Chapter 42
I had my daughter real young, still half-formed body and head full of dreams. I did one of those stupid things that changes everything, and in a way, I lost my youth right there. Don't get me wrong—she's the best thing that ever happened to me—but being a mom at fourteen ain't easy. While my friends were out living life, I was stuck changing diapers and mixing bottles, watching the years slip away like water.
My family helped, sure, but they made me feel every ounce of the weight of being a mom so early. And her dad… ah, her dad did what guys do best when you need them most: he vanished. Only shows up to bitch about child support.
When my daughter grew up and started dating, I did for her what nobody did for me: I told her the truth. No bullshit, I explained how everything could've been different if I'd just waited a little longer.
She's everything I never was—grounded, calm, in control. And me? At 35, I'm still this woman with fire bubbling inside, trying to act balanced when really, I'm always one step from losing my shit. I never could stick with a relationship for long. Don't know why exactly… maybe my head just doesn't work right. I get too involved, fuck up, and before I know it, I've ruined everything.
It's not like there weren't good guys; there were. But there's this hole in me that's hard to explain—a feeling of stolen youth, freedom I never got to taste. And I ain't here crying over it, 'cause that's not why you're listening to me, right?
What I wanna tell you is something else. It's about a boy. Hot, cocky, the kind that shows up and gets under your skin. He turned up at our place as my daughter's friend. All modern, weird hair, cool clothes, skinny tall drink of water—the typical eighteen-, nineteen-year-old punk. Same age as her.
One look and I knew he wasn't worth the dirt he walked on. He had that stare that strips you bare without asking. Whenever he showed up, I had to cover up or I'd feel exposed. One day when I was wiped out, padding around in a babydoll, I swear to God: that little perv locked himself in the bathroom and jerked off thinking about me.
My daughter kept saying she was into him, that they'd hooked up, that she wanted something real. But it was obvious: he was all about sex. Pure lust, no plans, no direction. But at eighteen, who has that? She was smitten, like any girl that age. But me, hardened by life, I knew that kid wasn't right for her.
The problem was, he'd show up at the house before she got home. Always got back from class a bit early and hung around on the couch, in the kitchen, making small talk. And of course, he never missed a chance to drop a flirty line. He'd say I was pretty, sometimes even "hot." He had this cynical way of complimenting, like he was testing boundaries. And it was in the kitchen, on some random late afternoon, that things started going sideways.
"You been single for a long time? A hot woman like you can't have much free time."
I rolled my eyes, annoyed.
"Stop calling me ma'am, please. Makes me feel old. And yeah, it's been a while… but that's none of your business."
He laughed, with that smirk that got on my nerves.
"No dice. It's gotta be you who doesn't want anybody. There must be a line of guys chasing you."
I looked right into his eyes. I wanted to see how far he'd take this game.
"You hitting on me? What about my daughter, you little shit?"
"Sorry… I don't wanna come off like a jerk. She's amazing, for real. But you… you're way more."
I let out a dry laugh, half not believing what I was hearing.
"You couldn't handle me, kid."
And even saying that, I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. That little bastard was provoking me… and I didn't know if I wanted to run or grab him by the collar.
"And who said I wanna handle you? I wanna lose myself trying…"
The perv said it so casually it froze me. I stopped mid-motion, spoon in hand, pot on the stove, and stared at him. That's when it hit me if this could be worth it. If I'd cross that line—with my daughter in the mix—for a kid with eyes full of lust.
"You wanna fuck me right here? In the kitchen? What if my daughter shows up?" I said, challenging him, not believing his balls.
It wasn't the right answer. Hell, it wasn't even an answer; I just wanted time. Truth? I liked the flirting. It lit me up. If it stayed at that, I'd feel alive again. But of course, fate ain't kind. It sent me the one kid with the guts and the smooth talk to keep pushing.
He stood up slow, like he already knew what he was gonna do. Walked toward me with this irritating confidence. I thought "holy shit, he's really gonna" and before I could decide, he was there. Pinned me against the fridge with a firm, determined push—not rough. I laughed nervously, from surprise, from the heat building.
His body was hot, his scent strong, that young energy pulsing and ready to burst. The feeling of being cornered like that… it lit me up all over. Not fear, something else. A hot shiver down my spine. A warm rush between my legs.
And I let it happen. Didn't say a word. Just stood there, heart pounding, conscience crashing.
He pressed his body against mine, trying to play the stud. Poor thing. Awkward, eager, almost funny. I couldn't hold back the laugh—it was quick, but it slipped out. And that's when he kissed me. No warning, no time. His lips hit mine with that clumsy urgency, and before my body could decide to kiss back, his hands were on my waist, gripping and groping.
For all his boldness, he was just a kid. Inexperienced. Rushed. Hands everywhere, thinking a mature woman gets grabbed quick, with grabby paws and soulless kisses. It was more annoying than hot. More noise than fire.
If this was gonna happen—and right then I knew it was—it'd be my way. And he'd better get ready. That punk was gonna learn, right there in the kitchen, that you don't mess with a real woman. He'd get a wake-up call he'd never forget. And maybe, just maybe, he'd learn how to really touch a body that's known what a real orgasm feels like.
I pulled away firm, shoving his chest until he hit the edge of the table. He almost sat down hard, shocked by my move. I pointed at him, voice steady, no room for jokes:
"You wanna fuck, kid?"
He laughed, thinking he was still in charge. Oh, poor baby. I advanced no nonsense, hand in his shorts, fingers hunting buttons while my eyes locked on his. And him… he could barely hold my gaze. Looked away like a dog that fucked up.
"Look at me!" I grabbed his face and turned it to mine, like a mom scolding. At the same time, my other hand was in his boxers, pulling out the hard meat. "I said look at me."
The grin vanished. His face changed. From cocky to nervous in seconds. He knew the game had turned serious.
"Hope this dick ain't tiny. Your cock small?"
His shorts were open, my hand down there yanking out what he had. He stammered:
"No… it's normal…"
"Normal? You come here busting my balls with a normal dick?"
His pants were on the floor, bunched at his ankles. And the cock, decent size, was in my hand. I gave it a dry stroke, just to see his face. And I did. That look of discomfort, not knowing what to do with a woman who doesn't back down.
"That bad? You giving up on fucking me? Gonna go around saying I suck in bed?"
"N-no ma'am…"
"Then sit on the table."
I pushed him back, and he sat like a good boy. I tied my hair with the band on my wrist, slow, eyes never leaving him. Inside, I was laughing. He wanted to play with fire… now he'd learn what getting burned feels like.
I knelt between his legs calm, like I knew exactly what I was about to do. He looked at me half-trembling, half-thanking his lucky stars. But I wasn't there for sweet—not for teaching.
I gripped his cock firm, felt the weight, the hot texture throbbing in my hand. No teasing, straight to my mouth. And I didn't play nice. Wet my lips, opened wide, and swallowed. First go. Hot, deep, sloppy. Wanted to take it all at once, till he felt the back of my throat squeezing the head. And he did. He flinched right away, gasping, hands clutching the table edge hard.
I sucked hard, with rhythm, making noise on purpose, no shame. Saliva dripping, cock soaked, my mouth sliding up and down like I was starving. Not sensual, urgent. Meant to brand him. Deep throat, tongue pressing underneath, and when I pulled back to the tip, a slow lick on the head just to make him almost lose it. Then back in full force.
He moaned loud, tried to say something, but I didn't let him. Shoved it deep again, sloppy, drawing out his moans like I was sucking every drop of want right out of him.
Until he moaned louder, body tensing, and I felt he was about to cum.
That's when I stopped.
I let the cock slip from my still-wet mouth, took a deep breath, and looked at him calm, like cutting off the sweet at the last spoonful.
"Ah, no..." he whispered, almost desperate.
I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, eyes on his.
"Who said you had permission to cum?"
He was still shaking. Cock throbbing in my hand, hard and wet and confused as hell. And me, cool as ice, with the taste of cum in my mouth.
"That's what you want, right? Go around saying you fucked your girlfriend's mom?" I murmured through clenched teeth, squeezing his cock hard in my hand, pulling him close like I could lead him by it alone. "Then come on. Let's see if you know how to fuck a real woman."
I shoved my shorts and panties down to mid-thigh, feeling the cool air hit my hot pussy. Slid my hand between my legs, checking what I already knew: I was soaked. Hot. Turned on by this madness. Touched myself right there, no shame, two fingers sliding in, and I had to pause to not lose it.
Behind me, he slid off the table slow, dazed, trying to keep up. I just heard his clothes rustling as he got himself together, unsure but totally surrendered.
I leaned on the sink, back to him, arching slow, spreading my cheeks with my hands. The heat rising through me was a mix of anger, lust, and adrenaline. I knew he couldn't handle it.
"Come on. Stick it in my pussy," I said, not looking back, firm as an order. "And pay attention… it's the pussy. If you stick a finger anywhere else, I swear I'll break you in half."
He came up behind and pressed against me slow, like he was still figuring if this was real. His body trembled; I felt it. And his cock, when it brushed my entrance, pulled a loud moan from me, no holding back. My body reacted instant—arched more, bent over the sink with legs spread, open, giving in.
"Stick it in, you bastard," I growled, no patience, desire pulsing in my words.
And he did.
When he entered, slow at first, I felt everything. The heat, the fill, the sweet shock running up my spine. An involuntary smile hit my face, eyes closing slow, almost in awe of what I felt. Braced hard on my elbows so I wouldn't collapse—it was better than I expected, more intense, hotter.
He started moving hard, like he had something to prove, slamming with rush, hunger, all that raw young energy. And for a moment, I let him. Let him thrust, moan, grip my waist like it was the only thing in the world. The whole kitchen seemed to shake with the slaps of our bodies.
I felt the pleasure build, pile up. That thick lust in my gut, spreading through my chest. And before I could get close to climax, he froze behind me, panting, moaning loud, body tight. Hot cum. Deep. Way too fast.
He came inside me.
As expected.
He stayed there a second, breathing like he'd run a marathon, cock still twitching inside. And me? I didn't cum. But I didn't care. What I felt… it was a lot. Too damn good. That pleasure that doesn't need an end—just presence. A body in mine, a moment that was all mine. My control. My wild side.
I stayed there a few seconds, leaning on the sink, feeling the heat drip down my thighs, body still buzzing, chest rising and falling slow. The silence was heavy, thick, broken only by the soft bubble of the beans on the stove. And the smell… a filthy mix of food and sex.
A little smile tugged at my lips. The taste of victory.
He pulled away slow, embarrassed, with that look of someone who knows they bombed and has no words. Eyes down, cheeks red, cock half-soft and slick. Couldn't even look my way.
"Go wash that dick; my daughter's about to get home," I said cold.
Before he turned, I grabbed his face hard, making him look at me.
"See? Never provoke a woman you can't handle."
His eyes darted again, and then it was just the sound of hurried steps down the hall, pants half-up, stumbling over his own feet. Running to the bathroom like a kid who shit themselves. A boy. Exactly what he was. And me, still hot, satisfied, alive.
And the beans… almost burning.