Story 1 - Mike and Susan. Beginen

Susan

Susie walked home under a thick, heavy night. The two low-alcohol cocktails she’d shared with Jessica still sat warmly in her blood — not enough to make her stumble, but enough to loosen the usual tight knot of caution in her chest. Her phone had died hours ago, and she hadn’t texted her parents. At eighteen she knew she was supposed to be past the stage of sneaking in like a guilty teenager, yet the old reflex was still there. The difference now was that the alcohol made the guilt feel softer, almost distant, while everything else — the cool night air on her bare arms, the faint throb between her legs that had started for no clear reason on the walk home — felt sharper.

She slipped the key into the lock as quietly as she could, eased the door shut, and toed off her shoes. The living room was dark. She set her bag down and started across the carpet on the balls of her feet, already planning the familiar routine: reach her room, peel off the clothes that smelled of Jessica’s apartment, pull on an old T-shirt, pretend she’d been home for hours.

A thin line of light showed under Mike’s door. Soft, rhythmic moans leaked out with it. Porn, obviously. She almost smiled. Typical. Her own room was only a few steps farther down the hall. She should have kept going. Instead her feet turned right, toward their parents’ bedroom, as if the decision had already been made somewhere under the mild buzz of the cocktails.

The door stood half-open. Low creaks and overlapping moans drifted out. Susie’s pulse jumped. She knew what those sounds meant. Her parents had always been physical with each other — they had been young when Mike was born, her mother only a little older than Susie was now — but she had never actually watched. The thought alone sent a slow heat rolling low through her belly. She edged closer until she could see.

Her father lay naked on the bed. Her mother straddled him, also naked, rolling her hips in a steady, deep rhythm. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs moving over the nipples. Their voices mixed in short, open-mouthed sounds.

Susie stood perfectly still in the shadowed hallway, one hand resting against the doorframe. The night-light inside the room was enough; every detail was clear. She watched the way her mother’s thighs flexed, the wet shine where their bodies joined, the tight draw of her father’s balls. A sudden, uninvited image rose: what it would feel like to be the one moving on him. The thought startled her, but the alcohol kept it from scattering. Instead it settled, warm and specific.

Her mother suddenly stopped, dropped forward, and kissed him hard.

“I came. Switch,” she murmured.

He slapped her ass once, not hard. “Off.”

She swung her leg over and sat on the edge of the bed, facing the doorway. It happened too fast for Susie to pull back. She froze, heart slamming, certain she would be seen. Her father stood. His cock rose thick and wet from her mother’s slick, the head still glossy. Susie had seen photos, videos, the clinical diagrams in class. None of them had looked like this — heavy, flushed, alive. An almost physical urge to reach out and close her hand around it moved through her fingers. She stayed where she was, breathing shallowly through her mouth.

He stepped in front of her mother and dragged the head of his cock across her breasts. The nipples tightened visibly. Susie felt her own do the same inside her bra, a tight, aching pull. Without thinking she pressed her palm over one breast, then the other, rubbing slowly through the fabric. The friction was good, but the bra was a barrier she suddenly resented. While she was still working her hand under the edge of the cup, her father turned her mother onto all fours, lined up, and pushed in with one long thrust.

The wet sound of it filled the room. He set a hard, steady pace; each impact of his stomach against her ass was sharp and audible. Her mother’s breasts swung heavily. Susie’s free hand had already slid down her own stomach and under the waistband of her skirt. Her panties were soaked — the fabric clung to her in a way that felt almost obscene. She pushed the material aside and found herself slick, swollen, the outer lips already parted. Two fingertips settled on her clit and moved in small, tight circles. The dual sensation — watching the hard, wet rhythm of her parents and feeling her own body answer — made her knees weaken. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep quiet.

Her mother’s sounds climbed higher, broke, then softened into a continuous, helpless noise as she came again. Her father kept thrusting a few more times, slower, then pulled out. He kissed the small of her back and said, quiet, “Come here.”

She turned, dropped to her knees, and took him into her mouth without hesitation. One hand cradled his balls; the other worked between her own legs. Susie watched the length of him disappear and reappear, shiny with saliva. The muscles in his thighs tightened. He made a low, broken sound, pulled back just enough, and came. Thick ropes of cum struck her mother’s tongue, her cheek, the upper curves of her breasts. Her mother kept her mouth open, eyes half-lidded, and finished herself with quick, hard strokes of her fingers while the last pulses left him.

Susie stayed frozen until they began to slow. Then the fear of being caught finally cut through the heat. She eased backward, turned, and moved down the hall on unsteady legs. Inside her own room she stripped quickly — skirt, top, bra — until she stood in only the wet panties. The mild float of the alcohol still softened the edges of everything, but the ache between her legs was clear and insistent. She needed a shower. Cold, preferably.

The door opened before she could reach for a towel. Her mother stepped in, tying the belt of a thin robe that did almost nothing to hide the drying streaks of cum on her breasts or the wet gleam of the hair between her legs.

“You’re late,” she said, not unkindly.

Susie felt heat climb her throat. The careful plan of slipping in unnoticed was gone.

“I stayed at Jessica’s. We had a couple of those canned cocktails.” The admission came out easier than it would have sober.

Her mother came closer. The edge of the robe brushed the desk; a comb clattered to the floor and rolled under the bed.

“Clumsy of me. Pick that up?”

Susie knelt. The moment she was down, her mother’s hand settled on the curve of her ass, then slid lower, fingers tracing the damp patch on the back of the panties. The touch lasted one heartbeat longer than any accident. A hard shiver ran straight up Susie’s spine and settled as a fresh pulse between her legs. She stayed kneeling, breathing carefully, not sure whether she wanted the hand to stay or to move away.

“You need a shower,” her mother said, voice mild. The hand lifted. “I’m going in now. Come with me if you want. We can talk.”

Susie stood. The residual warmth of the alcohol and the much stronger heat of what she had just watched made the decision simple. She nodded once.

In the bathroom she stripped the last of the wet fabric down her legs and stepped into the stall. Her mother followed, already naked again. Instead of a cloth she poured gel into her palm and began working it over Susie’s shoulders, down her arms, then across her breasts with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Skin here is thin,” she said. “Needs to be handled carefully.”

The soapy palms circled, lifted, brushed the nipples until they stood tight and dark. Susie felt an answering pull deep in her pelvis. On pure impulse she raised her own hands and set them on her mother’s breasts, feeling the soft weight, the still-slick traces of gel and earlier cum. Her mother made a small sound — surprise, then something warmer — and did not step back.

“Do you like that?” her mother asked.

“Yes.” Susie’s voice came out steadier than she expected.

“Want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

A faint smile. “And would you want your father to touch you the same way?”

The question hung in the steam. Susie felt the automatic refusal rise and then dissolve under the combined effects of the alcohol, the residual arousal, and the simple fact of her mother’s hands still moving on her. She didn’t answer at once. Between her legs the pulse had become a thick, continuous ache.

Her mother’s right hand left her breast and slid down the wet plane of her stomach, stopping just above the soft hair.

“You watched us,” she said. Not a question.

Susie met her eyes and nodded. The flush on her face felt hotter than the water.

Her mother leaned in and kissed her — light, open, nothing like a parent’s kiss. At the same time the hand continued lower, parting the folds, finding the slick heat there.

“Did you like what you saw?”

“A lot,” Susie managed. Her hips shifted forward without permission, giving better access.

Two fingers stroked the length of her, then one slipped just inside. It met the thin resistance of her hymen and stopped, applying only the lightest pressure. Susie went still. She knew exactly what the barrier was. She knew her mother felt it too. For a second the choice was clear and sharp: pull away, or stay. The alcohol made the second option feel less dangerous than it should have. She stayed. She even let her thighs open a fraction wider.

Her mother kissed her again, deeper this time. Their nipples dragged against each other. Susie kissed back, tasting steam and the faint sweetness of the cocktails still on her own tongue, and felt the last of her hesitation slide away. This was no longer curiosity. It was want, clear and adult.

Then the fingers withdrew. Her mother stepped back, leaving Susie trembling on the edge of a climax that had been building since the hallway. The sudden absence made her inner muscles clench around nothing. She opened her eyes, breathing hard.

Her mother was already reaching for the washcloth, expression calm, almost fond.

“Go on,” she said. A light, playful slap landed on Susie’s wet ass. “I still need to finish washing. Next time, if you decide you want more, we’ll include you. All right?”