I am Jake's Mom Ch. 03

Mike, Chad, and Brandon have desired their friend's mom for as long as they could remember -- but when a mysterious, black stone is found at the bottom of her swimming pool, their desire takes on a whole new dimension.

Warning reader: This is a story about a dark stone and hidden paths of desire. The story may begin in an idyllic suburban setting, but don't be fooled: This is a story of descent, shifting forms, pleasure, betrayal, and animal instinct.

---

She was wearing sunglasses now.

She strolled out and set the glass on the tray, topped off her glass of lemonade, and made her way to the cabana.

Within the last half hour, Mrs. Moore's walk had been inexplicably washed of decades of feminine refinement. She had suddenly acquired the giddy gait of a college coed and, instead of a sultry sway, her ass bounced back and forth with each step. Mike and Chad eyed her from the pool in suspicion -- and desire.

Mrs. Moore shakily balanced herself at the edge of the cabana. She set her glass down on the table beside it and leaned over the daybed.

"Oh shit!"

Her breasts poured out of her bathing suit. She scrambled to contain them with a forearm. Mike and Chad watched her struggle on all fours, scanning the circumference of her luscious ass and a peek of the breasts beneath her. She giggled nervously at her clumsiness and sat her tight butt down on the day bed.

Brandon could feel Mrs. Moore's ass beneath him, as if his weight was now suspended on a thick, luxurious cushion. A bottle of tanning oil and a short stack of books lay next to her on the bed. She quickly grabbed a book, sat it on her lap, and lay back. Her breasts settled over her chest. They jiggled to the left as she reached a hand to her glass of lemonade. Her fingernails clicked the edge of the glass. She admired her 'painted claws' for a moment and then grabbed the glass and took another gulp of lemonade.

"Are you sure you are okay, Mrs. Moore?"

Mrs. Moore scowled slightly and sweetly whispered an 'mmm hmm.' Michael and Chad peered back, unconvinced. All eyes were on her. She crossed her legs and shifted on her butt, trying to get comfortable.

Chad stepped towards the deep end. "Are you sure you are-"

"Stop asking me if I'm sure I'm okay and go play! Now!" she growled back.

Chad quickly spun around. He gritted his teeth at Mike. Mike shrugged back at him and turned to pull himself from the pool. Water dripped from his body as he made his way to a lounge chair next to the shallow end to sunbathe. He dried off with his towel, put his sunglasses on and leaned back, arms behind his head.

Embarrassed -- and for lack of anything better to do -- Chad began swimming laps.

---

Mrs. Moore scowled at the book she had selected. Aztec Desires. An elaborate painting of a muscle-bound native warrior holding a fainting princess graced the cover. She shrugged and cracked it open and a card, apparently serving as a bookmark, fell from the pages. She held it between two long nails.

OKSANA PSYCHIC READINGS

Mrs. Moore's eyes rolled behind her sunglasses. She flung the card to the daybed.

Brandon opened the book to the page that had been marked and pretended to read while he worked out the next step of his impromptu plan. But before he could get beyond assessing his friend's current locations, his eyes stumbled upon a sentence.

"I know who you are."

The five words startled him and he looked both ways before returning to the passage.

"I know who you are."

She pulled herself up from the floor. "Then let me go -- or I'll have you executed."

Mezatl laughed deeply from his belly and kneeled beside her. The adobe hut was now permeated with his scent, a mix of incense and rare spices. He took the bun of her hair and pulled her head beside his.

"You wouldn't kill the father of your children, would you, princess?"

She gasped and whispered, "I have no children," trying with all of her will to sound offended by the way he was treating her, all the while knowing her voice betrayed the desperate longings of her heart.

He pulled her head back roughly with her hair and stared into her amber eyes.

"You will. Remove your huipil."

She looked at him with fierceness. She wanted to spit in his face. Instead she pulled the tribal blouse over her head, exposing her perky breasts.

The firelight danced across her brown skin. She eyed the growing spear of flesh beneath his loincloth, his words echoing between her ears.

'You will.'

She cupped her breasts in her hands to hide herself from him.

Brandon flung the book to the bed.

Jesus, Mrs. Moore! You read this shit?

Though he found the passage to be complete drivel, something about the book made Brandon feel funny. Mrs. Moore's breasts were buzzing with a faint energy, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to take the two orbs into his hands. He surveyed the pool from the cabana, like a queen assessing her subjects.

Chad was still swimming back and forth across the width of the pool, his wake made the water lap hard against the pool walls.

And Mike? Mike was lounging -- but his eyes were obscured by his sunglasses.

Fuck it.

Brandon settled his lithe hands on his shoulders and, pretending to stretch, slowly rolled them down the body he inhabited, exhaling steadily, feeling the curve of her breasts, the indentation of her nipples in the palms of her hands as they rolled past, her tight belly, the string of her bathing suit bottoms, her generous thighs.

She inhaled a shaky breath.

This body. It's exquisite.

She looked back to the book, wondering what happened to the Aztec Princess next. Will Mezl-whatsit fuck her? Impregnate her? She flexed the muscles in her pelvis. What would that even feel like? She eyed the lusty couple on the cover. Her heart began to beat faster. She swallowed and turned the book over.

Reading is definitely out.

Reeling from her explorations, she lay back in the daybed and pulled the cord dangling behind her. A canopy opened revealing the afternoon sun. She could feel its heat over her body. It felt wonderful.

I will sunbathe instead, she told herself.

It was then it hit her.

The perfect way to get back at Mike.

---

"Chad. Oh, Chad!" She called out from the cabana.

Chad stopped swimming and yelled from the shallow end of the pool. "Yes, Mrs. Moore."

"Would you mind rubbing this oil on my back for me? I want to get a nice tan today."

Chad froze. And swallowed. "Um, uh..."

She looked at Mike behind her sunglasses. He had turned his head slightly from his own sunbathing and squinted towards her. She could barely contain her laughter. Her smile grew wide. That's right, Mike!

Chad continued to stammer, looking lost, like a sailor stranded in open water after a shipwreck.

She sat up and her suit shifted, struggling to hold in her breasts. "Hurry up, Chad! I want to take advantage of all of this sun!"

Chad took a step backward. "Uh. But." He searched for an excuse. He turned to Mike warily. And, then, just as quickly as it hit him -- he said it, in a deluge:

"Mike will do it for you I'm going to go look for Brandon now."

Chad rushed out of the pool so fast it looked like he was walking on water. He grabbed his towel and flip flops and hopped deep into the foliage surrounding the pool. She watched his escape in horror.

She looked back at Mike who was already lifting himself from his lounge chair.

Fuck.

"Mike! That's okay, you don't have to go to the trouble of..."

"It's no trouble, Miss Moore." Mike stretched and strutted towards her languidly.

"I've changed my mind. I may just go inside."

Mike smiled dryly as he approached. "You want to take advantage of all this sun."

Fucking hell.

She crossed her arms, trying hard to hide her bulging cleavage -- to no avail. Mike stepped up to the cabana and grabbed the bottle of oil.

"Okay. Roll over."

"Mike, I don't-"

"Now!"

She sighed and fell to her side, with her arms still crossed over her chest.

"All the way over."

"Hmmph."

---

She could feel an imposing impression in the daybed as he sat down beside her. She listened as Mike opened the cap on the oil and squeezed it into his hands, setting the bottle down slowly to rub his hands together. Warming the oil.

She waited, begrudgingly.

She felt Mike's broad hands settle into her upper back. He pressed into her shoulders. Drops of oil ran down her arms and he retrieved them with a sweep of his hand. He rubbed them back into her shoulders.

She turned her head and eyed him with a side glance. "That should do it. Thank you, Mike." He ignored her and pressed in harder with his large hands. She rolled her eyes. A massage. Brilliant. Just brilliant, Mike.

He pushed a thumb into her back.

"Ow, Mike! Ow." She writhed in the chair. Her breasts billowed beneath her.

"You have a huge knot, Mrs. Moore. I need to work it out."

"I don't want you to work it -- Ow!" Mike dug his thumb into the spot again, harder. She growled at him but he kept firm, unrelenting pressure on the area and continued digging.

"You are really tense, Mrs. Moore."

"I am not."

"Yes. You are." He dug his thumb in again and she moaned in pain. "If you relax, it won't hurt so much." She breathed in and tried to relax her muscles. Mike's held firm. Waiting. Gradually, she gave in to the pain.

"That a girl. Now let me do my work."

Mike worked the knot and the pain began to dissipate. She breathed in deeply. It felt kind of nice -- until she noticed a pull of the strings supporting her bathing suit top. She panicked, lifting herself up again, only to realize her suit had been left behind. It lay flat over the daybed and her breasts now swung freely below her.

"Oh fuck, what now?"

"I can't oil your bathing suit, Mrs. Moore."

She fell to the bed blushing and pressed her breasts into the cushion beneath her. "You tie that back right now!"

"No. You want an even tan."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. This was not how it was supposed to be. She should have known Chad would have pussied out.

Mike continued to massage down her back as she stewed. Things could be worse. If she was on her belly there was nothing to worry about. Plus, she was basically forcing Mike to serve her, to do her bidding, as her slave.

"How does it feel?"

"Shhh." She pointed to her back with a regal air and relaxed into the daybed.

---

After ten minutes, he lifted his hands from her back. She let out a faint whine. She wasn't ready for him to stop. Her disappointment only lasted a second, ears perking up happily when she heard him squirted more oil into his hands.

His hands settled around her thick thighs.

Damn, that feels good.

She let him work his way down her legs, losing herself in all the attention.

When Mike eventually pushed his fingers beneath her suit bottoms to massage her ass, she only offered a symbolic protest -- a slight grumble -- but made no attempt to stop him. God, my ass is big. She could feel how Mike's large hands could barely contain her tight cheeks. When he pressed into them, her pubis pushed into the cushion beneath her. Flat. Flush with the cushion.

Something about Mike's strong hands made her body feel real, as if his hands were sculpting her generous curves out of clay, forming them, setting their generous boundaries. She welcomed the feeling, especially over her plump ass.

She savored the attention.

She gave in to it.

She dozed off.

---

"Turn over."

"Mmm?" She lifted her head drowsily and flipped over, leaving her bathing suit top beneath her. Her large breasts settled on her chest. The sun felt warm against her body. Every exposed inch of her worshipped it.

She squinted her eyes through the sun. "That felt great, Mike." She closed her eyes.

His hand rested high on her upper thigh. "I'm glad, Mrs. Moore."

"Now go get me some more lemona-"

Something firm and wet pressed into her left breast.

She opened her eyes.

She opened them wider.

"Oh. Fuck! What are you doing?"

---

Her hands clung to the daybed.

Mike was leaning over her, his breath hot against her skin.

He weaved his tongue around the nipple of her left breast. She watched, frozen in terror.

Terror at what Mike was doing. Terror at how much the sight of a tongue traveling over the contour of Mrs. Moore's breast turned her on.

She gazed at the impression where Mike's tongue met her flesh. As his tongue circled her nipple, the impression -- the tension -- moved with it; the area of flesh left behind returned to normal with no evidence Mike's tongue had been there, except for the feeling of the summer breeze over the light glaze of saliva that led to the next area of stimulation.

She compared it to the tension now building within Mrs. Moore's body. It was the tension of arousal -- a tension without release. When Mike's tongue lifted, it lingered, and when his tongue pushed back into her breast the tension resumed its build within her. She was taken in its dangerous progression; arousal radiated in the generous flesh of Mrs. Moore's breasts and through her tight tummy, down into her thighs and into the threshold they protected. She pressed her thighs together and her heat radiated between them. Mike's tongue continued circumnavigating her nipple, slowly, rolling over the small bumps that surrounded it, using the darker flesh of her areola as a guide.

She exhaled -- the air rolling over her vocal cords resonated a slight, shaky moan. Neither had ever heard Mrs. Moore make a sound quite like this -- and it immediately turned both of them on. Her neglected nipple swelled, inviting attention, making known it was there and ready to be to be played with. Her other nipple hardened in agreement as Mike's tongue grew closer, but he pulled away to trace her areola once more. She moaned again. Louder. The meager distance between tongue and nipple was pure agony. Brandon felt Ms. Moore's pussy swelling between her thighs -- growing wet in expectation. Preparation.

"Mike, please. The massage was nice. But this...this is too much." Her nipples were painfully hard. Her breath shallow. Her voice uncertain. "We should stop. We should." She moaned. "Stop."

Mike kept his attention on her orb, pulling away for a moment to speak.

"Then why aren't you stopping me?"

He settled his lips around her nipple, gripping it firmly, and flicked his tongue.

She moaned, damned by his retort.

Why wasn't she stopping him?

He grabbed her other beast with a broad grip and held it firm. Her nipple poked between his fingers and he pushed them together to pinch it between them.

"Mmmm!"

She shifted her ample butt in the lounge chair. Brandon's nipples had never been so sensitive; Mrs. Moore's nipples were a different story: they longed to be touched. They needed to be touched. Mike had given her a long massage. Perhaps this was his reward? One he had taken for himself, in all fairness, but a reward all the same. A small reward. Her left breast could be licked, and her right could be fondled -- but the line would be drawn there. She would allow it. Mike could enjoy himself for a few more seconds, and then enough would be enough. She settled into the fleeting calm of this resolution, savoring the last moments of guilty pleasure. She closed her eyes.

Above them, a billowing white cloud moved over the sun, instantly casting an ominous shadow over the pool and their bodies. Mike leaned forward, pulling her other breast towards him. She opened her eyes and watched in horror, as Mike's eyes locked on the engorged and neglected nipple that tipped her melonous orb of flesh.

"Mike..."

Mike hovered over her other nipple and flicked his tongue to greet it. Her nerves fired. Oxytocin flooded through her body. The line she had drawn was crossed with such a speed that it faded out of her minds view in an instant.

She suddenly understood, as well as she could through her arousal, something altogether new and horrifying about the tension: There was no clear separation between fighting and giving in. There were no lines. There would be no steady progression. Mrs. Moore's body was not of mind alone; but a complex interaction of impulses, hormones, desires. Human conscience. Animal nature. A touch of the breast was not an action independent of consequences. A nipple given the right attention could lead to other reactions: Her breasts responded to the heat of Mike's touch. Her pussy was doing the same without any attention.

She looked skyward, eyes darting side to side, as if searching for answers -- for reality. But the only reality was Mike's lips around her nipple. His tongue teasing it. Playing with her. Mike groped her other breast roughly. She let him. The massive cloud continued its slow passage above them. She could smell her sweetness in the air.

A darkness was spreading in the strip of red nylon that cut between Mrs. Moore's thighs. The fabric was saturated and wet, as if she had taken a dip in the pool. She released her thighs. Spread them. The suit cut uncomfortably around her crotch, accentuating a prominent camel toe.

It needs to come off.

As if responding to her assessment, Mike's left hand released her nipple and inched lower, over her body, stroking down her side and over her thigh. Tucking his hand into the space between her thigh and pubic mound, he hooked two fingers beneath the fabric of her bathing suit bottoms. He pulled the fabric out. Then over. Exposing Ms. Moore's crotch. Her wet pussy gushing at its center. He settled her panties into the gap between her thigh on the other side of her mound. Her lighter skin revealed from beneath the suit shown bright even in the diffuse light created by the cloud. Her wispy line of blonde pubic hair glistened. She could feel the summer breeze blowing over it. It was intoxicating -- so intoxicating that she didn't realize a vulnerability had been exposed until it was too late.

Her body snatched forward at her waist.

Her breasts pushed into Mike's face.

Her mouth opened in a silent cry.

What is that?

She had felt her lips spread between her thighs.

Something...inside...

Mike pulled his fingers out and pressed in again; her glistening folds coating them a second time, invitingly, begging his fingers to slip deeper into her. She squeezed her muscles, caressing the broad joints of Mike's digits, feeling the curious pressure they created inside of her. Brandon looked down at his pelvis through Mrs. Moore's trembling eyelashes, half expecting to see his hard penis completely engorged in pleasure, half expecting to wake up from a dream. Instead her eyes saw Mike's hand pressed against her smooth crotch. Two fingers curled into his palm, his other two missing, within her, her lips spread, accepting them. Mike pulled his fingers back and she watched her labia follow, as if coaxing his fingers to enter her again. She spread her thighs and fell back to the daybed reeling, the image and sensation burning itself into her mind.