Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
After high school graduation, I took a summer job selling magazine subscriptions.
I needed some serious scratch if I was ever going to move out of my parent’s house, and I knew that if I waited too long, I’d end up like my older brother. At age twenty-three, he had taken over the basement den with no intention of leaving. And why should he? He mooches food from my parents, weed from my stash, and wi-fi for endless hours of video games and porn.
The door to door game is brutal. If you’re lucky enough to get someone to answer the door, they either stare at you like your face is a festering pus sack until you shut up so they can say No! or they just slam the door in your face directly.
But I digress.
It was my first day, and after about an hour, I decided the job wouldn’t work for me. I just didn’t have the people skills to con people into worthless magazines they could get at the grocery store if they really wanted one. So I decided to knock on Jennifer’s door, just for fun.
I’d had a crush on her most of my life. We met in kindergarten, and by the time we hit junior high, she was a stone cold fox, way out of my league. But we were friends all the way through high school.
God, I wish I could have fingered the shit out of her the one chance I had at senior prom. Her date, Brenden Fletcher, nicknamed “Jock with the Donkey Cock”, got Eskort so wasted, he had to catch an Uber home early in the evening. Jennifer was so pissed, and understandably mortified. She would have no one to take back to the hotel she had to pay for since Brenden was a cheap douche with no shame. So she invited me to spend the night with her. My dumb ass just spooned her until we both fell asleep.
I’ve digressed again.
Anyway, I knocked on Jennifer’s door to see if she wanted to go out and grab a coffee before I turned in my gear and told my boss to go find another sucker. But her mom answered.
In all the years I knew Jennifer, I never met Mrs. Stephenson. They looked eerily similar with the same shapely curves and big, ocean-blue eyes. She was wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans.
“Oh, hi, are you Mrs. Stephenson,” I asked, caught off guard. She was beautiful. I wondered if she was wearing panties. Of course she was. I wondered what color. I wondered if they smelled a little at the crotch. I was getting hard.
“Yes,” she said tersely, waiting for me to tell her who the fuck was at her doorstep. For a second, I forget I looked like a sorry sack-of-shit salesman.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, looking down at my shitty tie and clipboard. “I’m not here to sell you anything. Um, is Jennifer home?”
“No,” Mrs. Stephenson said, with her lips looking all delicious like her daughter’s. “She left for Malibu with Brenden.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I lied. “She told me about that.”
We stood there on the Stephenson doorstep for an awkward bout of silence. I wondered what it was like to breastfeed on those heavenly tits. I didn’t realize I was staring right into her low-cut t-shirt, until she smiled and spoke again.
“Was there something else you needed?” she asked.
Her lips were ridiculous. How could God make such a beautiful creature, then duplicate her for my agony? I was so pathetic.
“I’m Jonathan Smith,” I said. Can she tell that I want to sniff her panties in the crotch area? I wondered if she ever got wet in the middle of the day just fantasizing about random dicks.
Mrs. Stephenson’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God, Jonathan!” she exclaimed with the inflection of almost a question. “Come in and cool yourself for a second. I’ve got soda in the fridge!”
The weather was mild, not at all hot enough to be fatigued from heat.
“Or would you prefer a beer?” she asked like she was getting away with something naughty.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll have a beer if you do.”
I’m going to fuck the shit out of Jennifer Stephenson’s mother, I thought to myself.
Before I could take my thought any further, she took me by the wrist. “Come see Jennifer’s room. Have you ever been here? She’s got quite a bedroom.”
She led me down a hallway, sans beer, and pushed me into a room that was obviously Jennifer’s. It had her smell, her style, her aura.
Suddenly, I realize I’m being pushed onto the bed.
“Don’t fight with me, son,” she said. “Mommy needs this more than you do.”
My dick wasted no time getting rock hard. As she unzipped my pants, my throbbing boner maneuvered its way out of the leg of my boxers and stood at attention.
“Mrs. Stephenson, I don’t have-“
“Shhhhh,” Mrs. Stephenson said, sinking between my legs to her knees. “You can’t give me babies. Just lie back and close your eyes, hunny.”
Mrs. Stephenson took my stiff member in her hands, wrapped her goddess lips around it, swirled her tongue around my head, and tugged gently at my shaft.
“Oh, Gawd,” I exclaimed. “I’m cumming!”
Damn it if I didn’t just bust my nut within less than five seconds of contact. Mrs. Stephenson ravenously slurped up every thick drop of my load, as if its nutrients were a matter of life and death.
She wiped her mouth and rose to her feet. Sinking her body onto mine, she kissed me. She tasted like salt and puppy breath. Is that what cum tastes like? I asked myself.
“Come see Mommy again soon?” she asked, her eyes demanding it.
“Yes, mommy,” I said. Then with a sheen of purpose, “Would you like to buy a year’s subscription to National Geographic?”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
