Friend + Pushover Mom

The afternoon sun slants through the blinds of your bedroom, casting warm stripes across the floor where you and Kenji sit cross-legged, controllers in hand. The game idles on the pause screen, forgotten, as Kenji suddenly drops his controller with a dramatic sigh. He stretches his small arms overhead, his t-shirt riding up to expose his skinny stomach, a satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

"Bro, I gotta tell you something crazy." He turns to face you fully, his dark eyes glittering with barely contained excitement. "I finally did it. I lost my V-card. Like, ACTUALLY lost it. Not just touching boobs or whatever—I went ALL the way."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, thumb already unlocking it. He scrolls through what appears to be a massive folder, his free hand adjusting himself shamelessly through his shorts. "She was this SUPER easy MILF I met. Like, insanely hot. Huge fucking tits, bro. The biggest I've ever seen in real life. And her ass..." He makes a chef's kiss gesture, whistling low. "She just LET me do whatever. I didn't even have to try that hard."

He holds the phone toward you, screen first. The photo shows a woman on her back, her massive breasts spilled across her chest, bite marks visible all over the soft flesh. A small hand—clearly Kenji's—is gripping one tit hard enough to leave finger-shaped indentations. The woman's face is covered by a black square, but something about the shape of her jaw, the curve of her neck, the loose brown strands of hair splayed across the pillow... looks oddly familiar.

"Want to see the videos? I got like TWENTY of them." Kenji's grin widens, showing teeth. "She didn't even know I was recording half the time. The sounds she makes are HILARIOUS."

The sounds have been going on for over an hour now. At first, you tried to ignore them—the rhythmic thumping against your wall, the muffled voices, the occasional high-pitched squeal that makes your stomach clench. You turned up the volume on your game. You put in earbuds. Nothing works. Every few minutes, a particularly loud moan or the sharp crack of skin against skin cuts through, and your face burns with a combination of shame and something else you refuse to acknowledge.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, you pause your game and stand. Your legs feel weirdly unsteady as you approach your mother's bedroom door. The sounds are clearer here—a wet, rhythmic squelching, heavy breathing, and Kenji's voice saying something you can't quite make out. You raise your hand and knock, three sharp raps against the wood.

"Y-yes?!" Your mother's voice is breathless, pitched higher than normal. "J-just a moment—!"

There's a frantic rustling, a thump, a whispered argument. Then footsteps, and the door cracks open. Your mother's face appears in the gap, her face flushed crimson. Her hair is a wreck—half out of its bun, strands plastered to her sweaty forehead. Her lips look swollen, bitten, glistening with something. She's wrapped in a robe that's clearly been thrown on hastily, the belt loose, the collar askew enough to show a dark purple hickey blooming on her collarbone.

"I-I'm so sorry, sweetie..." She pants, still trying to catch her breath. "I didn't... I lost track of time... I'll start dinner soon, I just..." Her eyes dart back into the room, then to you, then away. "Kenji was... helping me with... something. I'm sorry, I know it's late..."

From somewhere inside the room, you hear Kenji's voice, lazy and satisfied: "Take your time, Mrs. Tanaka. I'm not hungry for food yet anyway."

You're in your room when your mother's voice calls out to you, thin and wavering. Following the sound, you find her standing in front of her full-length mirror, her back to you, struggling with something behind her back. As you get closer, your jaw goes slack.

She's wearing a dress you've never seen before—short, tight, a deep red that clings to every curve of her body. The neckline plunges dangerously low, the fabric barely containing her heavy breasts, the soft swell of cleavage spilling out the top. The hem barely reaches mid-thigh, and when she shifts, you catch a glimpse of lace stockings clipped to... something. Her legs are accentuated by shiny black heels that add inches to her height and make her calves look impossibly shapely. Her makeup is heavier than usual—dark eyeshadow, thick mascara, lips painted a deep crimson that matches the dress. Dangling earrings sparkle at her jawline.

"Sweetie, could you...?" She gestures helplessly at the zipper at the small of her back, her voice thin. "I can't quite reach, and it needs to be... lower."

Your hands shake as you grip the small zipper tab. The dress is already dangerously low in the back, showing the curve of her spine, the soft flesh of her lower back. You tug it down further, and more skin appears—and then the upper swell of her ass, and you realize with dawning horror that she's not wearing anything underneath.

"Thank you, honey." She turns around, smoothing the dress over her hips, her eyes apologetic. "I know this is... a lot. It's for Kenji's birthday. He said he wanted me to... dress up." Her cheeks are crimson. "I tried to say no, but he was so insistent, and you know how he gets..."

She wrings her hands together, her eyes darting to the clock. "We'll be in my room. I just... I wanted to apologize ahead of time. In case we're... loud. Kenji gets... enthusiastic." She bites her painted lip. "There's leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. I might not... come out... until morning."

The front door clicks shut behind you as you step into the house, your backpack sliding off one shoulder. The living room lights are on, and the first thing you hear is a wet, obscene slurping sound, punctuated by soft moans and the occasional gag. Your feet freeze mid-step.

On the couch, Kenji sits sprawled, his legs spread wide, his shorts pulled down to his ankles. Mrs. Tanaka kneels between his legs on the carpet, her head bobbing in his lap, her massive ass pointed toward you, her skirt hiked up enough to show she's not wearing panties. Her head bobs up and down, her lips stretched around his cock, drool and spit running down her chin, dripping onto his balls. Her eyes are closed, focused entirely on the task, both her hands gripping his small thighs.

Kenji looks up and sees you standing there. His face lights up. "Yo! You're home early!" He doesn't move to cover himself or push your mother away. Instead, he grins wider. "Perfect timing, I'm almost done. Your mom's been working on this for like twenty minutes."

At the sound of your name, Mrs. Tanaka's eyes fly open. She sees you standing in the doorway and makes a muffled noise of alarm, starting to pull back—

But Kenji's leg hooks around the back of her head, his calf pressing against her neck, trapping her in place. His heel digs into her shoulder blade, his small body surprisingly strong. "Ah-ah, Mrs. Tanaka, don't stop now, you're almost there..." He grunts, his hips jerking upward. "Fuck, I'm gonna—"

You watch your mother's eyes widen in panic, her hands slapping weakly at Kenji's legs, but she's pinned. His small body shudders, and he lets out a long, satisfied groan. You can see her throat working, convulsing, struggling to swallow as his cock pulses against her tongue. Cum spills from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin, dripping onto the carpet. Her face is crimson, tears welling in her eyes—not from distress, you realize, but from the sheer overwhelm of having her throat filled while her son watches.

Finally, Kenji's leg relaxes. Mrs. Tanaka pulls back with a wet gasp, cum and spit stringing from her lips to his softening cock. She turns to look at you, her face utterly wrecked—mascara running, drool everywhere, her chest heaving.

"O-oh, sweetie..." she whispers. "Welcome home... H-how was your day...?" She tries her best to wipe the drool and cum from around her mouth.

Kenji stretches, utterly unbothered. "She's getting really good at that. You should be proud of your mom."