I get why everyone says my mom is smoking hot. She’s young, and with all the money my dad makes, she doesn’t have much to do all day except work out, tone her body, and look nice. But what most people don’t get is how much of a bitch she can be.
I was in the middle of a videogame with my friend Jon when my mom came home carrying some groceries. She must have gone to the gym beforehand, because she was wearing just her black sports bra, skin tight pants, and looked sweaty.
“Drew, can you help me and get the rest of the groceries from the car?” she called to me. Jon and I were right in the middle of a fierce game.
“In a minute,” I yelled back. She was setting down the groceries on the counter.
“No, Drew, now! The milk is going to go bad.”
“I’m in the middle, mom!” I yelled, but she wasn’t having that. She walked right over and stood in the front of the tv. My view of the screen was now completely obstructed by her sweaty flat midriff.
“Mom!” I yelled, as she bent over and unplugged my console from the wall. Putting one small white hand on her curvy hips defiantly, she pointed at the door to the garage and barked, “Now!”
I grumbled all the way to the car and brought in all the groceries, having to take three trips to do so. She bought so much stuff.
When I got back, she was sitting in my place on the couch, reclining, talking to my friend Jon. My mom had always been very friendly to Jon, probably because as a rich white family, we didn’t have a lot of black people in our personal lives.
I hovered over my mom.
“Did you get them all?” she asked me sternly, and I gritted my teeth and nodded. Only then did she giggle and stand up from the couch.
“Well, I feel all gross; I’m going to take a shower,” she called to us both, walking away towards her room, “Bye Jon.”
“Bye Mrs. Brown,” Jon called back. I sat down in my seat; it was all sticky and wet from my mom’s sweaty bare body.
“Fucking bitch,” I mumbled to my friend, “She always fucks everything up.”
“I didn’t really mind,” my friend returned, grinning, “I like talking to her.”
“Yeah, yeah, your stupid crush.”
“It’s not a stupid crush,” Jon said, “Your mom is a fine piece of white meat, Drew. Did you see her body in that sports bra? She’s got an amazing toned stomach, like some kind of beach volleyball player. And the jiggle in that tight elastic bra was like she was fucking going through puberty. Not to mention that juicy ass of hers, warm and ripe like a goddamn fuckable peach. I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of those cheeks.”
“Shut up. You treat her like she’s some hottie from our school, but she’s not, she’s just my bitch mom.”
“Yeah, your bitch mom who I’d like to grab by her curly brown hair and make moan.”
“Damn, you’re really mad, aren’t you?”
“She just orders me around and then responds so disproportionately.”
The sound of her turning on the shower echoed through the room. You could tell Jon was imagining her taking off her sticky gym clothes and running her soft white body under the steamy hot water.
“Well, have you ever tried to do something about it?” Jon asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If you don’t like the way she treats you, have you tried to do something about it?”
“Not fucking really,” I offered, “My dad is always out of town on business, I haven’t seen him in a month so there’s nothing I can really say to him. And since she provides my fucking bed, and cooks my meals, and gives me all my money, I don’t see what else I could do.”
“Have you tried something, well, a little more covert?” Jon grinned.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, quizzically.
“You could always fuck with her secretly,” he suggested, “Fart on her pillow. Piss in her shampoo. Cum in her food.”
“That’s fucking disgusting,” I told him, “I’m not cumming in my mom’s food.”
“I’ll do it,” Jon offered a little too eagerly, standing up from his seat and heading to the kitchen. “This is your mom’s coconut milk, right? The one only she drinks?”
“Yeah,” I said, still unsure of what to think as he walked back to the couch carrying it, “It’s not like there’s anyone in this house but me and her, and I’m not drinking any of that healthy crap.”
“That’s good,” he said, sitting back down, “Just let me take care of it then.”
I don’t know why I wasn’t more surprised when Jon whipped out his dick right there. I had never seen my friend’s penis before, but since he was black, I guess I always just expected it was on the larger side. He seemed to have no shame about pouring a little of the milk into his palm and beginning to stroke fiercely his soft black cock.
I opened my mouth to start to offer an objection, but Jon shushed me down. I shrugged. Maybe this would be funny.
For a while, the only sounds were the running hot water, some small echoes of her high pitched singing voice as she washed her body, and the rhythmic slap as Jon beat his meat across from me.
Jon finally broke the silence, asking me strainedly, “Can you hand me that?” He was pointing at a framed photo on the table beside me.
“Uhh, sure,” I said, grabbing it. It was a photo of my mom from the summer, her brown curly hair at her shoulder, big sunglasses over her face, and she was completely bare save for a striking blue bikini that left most of her white fit body exposed.
I handed the image of my mom to my friend, and he licked his lips staring at it. The whoosh of his hand on his cock became louder. I tapped my fingers, waiting patiently and watching my friend beat off, until he flashed me a smile.
“Here we go,” he said, dipping the head of his hard cock into the mouth of the coconut milk jug. Stroking just softly at the base, he writhed his legs and began to cum, and I could hear the splash as the jets of cum hit the liquid in the container, splash after splash after splash.
With the sounds of my mom’s shower still present, he removed his softening cock from the milk jug, and wiped the excess jizz on its lips. “Just making sure we get it all in,” he reassured me.
Putting the cap back onto the jug, he shook it a few times vigorously before putting his spent cock back in his pants and zipping up.
“Perfect,” he said, standing up to return the jug to the refrigerator, “Just wait until she drinks this.”
I allowed myself a hearty laugh. Whatever reservations I had had, they seemed to disappear when I realized how funny this secret punishment would be.