Holy Fucking Shit: Like Mother, Like Daughter
Copyright© 2025 by The_Fountainhead
Chapter 7: Lawn Games
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 7: Lawn Games - 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
Tuesday, June 25, 6:45 a.m.
My alarm hits like a linebacker in the gut. I slap it quiet, roll out of the basement bed, sunlight already slicing through the small window. Two lawns before noon, then Holly. Need her at the park by two, so quick shower at her place, quick fuck, done. I pull on cargo shorts, tank, lace up boots. Mower, trimmer, blower go in the truck bed with a practiced clank. Still half-hard from dreaming about Debbie’s eyes in the mirror yesterday. Focus.
First stop: Patels. Both cars gone, gate unlocked, dog barking from inside. I’m in and out in forty-five. Edges crisp, stripes perfect, clippings dumped. Sweat’s already dripping down my back when I text Holly: noon sharp. be ready.
Second lawn: Mrs. Williams. Pull up at 9:30. House quiet, pool gate cracked. Last week she was topless on a lounger, sunglasses hiding her eyes, tits out like she wanted me to look. Didn’t flinch when I stared.
Doorbell. She answers in a white bikini so small it’s basically dental floss, sheer black cover-up doing jack shit to hide the view. Tanned, toned, late-30s, wedding ring catching the sun. Her skin glistens with oil, nipples hard against the thin fabric, a faint tan line teasing lower.
“Right on time, Shane,” she purrs, voice like honey over gravel, leaning against the doorframe. The cover-up slips off one shoulder, exposing the swell of her breast. “Thought you might skip me after last week.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. W.”
She steps closer, the scent of coconut and chlorine hitting me. “Call me Jenna.” Her fingers brush my forearm, light but deliberate. “And you missed a spot by the pool.”
I grin, voice low. “Show me.”
She turns, hips rolling slow, the cover-up fluttering open with every step. The bikini bottom rides high, showing the curve where ass meets thigh. She leads me around back, past the lounger where she’d been last week. Still damp with her sweat. Bends deep to point at an imaginary patch, ass in my face, the string disappearing between her cheeks.
“Right here,” she whispers, glancing back, eyes dark under lashes. “Think you can handle it?”
“I’ll be sure to get it this time, Mrs. W.”
She straightens slowly, turning to face me, cover-up now completely open, bikini barely containing her. “You work fast,” she murmurs, stepping into my space, her breasts brushing my chest. “Ever take breaks?”
“Depends what’s on the menu.”
She smiles, slow and wicked, tongue tracing her lower lip, then biting it. “The menu changes all the time, but it always has plenty of things to choose from.” Her hand trails down my arm, fingers grazing my hip. “Something hot, something wet, something you’ll want seconds of.”
“I have a couple of other appointments this afternoon,” I reply, stepping closer, voice rough, “so maybe I could check out the menu next week?”
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