I knew my boyfriend was fooling around with his mom, and I loved it - Part 2

At twenty-years-old, I didn’t know the official meaning of “edging.” But the first day I spent at Dave’s cottage, with his mom, burned the dictionary definition into my tortured loins.

The torture started at sunrise. Their flirting started innocently.

Dave drove. His mom was on navigation duty, riding shotgun, supplying the lefts and rights as we escaped the city for farmland and then beautiful, densely green forest. Her duties also included:

Singing cutely along to the oldies radio station

Pointing to her favorite scenic spots, asking if I’d been, and promising to take me one day

Thanking her son profusely for making the two-hour drive, and showing her gratitude with her hand, placed on his thigh

(First, for an appreciative squeeze)

(Then, just because, without ever removing it)

I barely took my eyes off that hand.

I watched it rub my boyfriend’s thigh slowly—so subtly you’d miss the caress if you weren’t obsessively staring. I remember clutching my little travel bag, where I kept spare clothes and a (frankly daring) black bikini, and realizing an hour into her motherly caress that I’d been squeezing the bag like a stress ball.

My stomach felt pretty much the same. I couldn’t believe Dave “forgot” to mention his weekend getaways with his mom. My insides churned with the strangest mix of jealousy and desire—shocked that something might be going on behind my back, totally aware I could never compete, and yet desperate for them to keep going.

I went into that weekend needing to know the truth and not sure how I’d feel when I found out. I was the one who’d wanted this. But I never thought it would really happen.

“When we get to the cottage, you kick your feet up and we’ll get dinner ready,” she said to Dave, then looked back at me. “Emily and I will take care of our man, won’t we?”

I smiled, said something about doing my best not to set the kitchen on fire, and melted when she laughed. We hit a rough gravel road, and even her modest top couldn’t hide the involuntary bounce of her breasts. While we drove and chatted, my imagination force-fed an image: of her jiggling underneath my boyfriend when he thrust inside her; I imagined her giving him the same sweet, sunny smile before she finished him in her mouth, worshiping his cock the way only an experienced woman could. I locked eyes with Dave through the rearview mirror. He smiled at me. Before watching the road, he glanced at her jiggle.

Ladies and gentlemen, I squirmed deep into my seat.

Inside the cottage, both Dave and his mom were more playful than usual. He’d tease her, and she’d slap his chest. She complimented his arms when he carried our things inside. When Mrs. Lawson gave me a tour, Dave lay back on the couch, and I swore he was pretending to stare at his phone while ogling her ass.

I was already a little damp between my thighs by the time she showed me the bedrooms. Every inch of the place was perfectly lakeside-cottage-comfy. She explained she was an interior designer “in a past life,” gave that up to have Dave, married his dad, and now used the place, she said, “to spend Mr. Lawson’s money, redesigning for myself. You could say my double-life is out here.”

A barely perceptible sadness tinted words about her old passions. It made me want to hug her. When I told her she’d done a beautiful job, she took charge and got there first: smiling, thanking me, holding me, pressing my head against her breasts and petting my hair appreciatively. A hug as nurturing as it was intimidating, as if she was saying, “You’re lovely, sweetheart, but I’m in charge. This is what a real mommy feels like.”

I remember feeling weak in the knees one moment, surrounded by softness and her gentle floral perfume, and then all the sudden I was hug-less. She was jogging anxiously into the main bedroom, then closed the door behind her.

“I couldn’t remember if I’d cleaned in here!” she said, throwing the door open, palm held out proudly, revealing the immaculate whites of the king-sized bed behind her.

Yes, my imagination ran wild. I wondered just how messy the sheets had been last weekend. I wondered if she’d twisted them in her hands like I so often did when Dave took me from behind. My heart raced.

I nearly screamed when a palm hit the back of my ass.

“Hey, daydreamer,” said Dave. “Don’t get too attached. We’re sleeping in the next room.”

I think he noticed how much the spank affected me, because as we were unpacking in our room, he asked if I was alright.

“Just nervous,” I told him. “I haven’t been away in a while. This is all really great, but different.”

He held me tight and cupped my ass with his big hands. (They were seriously huge, and Dave, if you’re reading this a decade later: I still think about them.) He said something corny with a wink, like, “We’ll make it feel like home tonight.”

I’d already been horny for hours, so I told him to squeeze a little harder. He happily listened and kissed me passionately. I rewarded him: “Good boy,” I said. “Show mommy you love her.”

He was instantly hard. We made out hot and heavy for five tragically short minutes until dinner was ready, then had to stop grinding and sit to eat with this crackling energy between us. I can’t tell you how much I loved having dinners with Mrs. Lawson after we’d used her as roleplay fuel, moments before. That always made me appreciate her beauty even more. I was aching from all these confused, dirty thoughts, basking in her sweetness, convinced that I could hold on no longer and would find any excuse to jump Dave’s bones when we finished eating. I needed dick.

Instead, Mrs. Lawson suggested we all go for a swim. I hope you’re enjoying this torture, Emily. Here’s mommy in a swimsuit. I was going to explode.

The lake was beautiful. It was shimmering orange as sunset approached, coating everything in warm, glowing light. I could hear cicadas, the lilting call of a loon, and the faint conversations of other people on other docks, drinking beers in paradise. But I forgot about all of that as soon as Mrs. Lawson walked down to the water.

The only thing she needed to do to command the attention of everyone on that lake: put one foot in front of the other. She wore a one-piece, black with white polka-dots, that covered most of her curves but also, couldn’t. Her skin was pale and smooth around its edges, making her thick thighs pop. Her breasts were dying to get out, cleavage held high and tight in a bathing suit designed for modesty—but modesty just wasn’t possible with her figure.

She held out her hand for mine, and I threw my shirt off, following her into the cool water in the aforementioned daring (little black) bikini. Some college boys a few docks down must have liked my figure, too, because they whistled at us as we waded in. I was embarrassed, but Mrs. Lawson just laughed and waved to them, like she’d heard it a million times before and had long ago embraced the effect she had on everyone. Dave responded to the call by wrapping his arm around my waist.

And also around his mom’s.

I wondered which of us inspired more jealousy. His affection, his possessiveness, Mrs. Lawson’s body… it was a dangerous combination. I leaned hard into his hold, forgetting myself, petting his beautiful, sculpted chest. I kissed his arm and quickly stopped when I remembered his mom was right there. I knew she wouldn’t be offended—she always looked so pleased when he kissed me, with a tenderness in her eyes normally reserved for weddings or watching Hallmark movies. But I still wanted to be respectful.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, typically open-minded. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides—” she gestured towards the dock that whistled—“I’ve got the frat boys to keep me company.”

I giggled, and held my boyfriend tighter, and felt his kisses pepper the top of my head. I’d missed his touch for most of the day, and from then on, we were much more openly affectionate. It was like we’d been waiting for permission, letting her take charge, hanging on her every word.

While we swam and chatted, Dave’s eyes kept darting to his mom’s body, and my lips kept finding Dave. The three of us laughed, splashed each other, and enjoyed the lake view together. But every time Mrs. Lawson would swim further out, I’d wrap my arms around Dave and kiss him, suffering with frustration. While we made-out, I’d open my eyes a little to find him staring at his mom, swimsuit tucking snugly into her thick, soaking wet cheeks.

Every time I caught him, I felt a shiver down my spine.

Under the water, I wrapped my legs around him and pressed tight against his cock. He was already hard. I whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me you two were spending the weekends here?”

He didn’t answer. He kissed me and gave me his tongue like he wanted me to stop talking. His cock pushed against me, pressing on my clit through my bikini.

I whimpered into his mouth but pulled my lips back, throbbing between my thighs, determined to know the truth. “Your mom looks so hot in a bathing suit,” I whispered, stroking the back of his hair, grinding my hips up and then down against his erection. “Were you jealous when those guys whistled at her?” He swallowed, glanced towards her as she swam, and shrugged, then tried to kiss me again. I placed a finger on his lips and shook my head. “When you two stayed here alone, did anything…?”

Mrs. Lawson’s voice interrupted as she swam back to shore, calling out that we should all get inside before the mosquitoes got worse. We toweled ourselves off, watched an old movie, she excused herself to bed, gave us both a hug, and as soon as Dave closed our bedroom door, the make-out session continued like it had never really stopped.

He threw me on the bed and pulled my soaking wet panties down. I dragged his shirt up and off his head. His teeth sunk into my thighs and his hands shot up to my breasts, gripping as much of them as he possibly could. I arched my back to unclasp my bra, throwing it across the room, grabbing his hair, welcoming his tongue into my pussy like I’d been deprived for months.

His tongue flirted with my clit, flicking so gently they barely touched, then circling it so perfectly I nearly came in those first, passionate seconds. Dave was a generous lover, but inexperienced in those days—before that night, he’d never eaten me out with even half as much skill.

“Where did you…?” I tried to ask, interrupted by a finger arched up towards my G-spot. I covered my moaning mouth. “Where did you learn all this?” I whispered.

His tongue did things I could only barely understand, lost in ecstasy and shock. My nipples were hard between his fingers. My thighs clutched his head and rocked as an oceanic wave of X-rated images crashed against my perverted mind

Had she been teaching him how to eat pussy?

My body learned the beauty of edging at that moment, releasing all my frustrations onto Dave’s tongue, gushing my suspicions or fears or whatever feelings I could vaguely comprehend out of my mind and onto the sheets—brain certain only that, yes, my body wanted this. Yes, cuck me with your mommy.

I grabbed his shoulders and kissed him, tasting my juices off his tongue.

“Please fuck me,” I begged.

He placed his finger to my lips, and he looked at the wall we shared with Mrs. Lawson’s bedroom. I rubbed my calf against his leg, then against his cock. I told him he was amazing and asked if something was wrong.

“Hold on,” he said. “These walls are thin. Like, really thin…” He smiled reassuringly. “And I want to fuck you hard. Let me make sure mom’s asleep.”

I nodded, feeling spoiled but eager for more. He pulled his boxers up, and crept out of the room.

He wasn’t kidding about the thin walls—I heard every footstep he took down that hall towards her bedroom. I heard the slow creaking of her door as he opened it. And then, I’m absolutely certain—even years later certain—I heard his footsteps enter that bedroom, and two muffled voices. A man and a woman.

Then, silence.

A whole minute of it. Then two. Then three. It might have been even longer, I’m not sure, because my mind was racing with questions. The loudest thing in that cottage was my heartbeat, knocking on my chest. My nipples were stiff and my eyes wide as I stared at that shared wall.

Then I heard the two voices again, and the creak of her door closing, and Dave’s footsteps down the hall.

He climbed on top of me, so hard he was bursting out of his boxers.

“What happened?” I asked.

He said, “She was asleep,” and nothing else.

He must have been lying.

He kissed me, grabbing my hair roughly behind my head, pulling his boxers down around his ankles. I moaned as he wrapped his lips around my neck, certain he was keeping something from me, tingling with confused desire as I dug my fingers into his back. My calf wrapped around him, signaling for him to get inside me. Then I rubbed my leg against his thigh, and finally, against his cock.

His cock was wet from top to bottom, like she’d had it in her mouth.

My heart skipped a beat as he pushed himself inside of me. I stared at the ceiling as he fucked me, pounding hard, like he’d been edging all day too and couldn’t wait to find release. His thrusts were loud and wet, soaked in my juices, and maybe his mom’s. I lay there knowing I was second best, cumming while I imagined what had happened in her room, drenching the bed because I could never compete with his mother’s love.

I came when I imagined her sucking his cock, then sending him back to my room.

I came when I imagined her bending over her king-sized bed, wiggling her ass for a quiet and stealthy quickie; getting him rock hard and ready for me.

I came when I realized that Mrs. Lawson’s spit, or maybe even her cum, might be inside me, and I came most intensely when I realized that maybe—just maybe—Dave had crept into her room to ask permission to fuck me.

I snapped out of my daydreams long enough to whisper, “Cum for mommy.” And when I did, he finished instantly. Cumming not-quite-quietly. Moaning into my tits. Seeping his secrets out into my body.

I couldn’t understand why, but I felt closer to him than ever.

We lay together on our sweaty sheets, cuddling and comfortable through the night. While Dave slept, with a big hand resting on my breast, I lay awake, beyond content. I fantasized about the power Mrs. Lawson held over me. Some might find this strange, but it’s true: I felt safe in her hands.

Tomorrow morning, I decided, I’m going to leave them alone together.

I was almost certain they were fucking, so I hatched a plan. I was going to see for myself if I was right.