Holy Fucking Shit: Like Mother, Like Daughter
Copyright© 2025 by The_Fountainhead
Chapter 5: Counter Offers
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5: Counter Offers - A cocky college quarterback comes home for one last wild summer and starts a no-strings fling with his little brother’s ex, eighteen-year-old amusement-park hellcat Holly. What begins as daily reckless sex explodes when Holly’s newly-divorced MILF mother Debbie discovers them—and realizes the filthy dreams that have haunted her for weeks all feature the same twenty-year-old stud now railing her daughter on the family-room couch. Permission is enthusiastically granted, boundaries shatter, and by
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Teenagers Consensual Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Light Bond Rough Spanking Group Sex Orgy Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Facial Fisting Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Voyeurism
Monday, June 24, 10:17 a.m.
The basement smells like sweat and old pizza when I finally crack an eye open. Sunlight slices through the small window, hitting the pile of laundry I keep meaning to do. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, 10:17 a.m. Holly: need ride to salon by 11:30. highlights before shift. plz qb?
I grin, thumb a quick on my way. Last night replays in flashes: Holly’s moans, Debbie’s slap, the way her robe parted just enough to show the curve of her tits. My dick stirs at the memory. Down, boy. Plenty of time for that later.
I roll out of bed, pull on jeans and a faded State tee, splash water on my face. Mom’s voice drifts down the stairs, something about groceries. I yell back that I’m out, grab my keys, and I’m gone before she can ask questions.
Debbie’s car isn’t in the driveway when I pull up two blocks over. Salon opens early on Mondays. Good. Less chance of running into her before I’m ready.
I knock. Holly yanks the door open in a short silk robe, hair a wild mess, eyes bright.
“You’re late,” she says, but she’s grinning.
“By three minutes. You’re welcome.” I step inside, kick the door shut behind me.
She leans against the counter, robe slipping off one shoulder. “You owe me, remember? Fell asleep before you delivered dessert.”
I laugh, low. “Post-orgasm coma’s a real thing.”
“Fix it.” She hops up onto the kitchen counter, legs parting just enough to flash me she’s not wearing panties. “Now.”
Challenge accepted. I drop to my knees, push the robe aside, and bury my face between her thighs. She’s already wet (always is after a good fuck) and tastes like salt and want. Her hands fist my hair, hips rocking against my tongue. I slide two fingers inside, curl them, suck her clit hard. She comes in under two minutes, biting her fist to muffle the cry, thighs clamping around my head.
I stand, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Debt paid.”
She hops down, legs shaky, smacks my ass. “Shower. You smell like pussy.”
“Yours,” I call after her, already heading for the hallway bath.
Twenty minutes later we’re in the truck, windows down, classic rock blasting. Holly fixes lipstick in the visor mirror, cheeks still flushed.
The salon’s quiet when we walk in, just the hum of dryers and the sharp tang of chemicals. Debbie’s at the front desk, writing something in the appointment book. She looks up and freezes. Her eyes flick from Holly to me, then away fast. But not before I catch the flush creeping up her neck.
“Hi, kids,” she says, voice too bright. “Come on back.”
Holly bounces ahead. I follow slow, letting my gaze drag over Debbie’s ass in those tight slacks. She feels it. Her shoulders stiffen.
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