Chapter Text
It was just an ordinary Saturday… the kind where time dribbles by in lukewarm, lazy increments, the house quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of my spoon against the cereal bowl.
I’d just slumped my way into the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing the usual “I’m-not-leaving-the-house” pajamas. Mom was somewhere upstairs, probably getting her morning run in on the treadmill, or maybe just pretending to be productive so she could feel better about binge-watching her shows later.
I remember I was halfway through my second bowl of cereal—the good stuff, with those marshmallows that squeaked between your teeth when you bit down, and then…
DING-DONG!
For a second I just blinked at the wall. Delivery? Too early for pizza. Maybe those shoes Mom impulse-ordered after the third glass of wine last night…
But no, the package at the door wasn’t a box. Or a pizza. Or Mom’s latest “I’ll totally wear these” shoes.
It was… well, a person.
A person, standing right there on the porch, blocking the morning sunlight so that the whole world behind her was just a blurry golden halo and the front hallway felt like a cave. For a second my brain didn’t even process it, just stared at her—the way you stare at a full-on car crash, or the sun.
She was… I don’t even know how to say it without sounding like I’m making shit up. Tall. Like, basketball player tall. And not the gangly kind of tall, but the kind that comes with thighs that could crush a watermelon and arms roped with muscle, like she’d been poured into her clothes and they were holding on for dear life.
Tanned skin, not the fake bake spray-tan orange but this sun-drenched, effortless bronze, like she’d spent her whole life outside doing something very, very physical. Even her hair had that wild, healthy look, dark and glossy, scraped up into a ponytail that made her cheekbones look even sharper, her jaw even more… intense? God, I hate myself for the way I just gawked at her. I probably had cereal stuck to my lip and everything.
And she was smiling at me. Not in a creepy way, but in that confident, easy way that makes you suddenly aware of every awkward inch of your own body and how you’re standing and whether your pajamas are actually see-through in this light. (They are. Fuck.)
“Hey,” she said, voice deep and smooth, totally relaxed. “Is Amanda home, by any chance?”
Amanda. My mom.
My brain flatlined for a second, just long enough for me to realize two things at once: one, that I had no idea who this woman was, and two, that she was packing something in those running shorts.
I mean, there was… a bulge. Not a little accidental wrinkling, not a rolled-up sock or some bunched-up fabric, but something solid, thick and obvious, stretching the shiny athletic fabric in a way that made my own face go hot. My eyes shot up, but I’m pretty sure she saw. She had to have seen.
I stammered something like, “Uh, yeah, she’s here, I think, lemme, just, um…” and fumbled backwards, tripping over my own feet. I could feel her eyes on me, assessing, curious but not exactly friendly. Like she already knew exactly what she wanted from this, from me, from the house. I was just some minor obstacle in the way. I hate how that made me feel: small, stupid, suddenly aware of every flaw and weakness in my body.
She waited, arms folded (and holy shit, those biceps), one hip cocked out, relaxed and predatory, like she could stand there all day. I kept glancing at that bulge because now I couldn’t not see it, and my brain kept looping back: is it a packer? Is it real? Why do I care? Why am I sweating???
I finally managed to yell up the stairs for Mom, voice cracking embarrassingly, and the stranger just smiled wider, like she was enjoying this way too much. I think I even apologized, for nothing, like just existing in the same air as this woman was somehow an inconvenience. I backed away, telling myself not to stare at her legs, or her… y’know, situation, but of course that made it worse. I was standing there, sweating marshmallow milk through my pores, when I heard Mom thunder down the last few stairs.
She burst into the room like she’d been shot out of a cannon, all breathless and glowing, hair still a little frizzy from her treadmill routine. She didn’t even look at me, not really. Her eyes locked straight onto the woman on our porch and she just… lit up. Like, full beam. The kind of smile I hadn’t seen on her face in years—not with me, not even with her wine. The kind of smile that makes you wonder if you’ve ever really made someone happy, or if you’re just some prop in their sitcom rerun life.
The woman (god, I still hadn’t caught her name, I was so fucking useless) leaned against the door frame with her arms crossed, just absolutely owning the space. She had this way of looking at my mom that was… I don’t even know. Familiar? Kind of predatory but also warm, like she could eat you alive and you’d say thank you afterwards. I felt weirdly jealous, which is so stupid I want to punch myself just writing it.
Mom stopped, gaping. Then she actually squealed. Like, hands-to-face, full-on teenager squealing, which was so not her. “Holy shit,” she said, “is that you?!”
The woman grinned, slow and cocky, and dropped her voice even lower. “Hey, stranger. Remember me?”
Mom launched herself across the tile and practically jumped into the woman’s arms. I just stood there with my mouth open, watching as my mom wrapped herself around this sweaty, Amazonian porch goddess like they were in a movie. The woman squeezed her, lifting her a little off the floor, just absolutely manhandling her in front of me. I could see every muscle in her arms flex. She smelled like sunscreen and something sharp and clean, even from here.
“Faye? Oh my god, is that you?!”
They hugged forever, rocking a little on the balls of their feet. When Mom finally pulled away, she was all flushed and giggly. She touched the woman’s (Faye’s?) arm and kept her hand there like she was afraid she’d vanish if she let go. It was honestly wild, seeing her like that. Like she’d just dropped twenty years of stress in one second.
I must’ve been staring, because Mom finally seemed to remember I was in the room. “Nikki, honey, this is Faye!” She was still grinning like an idiot. “She was my roommate in college. Best friend, too—I haven’t seen her in… God, it’s been forever, hasn’t it, Faye?” Her tone got all soft and nostalgic and I suddenly felt even more like some fungus on the wall.
Faye looked over at me, eyebrows up, very obviously checking me out. Not in a gross way, just… noticing, like she was cataloguing every inch. I tried not to shrink into my own skin, but I felt like one of those weird, oversized bugs you find under a trash can, wiggling and exposed, totally powerless. I was just standing there, milk dribbling down my throat, watching these two women do their little reunion squawk, and feeling like a total extra in my own house.
Faye smiled at me, then slid her attention straight back to Mom. “Yeah, it’s really been forever, hasn’t it?” Her voice was all velvet and confidence, like she’d never had an awkward moment in her life. “Kinda wild, actually. I think about you all the time, Mandy. After you left…” Her lips curled, not quite sad, but knowing. “It just wasn’t the same. Nothing was, really.”
Something about the way she said it, slow and heavy, made my stomach kind of twist. Mom’s mouth quirked, and she nodded, looking down at her own hands like she was remembering something she shouldn’t say out loud. “I know. God, I know. College was… I mean, with you, it was insane. Fun. I haven’t had a time like that since. I still tell stories sometimes, you know?” Then Mom did this embarrassed little laugh, her cheeks going all pink. “I miss it. I really do. Sometimes I look back and I can’t believe it ended so fast.”
I just stood there, invisible, like a piece of furniture no one dusted. Because I knew what happened. Mom dropped out because she got pregnant—with me. I was the reason she vanished from her party-girl life and became… well, this. I’m not saying she acts like a martyr, but there’s just always been this bitterness to the way she talks about those years, the parties, the fun, the crazy late nights. Like she’d been yanked out of the world she belonged to and landed somewhere less sparkly, less alive.
And it’s all my fault, isn’t it? I mean, I ruined her youth, didn’t I?
I kept thinking about that, head full of static, but Faye and Mom just breezed right past me, talking like nobody else was in the house at all.
“So what brings you here?” Mom asked, eyes wide, like she was afraid to break the spell. “Are you just passing through?”
Faye shrugged, shifting her weight, and her bulge was just… there. Front and center. I saw Mom clock it, and her eyes flicked away so fast I almost missed it. “I’m in town for a while. Figured it was about time I checked up on you.” She gave Mom this long, slow look that made me shift on my feet, suddenly hyperaware of the air between them. “See how Li’l Sweetie was doing…”
The nickname made Mom do something I’d never seen. She giggled, actually fucking giggled, and her hand flew to her mouth in this totally girlish, helpless way. You’d think she was sixteen, not a mom who yells at me for leaving laundry in the dryer. “God, nobody’s called me that in forever.”
I just… stared. My eyebrows went up totally on instinct. Was this flirting? Was this total Amazonian babe flirting with my mom? In front of me?
…Apparently, yes. This was very much flirting. Mom was blushing and giggling like a Disney princess on bath salts, and Faye just smiled at her like she could eat her alive and make her say thank you. My brain just… fizzled. I wanted to crawl into the fridge and slam the door behind me.
But then Faye, arms still folded and biceps basically exploding out of her sleeves (I swear, even the thread was scared), leaned in a little and asked, “So… where’s the lucky little guy? He around, or is he hiding from me?”
For a second, Mom’s whole happy face flickered, like Faye had just bit into a sore spot, and she cleared her throat. “Oh, uh… actually, we’re not really seeing eye-to-eye right now,” she said, with this little tight-lipped smile. “It’s just been Nikki and me for a while.”
There was a weird pause. Faye’s smile dropped, just for a second, and she frowned—not like she was sad, but like she was disappointed in the universe for not giving her enough toys to break. “That’s a real shame,” she said, slow and deep, eyes still locked on Mom. She shrugged, rolling one shoulder, every muscle bulging like she was posing for a superhero cover. “But honestly? Maybe it’s for the best. That little guy never liked me after I embarrassed him at that party… what was it, the wrestling move?” She grinned, teeth all white and sharp. “Pretty sure he’s still sore about it. Literally.”
Mom cackled. I mean, she actually cackled, then covered her mouth like a kid getting caught swearing. “You were SOOOO strong!” Her eyes got huge, hungry, weirdly dreamy. “Seriously, you could’ve snapped me like a breadstick. Can I…? Is it okay if I see if you’re still as strong as back then?”
Faye didn’t even blink. She just held her arm out, slow and cocky, the bicep flexing huge and hard under the tan skin. “Go ahead, Mandy. Knock yourself out.” Her voice was low and smooth, like she knew exactly what this was doing to Mom, what it was doing to me just standing there, watching this bizarre muscle-worship date unfold in my own goddamn foyer.
And Mom just… melted. She ran her hands slow over Faye’s arm, fingers digging in, squeezing, almost moaning. “Oh my god. Oh my god, you’re like granite! How is that even possible…” She kept stroking up and down, way too long, just totally lost in it. For a second I thought she might just… keep doing it forever, or maybe start licking her biceps or something.
My skin was crawling, but also… something else. Something tight and strange and hot in my chest. I hated it. I hated that maybe I wanted to know what those muscles felt like, too.
I was just standing there, useless, cereal breath and sweat stains, while these two basically dry-humped each other with their eyes (and hands) three feet away. Faye looked at me once, just long enough to make my skin crawl and my face burn, then went right back to Mom, like I was just scenery. I must have looked like a total loser, hunched in the corner, hoping maybe the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
But Faye just grinned, broad and lazy, then said, “Well, if the little guy’s not around to get all territorial… maybe you and I could go out tonight?” She didn’t even look at me when she said it, just kept her eyes glued to Mom’s face, like there was some electric current running between them I could never, ever touch. “Catch up, talk about the good old days. Unless you’re busy?”
She made it sound so casual, but the way she said it—I swear, it was like a challenge. Like she already knew what the answer would be.
Mom practically vibrated on the spot, that teen-girl squeal back in her voice before she even opened her mouth. “Busy? No way. Absolutely not. I’d love that!” She reached out for Faye’s hand, touching it like it might vanish if she wasn’t careful. “Seriously, I can’t even remember the last time I went out and actually had fun with someone I liked. It’s been ages.”
And… yeah. That was my cue to be invisible, I guess. Because Mom turned, aimed her smile at me, and said, “Nikki can handle herself for a few hours, right, honey? She’s old enough to be home alone.”
I kind of wanted to punch a wall. Or myself. Or both. Instead I mumbled, “I’m not a little kid, Mom. You don’t have to say it like that.” It came out way whinier than I meant and immediately my insides shriveled up with shame.
Mom shot me this look, super disappointed, the kind of look that said, ‘why are you ruining this for me?’ Like I was the embarrassing thing in the room.
I just stared at the floor, burning up and wishing I could disappear. I didn’t even know why I was so pissed. Or jealous. Or whatever the fuck this feeling was.
But Faye just kind of laughed, soft and deep, and leaned against the wall like this was her house now. “Eight o’clock work for you, Mandy? I’ll swing by and pick you up.” She winked. “Can’t wait to hang out with Li’l Sweetie again.”
Mom fucking giggled. Again. Like she was sixteen and not, you know, my actual mother. “Eight o’clock, I’ll be ready! Promise.” She was blushing, all glowy and desperate, and I could see her fingers twitching, like she wanted to touch Faye’s arm again but was trying to act normal for my sake. Not that it worked.
Faye flashed her teeth, stepped even closer, and for a second I thought she was going to kiss Mom right there in the hallway. (Would that really be so crazy? At this point, I wouldn’t even be shocked.)
Instead she just smiled, all slow and sure, and said, “Can’t wait.”
And that was that. Plans made. Mom all but floating down the hallway, practically swooning, while I just stood there like the world’s dumbest kitchen ghost, wishing someone would stuff me back in a cereal box and leave me on the pantry shelf forever.
The rest of the day was… I don’t even know. Unhinged? I kept wandering the house, trying to pretend I didn’t hear Mom humming to herself upstairs, opening and closing her closet a million times. She spent, I swear, two full hours just picking out what to wear. Outfits all over her bed, panties and bras and even those little perfume sample cards she only ever used for dates. Which is a joke, because she hasn’t been on a real date in like… what, years? Not since Dad bailed. But now she was up there, tripping over herself, trying to look perfect for Faye.
Do you know how sad that is? I tried not to think about it but it kept leaking in around the edges. I’d catch her in the mirror, fussing with her hair, sucking in her stomach, turning side to side like maybe she could find the version of herself from twenty years ago, the one who mattered. And yeah, I felt guilty. I felt gross for ever making her feel old, or tired, or like she was missing out on anything. I wanted her to go and be happy so bad it almost made me sick. But mostly I just wanted to hide in my room and not see any of it happen.
But. Eight o’clock? She was fucking radiant. She came down the stairs in this little black dress, hair all shiny, lips painted up like she was headed to the goddamn Oscars. I barely recognized her. You wouldn’t believe the difference. Like she’d been dipped in starlight or something. It’s insane what a few hours of hope can do to a human being. Even her voice was different. Flirty? I don’t know, lighter somehow, like her bones had been replaced with helium and she might just float away if I didn’t anchor her at the door.
I had to say something, right? I just stood there gawking until she finally looked at me, all shy and hopeful like she needed my permission to go out and be happy. “You look amazing, Mom,” I blurted, and I meant it, too. She really did. She actually blushed, like maybe she’d forgotten I even existed for a second.
Then it happened.
First there was the rumble, this deep, vibrating growl out on the street, loud enough to rattle the windows and make the silverware in the drawer tremble. I think I even jumped. Mom definitely did. She spun around, eyes wide, face lit up and panicked at the same time. And I swear, for a second she looked exactly like a teenager again, the good kind, the kind with something to look forward to.
We edged out onto the porch together, side by side, and there it was: Faye, straddling the biggest, meanest-looking motorcycle I’d ever seen in real life. It was black and chrome and made this noise like thunder having an orgasm. And Faye was just… perched on it, totally at home, grinning up at us like she’d already won. I mean, if you’d seen her there, black leather jacket and hair blowing wild in the wind, that bulge still so fucking obvious even in the gloom, you’d get it. She looked like trouble. The kind of trouble that sets whole lives on fire and then laughs when you cry about it later. I wanted to run but I couldn’t move. My feet were glued to the porch step next to Mom.
And Mom? Jesus. She just lost her goddamn mind. Full body flinch, hands flying to her face like she was about to burst into tears, or maybe just explode from nostalgia. “Oh my GOD,” she actually squealed, so shrill a neighbor’s lights came on down the street. “You still have the motorcycle!?”
Faye revved the engine, this throaty, bone-shaking sound that made my insides go tight, and then she just grinned even wider, like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. “Same one, babe. Never let me down yet.” The way she said it… I don’t know. I think my knees went a little soft? I tried to laugh but it came out more like a cough. I’m not even into that stuff. Am I? Fuck.
Then she looked at me, eyes flicking up and down, heavy and hot, and winked. Like, a real, slow wink, just for me. “Don’t worry, Nikki. I’ll have your mom home before midnight. Promise.” I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl back into the house and never talk to a human being again. But instead I just waved, this little pathetic flap, and tried to look like I hadn’t been staring at her crotch for the last twelve seconds.
Mom didn’t even notice. She was halfway down the walk already, little black dress flapping in the wind, nearly skipping. She actually tripped once and had to catch herself on the railing. The whole time she was staring at Faye like she was the last cigarette on earth and Mom hadn’t had a smoke in a decade. I swear, I could smell her perfume from here. Or maybe that was just adrenaline.
Faye scooted back on the seat, making this obvious space at the front, and patted it. Hard. Like she was inviting a puppy up onto the couch. “Right here, Mandy,” she called, voice all deep and syrupy. “Sit up here like a good girl.” Then, even louder: “Don’t worry—I’ll hold you tight, make sure you don’t fall.” I think my jaw just… dropped. I didn’t even know adults talked to each other like that. It was so… dirty, even though it wasn’t, not really. But it was. All the air between them crackled.
Mom blushed so hard I thought she’d faint. But she just giggled (again), and did exactly what she was told. She climbed up, her skirt riding way up, and settled herself in front of Faye, who immediately wrapped those giant arms around her waist, pulling her in tight, so close you couldn’t have fit a sheet of paper between them.
I just stood there, half in, half out of the doorway, pretending I wasn’t staring, pretending I wasn’t dying to know exactly what it felt like to have arms like that wrap around you. Faye didn’t hesitate for a second. She just locked her arms over Mom’s waist, not gentle at all, actually squeezing, pulling Mom so tight against her that her little black dress bunched up around her hips. There was an audible gasp from Mom—I heard it, I swear, even over the idling rumble of the bike—and then this weird, thick silence, like all the air had been sucked out of the porch.
And fuck. I could see it, and there’s no way Mom couldn’t feel it. That thick, hard bulge in Faye’s shorts was pressed right against Mom’s ass, right under the hem of her dress, and Faye just grinned like she was getting away with murder. No shame at all. Mom did this little half-twist, biting her lip, cheeks bright pink, and you could actually see the moment when she realized it, too. Her whole body sort of tensed, but not in the “stop” way, more like she was… melting, or something. Like she’d been waiting for this so long that her bones forgot what to do.
I saw her look down, just for a second, and then she leaned back, kind of shivering, until her back was totally flush with Faye’s chest. Faye was so much bigger than her, it almost looked fake. Like my mom was a doll and Faye could just pick her up and do whatever she wanted.
I kept blinking, like maybe if I closed my eyes it would all reset and I could go back to being a normal, non-horny, non-traumatized daughter, but no. Every time I opened them, it got worse. Faye’s hands slid up, palms spreading wide over Mom’s belly, and I could see the way her fingers flexed, digging in just a little, not quite obscene but right on the edge. And Mom just let her. She just sat there, balanced on the seat in front, breathing way too fast, jaw clenched so tight I thought her teeth would crack.
I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to run back inside and slam the door and forget any of this ever happened, but I just stood there, watching my mom squirm on another woman’s lap, dress up, thighs sliding open a little, and Faye’s… god, that bulge, right up against her like it owned her.
Then Faye grabbed the handlebars, all business, and the leather creaked and the bike roared. Mom nearly jumped, but Faye just squeezed her tighter, grinding in, holding her right in place. Mom whimpered. Actually whimpered. I saw her mouth open, eyes wide and glassy, like she was about to come apart right there in front of the whole neighborhood.
They peeled away, noisy as a bomb, and for a second all I could see was the way Faye bent over her, huge and powerful, and the way Mom just… surrendered.
Then they were gone. Just like that. A blip that vanished at the end of the street—into the nighttime air.
I didn’t see mom again until two in the freaking morning.
So much for “I’ll have her home before midnight,” right?
I have no idea where they went. All I know is that I was starting to doze off by the time I heard that motorcycle again.
It was quieter this time. Like, a lot quieter. Not the full-throttle, blast-the-windows-off kind of entrance from earlier, but this sneaky, purring hum that rolled up the street with the lights off. I don’t know why I noticed that, but I did. Maybe I was just so tired my senses were in overdrive, picking up on every little detail and turning it into a threat. Or maybe I wanted to hear it. Maybe part of me wanted to know exactly what kind of shape Mom was in when she got home, after running off into the night with her big, dangerous, bulge-having college friend. God. I’m pathetic.
I could’ve gone downstairs. I should’ve. Pretend I was worried, or something. But the truth is I just… didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to look her in the eye and have to pretend like I didn’t know exactly what was happening out there. It’s easier to hide. So I just curled up on my bed, lights off, phone clutched to my chest like a shield, and listened to the engine cut out.
I waited. I gave it a full minute, maybe more, just lying there and sweating in the dark with my heart beating way too loud. Then, because I’m weak (because I always have to know), I slid out of bed and crept to the window. The night air was cold on my face and it took forever for my eyes to adjust, but there they were at the end of the walkway: Mom and Faye.
Even from my second-story window I could hear everything. Mom’s giggle, bright and slurred and embarrassing, echoing up the porch steps like she didn’t care who heard. The clatter of her heels, unsteady, the way she leaned on Faye’s arm like it was a life raft. Faye was all steady muscle and patience, guiding Mom up the walk with one arm locked around her waist. I could see the way Faye’s hand pressed just a little too low, like she owned her. Like the heat between them was still burning from wherever they’d been.
I don’t want to admit it, but the sight made my stomach twist. I should have closed the window. I should have shut my eyes. But I just… couldn’t.
They paused at the door. Mom swayed, her hair hanging messy around her face, the black dress rumpled and bunched up around her thighs. For a full second they just stood planted there, breathing together, silhouettes blurred by the porch light. Then Mom laughed again, this breathy, wild sound, and she leaned into Faye, actually nuzzling her cheek against that massive arm.
“C’mon,” Mom whispered, loud enough for me to catch it even through glass, “come inside with me? Just for a minute. Please?”
I swear my heart actually stopped. I felt my fingers go numb on the windowsill.
Faye’s voice was lower, softer, but it cut right through me. “You sure, Mandy? Your daughter’s still here. Don’t want to get you in trouble.”
The laugh that came out of my mom was so… desperate, I guess. Giddy and… needy. Like she didn’t care about the fact I was probably listening, or that our neighbors could be peeking through their blinds and see my mother melting into this woman’s arms on the porch. It was embarrassing, and also kind of… I don’t know. Contagious. Like if I stayed too close to the window, I’d catch it, too.
They lurched up closer to the front door together, giggling and off-balance, and for a second there was this weird hush. I could hear Mom breathing, fast and shallow, and then Faye’s voice, a low rumble that tickled straight up my chest even from upstairs: “You sure you want me to come in, Mandy? I feel like I’m already being a bad influence.”
Mom didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, please. Nikki’s asleep by now. Or at least she should be. She won’t hear a thing, not if we’re quiet.” Her voice dropped, soft and hungry. “You remember how to be quiet, right?”
That did something to Faye. I heard her make this deep, dirty purr, almost like she was mimicking the motorcycle or daring Mom to make her louder. “Oh, I remember. Like it was yesterday. You always were the best at sneaking around, weren’t you, Li’l Sweetie?”
I could picture it, the way Mom must have squirmed at that, dress all bunched up, face red hot. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered, but you could tell she loved it. She sounded… oh god, she sounded so turned on. “You make me sound like a little troublemaker. Like I’m still the same as back then.”
Faye didn’t even blink. “You are the same,” she said, voice syrupy and thick. “Still just as beautiful. Still got the cutest ass in the state, too.” And then there was this noise, this thunk and gasp, and I realized Faye had just grabbed a huge handful of Mom’s ass right there inside the doorway.
Mom moaned. Like, not even pretending to be quiet about it. Just this helpless little grunt, throaty and wet. I clapped my hand over my own mouth, dizzy and sick and so fucking weirdly jealous I couldn’t stand it.
But then—I swear I had to shove my knuckle between my teeth to not gasp out loud at this part—I heard Mom say, “You know… it’s too late for you to drive that monster bike home tonight. I won’t let you. Not after all those drinks.” She was panting, breath hot and fast, and you could hear how badly she wanted it. “You should just stay. Here. With me.”
And Faye, god, Faye just rolled right over her with that voice, teasing but so cocky: “Is that an invitation, Mandy? You know I don’t sleep over without a good reason. You might have to tempt me.”
Mom giggled again, this low, dangerous sound, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. “I think I’ve got something hot and juicy for you,” Mom whispered, all throaty and wild and nothing like any version of her I’d ever known.
My whole chest seized up like I’d gotten tasered. I swear I couldn’t even move.
She said it like a challenge, like she wanted Faye to eat her alive right there on the porch, and Faye just… laughed. Not a polite laugh, not a “that’s cute” laugh. A deep, hungry, bone-melting rumble that I could feel vibrating up the wall and into my jaw.
“Hot and juicy, huh?” Faye leaned in, voice going dark and syrupy, each word thick with that same animal confidence. “Someone’s trying to spoil me. Hope you have enough… you remember my appetite, don’t you?”
Mom giggled, shameless, and something banged hard against the door as they tumbled inside, hands everywhere. There was this scrabble of heels and leather and then the click of the lock turning, sharp and final. Like they’d just sealed themselves in together, hiding from the rest of the world. From me.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. For a second the whole house went weirdly silent, every sound gone except the frantic thump of my own heartbeat, hammering up through my ears so loud I thought it would shake the walls.
It probably should have been a relief, the sudden quiet. Like maybe they’d just… go to sleep. But no, what did I do? I crept out of bed, tiptoed across the room, every muscle in my legs tight and twitchy and my hands sweating so much I thought I’d drop the doorknob before I even touched it. Why? Why did I care so much? Why was I so desperate to know what was happening down there?
I’m disgusting. I know that. But I turned the knob and pulled the door open, slowly, steadily, and tried not to whimper. Tried to listen.
Below me, the living room was alive again, just barely. Rustling, giggling, the heavy thump of bodies on the couch in the dark. Then Mom’s voice, soft and high and breathless:
“Faye, God, you weren’t kidding… you really never lost your strength, did you?”
A low, lazy laugh from Faye. “Told you, babe. Strong enough to toss you around all night if you let me.” Something creaked, maybe the couch frame. Then I heard the rustling of some clothes. The clinking of a belt. A pants zipper being unzipped.
Then a gasp, real and helpless, leaking up the stairs and straight into my brain.
“That’s… oh, wow… you’re really…”
“Big?” Faye interrupted, smug and cocky, voice dropping so low it made my skin prickle. “You remember how much you loved that, Mandy? I brought it just for you. You wanna feel it?”
“I already felt it pressing up against me on the motorcycle… and when we were dancing… mmm… it’s just as big as I r-remember from college. Ah… m-maybe it’s even bigger? Fuuuuck… mmm…”
I don’t know why I stayed there, clinging to the edge of my bedroom door, barely breathing, every inch of me alert and shaking. It was like my whole body was a tuning fork and the sound of my mom’s voice, the thick, slow rumble of Faye’s, made me vibrate from the inside out.
“Maybe it really is bigger, Mandy. Maybe you can’t even handle it anymore.” Faye didn’t sound drunk. Just hungry. Confident. Sure of herself in this way that made my spine curl. “Be a good girl like you used to. Open wide for me. That’s right. Show me how much you missed my cock after all those years.”
There was a rustle, a thump, and then a wet, animal sound. Not a polite little kiss or a shy, breathless gasp. It was a slurp. Loud and messy and greedy.
My mom was on her knees. Sucking Faye’s dick.
I almost backed away. I almost shut the door and buried my head under the pillow, but… I couldn’t. I couldn’t even blink. I just stood there, pressing my fingers into the wood until my knuckles went white, listening to the suck and pop of her mouth, the way Faye grunted, slow and low, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“You remember how to do it,” Faye said, quieter but way more dangerous. “You used to suck me off before class. Right here, just like this. Don’t be shy, Mandy. Take it deep. Get your tongue under the head like a good girl. Fuck, there you go. Juuust like that…”
There was a wet gagging sound, a little gasp that shivered up the stairs and crawled under my skin. Then more slurping, messier this time, and my mom’s voice, muffled and desperate: “Mmmph, mmm… fuh, fuhh… oh my god, it’s so…”
“Bigger than you remember?” Faye laughed. Not mean, just… proud. “You used to beg for it. You’d come running back to my room every night, just to suck my dick before study hour. Remember how much you loved it? You loved being my good little cocksleeve, didn’t you? Show me. Show me how fucking hungry you are for it, Mandy.”
Again, the thick, juicy sound of lips and tongue fighting for space around something huge, slick and obscene. My stomach twisted. My mouth was dry. I couldn’t even feel my legs.
I should’ve run. I should’ve done anything but what I did. But no—I crept out of my room, crouched low, every step careful, heart thudding so loud I was sure they’d hear me. I slid my body along the hallway, feeling the chill of the air against my bare arms, until I reached the top of the stairs.
The landing. I could see the couch from here if I leaned just right. I wanted to look away. I couldn’t.
Faye was sprawled back, her thighs wide, running shorts around her knees. The bulge wasn’t just a bulge anymore—it was a fucking monster. I’m not kidding. I don’t know what I expected, hiding on the landing and peeking through the balusters in the dark, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Faye’s cock: thick, brutal, shiny-wet and proud, sticking up from her lap like it wanted to beat the shit out of everything I ever believed about the universe. It curved up, veiny, heavy enough the tip just sort of… lolled there, drooling. Like it was watching my mom, too, daring her to even try.
And Mom… Jesus Christ. Mom was on her knees, right there on the living room carpet, hair all wild and dress hitched up around her hips, hands clumsy and desperate. Every time her head dipped down, I could see her cheeks hollowing, lips stretched shiny and wide around the head of Faye’s dick, and every time she pulled back, there was this obscene, wet pop. She was drooling. Actually drooling, strings of spit hanging from her chin, and she didn’t even care. She just kept going, gulping, swallowing, like she needed it more than air.
I should have looked away. I should have run back upstairs, slammed my bedroom door, and never thought about it again. But I couldn’t. I just… watched. Frozen, crouching with my face pressed to the wood, heart slamming in my chest and my hand shaking so bad I almost knocked over the stupid lamp on the stairwell. I could smell them, even from here. Sweat. Perfume. The thick, salty, dirty smell of sex, rising up the stairs in waves. It was everywhere. It got inside me.
Mom made these noises, too. Little moans, desperate and hungry, every time she took Faye deeper. She was working both hands up and down the shaft, twisting and squeezing, and her mouth was red and raw, lips stretched so wide it had to hurt. She kept choking herself on it, spit bubbling out, mascara running down her face, and every single time she backed off for air, she’d whimper, “God, you’re so fucking big… I missed this, I missed it so much…”
And Faye? All I could see was her thighs, wide and powerful, muscles flexing every time mom did an extra good job. Sometimes she’d reach out, huge hand on the back of Mom’s head, just holding her there, making her take it. Not rough, but… in charge. Like she could do whatever she wanted and Mom would say thank you for it.
And me? I was just… I don’t even know. The world’s sickest pervert. I couldn’t stop staring. My hand was already in my pajama pants before I could even think about it, fingers buried in the heat between my legs, rubbing like I could erase the feeling if I just went hard enough.
I hated myself. God, I fucking hated myself, but I couldn’t stop.
Watching my own mother get throat-fucked by her old college roommate, moaning and gasping and begging for it, and all I could do was grind my palm into my pussy and whimper through my teeth so they wouldn’t make a sound, just humping my own hand like a desperate little pervert, so scared of them hearing me, but even more scared of missing a single second.
It just got worse. Faye grabbed mom by the hair, real tight, and started pumping her hips up, fucking her mouth with these smooth, slow thrusts that made the whole scene way too obscene. Mom just took it. She let Faye do whatever she wanted, kneeling there with her head tilted back, spit and pre-cum pouring out around her lips, bubbles of drool dripping down her chin and onto her chest.
“Fuck, Mandy. You’re still the best little cocksleeve I’ve ever had,” Faye groaned, voice thick and gravelly, every word like it was aimed straight at my clit. “Look how hungry you are for it. God, you never change. You love choking on my cock, don’t you? You love being used like this.”
Mom moaned around it, loud, helpless, the sound all muffled and dirty because her throat was full. Faye started fucking her deeper, not rough but relentless, driving the head past her lips over and over until Mom’s mascara was running and her whole face was a mess. There was this slurping, gasping, juicy sound every time she bottomed out, like she was drowning in Faye’s cock and didn’t even care. She loved it. That’s what broke my brain. She fucking loved it.
I kept grinding my hand into my pussy, not even caring about the mess in my pajamas, just thinking about what it would feel like to have someone grab me like that, make me choke and drool and moan until I forgot my own name. I had to bite the fleshy part of my hand to keep quiet, biting so hard I tasted blood, but it still wasn’t enough. Every time Faye talked, every time Mom whimpered or gagged or made that slutty, desperate sound, my pussy just clenched harder, wetter, hotter.
“C’mon, Mandy, you can take it. Show me that pretty throat. You used to beg for this. Beg for me to fuck your face and fill you up before you went to your little classes. Remember how you’d crawl for it?” Faye was almost growling, voice so low and mean that my legs started shaking. “God, you’re so cute right now. Look at you. You’re drooling all over yourself and you don’t even care. You just want my cock. You’d live down there if I let you.”
Mom made this high, wet noise, something between a sob and a whine, and I swear she started grinding her knees into the carpet, humping the floor like she needed to get off just from Faye’s voice and the taste of her cock. Her eyes were rolled back, her hands clinging to Faye’s huge thighs, just holding on and letting herself get face-fucked.
It should have grossed me out. It should have made me run, but all it did was make my pussy throb harder. I could feel myself dripping, feel the sticky wet mess soaking my fingers, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to cum.
I just wanted to cum and watch my mother get broken open on that monster cock, so I kept my fingers moving, faster, harder, humping into my hand like I was possessed, like if I didn’t get off right then and there I’d shatter into dust. My eyes were locked on the way Faye held Mom’s head. The way her big, veiny dick throbbed in and out of those red, spit-slick lips, and how my mom took it, gagging and drooling, never pulling away even when her face started to go red and snot bubbled out of her nose. God.
The noises… fuck, the noises. Slurping, choking, this sticky, obscene gasp every time Faye drove her hips forward and shoved that fat cock down Mom’s throat. She’d hold Mom there, just holding, both hands tangled in her hair, and Mom’s whole body would tense, hands scrabbling at Faye’s thighs, eyes tearing up, spit spilling out around her lips and down her chin. She couldn’t breathe. I could see it. I could see the panic and the hunger fighting in her face, and every time Faye eased up even a little, gave her half a second of air, Mom just moaned and dived back down again, like she’d die if she stopped.
I was humping myself so hard it hurt, but I didn’t care. I didn’t fucking care. I wanted to cum right as Faye—
“Be a good girl.” Faye’s voice, slow and syrupy, made my pussy clench so hard I almost screamed. “Deepthroat it, Mandy. Come on. All the way down. Just like that. Hold it… yeah, hold it for me…” She was laughing, low and evil, watching my mother’s face as she choked and slobbered, her cheeks sucked in tight around that throbbing shaft. “Fuck, look how cute you are. Whimper for me, li’l sweetie. Show me how much you missed this.”
Mom tried to whine, to do anything, but her throat was too full. Her nose started running for real, thick strings of snot joining the spit and mucus on her lips and chin. She was making these desperate, wet choking sounds, and every time she gagged around the head, a splatter of spit would dribble out, slimy and shining on Faye’s lap and balls. She was a mess. She was a fucking mess, and I’d never seen her so happy.
Faye started pumping her hips faster, more urgent, fucking Mom’s mouth with these brutal, smooth thrusts that made my own thighs shake. I pressed my fingers to my clit, grinding hard, so close it hurt. “Gonna bust in your throat,” Faye growled. “You’d better swallow every drop, Mandy. Suck it down. My nut sludge is coming, and I want to see you choke on it, just like old times…”
Mom’s eyes rolled back. She was retching now, her body jerking every time Faye slammed her face down to the root. Strings of drool and snot splattered over her lips and still she just kept choking herself down onto it, eyes wide, spit shining on her chin, cheeks bunched out around Faye’s cock like she didn’t even care she was drowning herself for it. Faye started pushing her harder, now—not mean, not rough, just… relentless, like she was staking her claim. I could hear every wet, gulping suck, every slippery gag, every whimper. My hand was moving so fast in my pants now it was just a blur and every muscle in my stomach was so tight it felt like I’d snap in half.
“Yeah, just like that,” Faye groaned. “God, Mandy, you’re so fucking good at this. Such a good girl for me. You never forgot. I knew you’d never forget how to swallow my cock… nnngh, fuck…”
Mom just moaned, slobber running down her face, smeared in sticky lines from her nose to her lips. Any normal person would have quit, would have begged for air, but she just… wanted it. She wanted to be used. She wanted Faye to fuck her face until she was nothing but a messy, hungry mess. I could see it in the way she started grinding her hips, rocking herself back and forth on the floor even as she gagged around that monster shaft.
I felt sick. I felt like the worst kind of pervert, hiding upstairs, humping my own fingers while my mother got her throat ruined right in front of me. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was so wet, so desperate, every time Faye groaned or every time Mom whimpered I felt it like a shock straight to my clit.
“Fuck, you’re cute,” Faye said, a real animal growl leaking through. “So desperate for it. That’s my little cocksleeve. You want me to cum in your throat, don’t you? You want to drink my nut like you’re in college again? Mmm… God, you’re such a dirty girl, Mandy… rrrghh…!”
Mom whined, tried to nod with her mouth full, but Faye just slammed her all the way down, holding her there, and then—I saw it—I saw her balls jerk up against Mom’s chin, the shaft swell thicker, almost angry-looking, and then…
Faye started cumming.
I’m not kidding; I thought I’d seen porn before, but nothing prepared me for what happened next. The head of Faye’s cock just… erupted. Spurt after spurt of thick, nasty, pearly-white cum, blasting straight down my mother’s throat so hard you could hear it. Like a gulp, then another, then another, and Mom just… swallowed. She swallowed it all, like she was born for it, no hesitation, no pulling off, just sucking it down in greedy, shivering gulps.
Faye was grunting, full-on animal noises. “Fuck yeah, take it…! Take it, Mandy…! Ah! Be a good girl. Swallow it all! You never let me down. God, you’re perfect! Perfect little cocksleeve, sucking me dry just like old times…!”
Mom couldn’t even breathe. Her face was red, tears pouring down her cheeks in big, helpless streaks, her whole body shuddering with every brutal, wet pump of Faye’s cock. She didn’t even try to wipe her face. If anything, she wanted her mascara to run, wanted to look ruined, wanted to see herself in the mirror tomorrow with black rivers down her cheeks and remember exactly what she did. What Faye did to her.
God.
I lost it. I fucking lost it.
My hips were already grinding into my own hand so hard it hurt. There was nothing left except this coiled, sick heat in my gut, a pressure so intense I thought I’d black out if I didn’t just let go. So I did. I pressed my fingers hard on my clit, rocked up on my toes, and bit the side of my own palm so I wouldn’t scream.
I came. I mean, I really came.
It hit me like a bomb. Like a fucking seizure. I nearly collapsed against the banister, legs buckling, nails digging half-moons into my own skin to keep from making any noise at all. My vision blurred out, this wild, ugly dark bloom at the corners, and all I could hear was the slick, choking mess from downstairs, the wet animal noises of my own mother gagging and swallowing and begging for more. The taste of blood filled my mouth where I’d bitten down so hard, and for one humiliating second I thought I’d actually pissed myself, but no—it was just my cunt gushing, soaking my palm, my wrist, the waistband of my stupid, childish pajama pants.
I humped my hand through it, desperate, greedy, totally unable to stop. Every time Faye’s voice hit that low, mean rumble, I’d shudder and clamp down so tight my knees knocked. I could feel the slick mess coating my fingers, the heat turning my whole body inside out, and it only made me squeeze my hand tighter, grind harder, fuck myself with these pathetic, clumsy little thrusts, like I could drive the shame deeper, drown it out with pleasure if I just came hard enough.
But nothing could touch the feeling. That sick, hollow ache. That jealous twist in my belly, because I wanted to be down there, too, wanted to kneel next to my own mom and see if I could take it—if I could choke and drool and cry for Faye until I was the one getting praised. I wanted to feel Faye’s hands on my head. I wanted to show her I could swallow it all, too.
I came again, raw and aching, my breath hissing through my teeth, my hand jammed against my mouth so hard I felt the bones shift. I wanted to scream. I wanted to die. Instead I just shook and sobbed and humped my palm like the world’s nastiest little pervert, listening to my mother get absolutely destroyed downstairs and knowing I’d never, ever stop wanting it.
I was still twitching there, slumped on the stairs, my pussy throbbing and my hand shaking, when I heard Faye laugh again.
And Mom? She just moaned, low and hungry, and begged for more.
…God help me. I wished I was her.