other breast so it wouldn’t feel left out, squeezing it harshly so that my skin turned red.

“Oh, please,” I murmured, dropping my head back some.

And suddenly he’d stepped back some, and I gave him a questioning gaze. He licked his lips, looking over me for a moment or two before smiling. He has one of those crooked smiles that can be so dead sexy.

“Touch yourself for me,” he said in a low tone.

I would’ve rather preferred him to do it, but even as soft as he’d spoken, I knew that was an order I couldn’t disobey. With a whine of sorts, I slipped my hand down the front of my panties, and I started to rub at my clit. He crossed the kitchen again only to get his cup of coffee, and he neared me again, drinking from it as if savoring the taste. He watched me with a primal glint in his eye, and even though I was upset that he was ignoring my body for the time being, I couldn’t help but submit to the pleasure I gave myself.

I moaned, dropping my head back some again, reaching up with my other hand to grab the breast he’d previously been sucking on. I dipped two of my fingers into my throbbing pussy, shivering slightly with the pleasure, and I started to pant again as I moved my hand as fast as I could.

I didn’t realize how close I was to the edge until it was almost too late — my back arched on the wooden table, and I gave a cry. But suddenly —

“No,” he said simply. “Don’t cum.”

I pulled my hand out of my panties with a snap, knowing that if it’d stayed there any longer, I was bound to orgasm. I whined again, looking at him and rolling my hips upward at an imaginary force that I hoped would relieve me.

“Please, James,” I said, “Don’t make me wait any longer — it isn’t fair.”

His coffee was set back down, and I couldn’t hide my excitement as he neared me. He grabbed me, pulling me back to my feet on the floor, and he spun me around harshly, bending me over the table. He kept one hand on the back of my neck, holding me flat against the surface, and with his other hand, he yanked my panties down to my knees.

“You know what isn’t fair,” he said to me, “You bouncing around here in your skimpy little outfits and me pretending that your mother’s actually you, on those rare nights when she lets me fuck her.”

Before I could even think of response to that, he’d slammed his cock into my dripping snatch, causing me to cry out in pleasure. My back would’ve arched were he not pinning me against the table, and I writhed against it as he started thrusting in and out of me. He buried his shaft completely into me, before pulling it back to the point of the tip just barely leaving my cunt. I groaned as the fingers of his free hand dug into my hip, and he grunted back.

I could feel my climax waiting — it was almost painful trying to hold it in like this — and my eyes were watering slightly from the effort. I gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles, barely able to get air into my lungs as he pounded violently from behind, and I practically screamed in pleasure.

But he pulled out of me suddenly, keeping me pinned against the table, and I felt him messing around with my panties. He’d pulled them up slightly, and glancing over my shoulder as best as I could, I watched as he stroked himself quickly, before shooting his load into the seat of them. There was something so randomly hot about that that made me moan, and then one of his hands was finishing the job on me.

“Alright,” he said after a moment of fisting my pussy, “Cum.”

I started to climax, my body stiffening and arching as I cried out again, and with a swift motion, he’d pulled my panties all the way up so that I came into them, my juices mixing with his. He then let me go, and I almost collapsed onto the table, shuddering and panting.

When I’d regained my composure, I turned around with shaky legs to see him standing by the coffeepot again, his cock away and jeans up. He ran his fingers through his hair, fixing it so that he looked like we hadn’t just had sex, and he glanced at me as I still tried to catch my breath. He finished off his coffee before setting the mug in the sink.

“We’re leaving,” he said with an air of finality, that for a moment I thought he meant right then and there.

“What?” I asked, suddenly shy and covering my breasts with my arms.

“Me and you,” he said, with that lop-sided grin. “I DO need a woman who respects and appreciates me, so I’m taking you the Hell outta here — be ready when I get back.”

And with that, he picked his car keys up off the counter and left the kitchen. I stared after him for a moment before smiling and feeling like a schoolgirl again.

And that’s how my mother’s boyfriend became mine.

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