I shouldn’t have barged into her room...

My husband died six years ago and left me well off enough that I needn’t work to make ends meet, so I decided to work, but only half-time, for an organization I liked. Initially, I worked only part-time because I had a ten-year-old daughter to care for. However, even when she became self-sufficient enough a couple years ago when she was 14 that I could have changed to full-time, I didn’t, because I’d come to love the free time I had. I spent the other half ... or more ... of what would have been a full-time job just learning stuff that struck my fancy. I took online courses and attended lectures and talks on topics that interested me, and, living in a major metropolitan area, I had access to a lot of such things. The one other focus of my post-widowing-event life was recovering and maintaining my pre-giving-birth svelte appearance.

On the fateful day I’m going to detail, I had taken public transit to a venue popular with the science crowd to hear a talk on our expanding knowledge about black holes. When I got there, though, I found that a water-main break had caused the talk to be cancelled or, if I got lucky, only postponed to a later date. Since I was close and had plenty of time to kill, I decided to get a cone at my favorite creamery that had a caramel-fudge ice cream to die for. While waiting in line, I considered calling my daughter to let her know I’d be home much earlier than planned but recalled that she and her current boyfriend were going to a concert.

Cone in hand, I sat in the store to enjoy it and did some people-watching through the window. An older teenaged boy caught my attention, at least partly because he looked at least something like my daughter’s current boyfriend who, I could admit to myself, was quite the looker. The boy outside the creamery was in view for well over a minute and I watched him the entire time ... and spent so much subsequent time imagining scenarios involving him that I was surprised by finding myself with no ice cream or cone remaining. I shook my head hard, remonstrating with myself at my fanciful ideas. I mean, what 16-year-old boy would be sexually interested in a much older woman? Well, beyond Beyoncé or Rihanna.

I’d not had sex with another person since my husband died. Admittedly, it had been some time before that, as he was chasing after a power position in the company for which he worked. While he claimed exhaustion from the job, I had been coming to believe that it was a secretary of his that exhausted him, not the job. I didn’t have proof of that by the time he met an (un?)timely jaywalking death. I found that I was not so grieved by his passing, and that caused in me a bit of soul-searching. I wondered if I’d wished him dead. Despite cudgeling my brain, I could not recall a time that I’d wished that or even considered it. I absolved myself of any shame, collected the sizable inheritance, and focused on Kris, my daughter.

I was still thinking about attractive boys, sex, and the combination thereof when I walked back into the house. I’d stowed my purse, removed my attending-talk clothing, and considered, since I was home alone, on going after an orgasm or two with those delicious fantasies I’d concocted in my head while eating ice cream. I opted for later, then donned my usual knocking-around-the-house outfit of a boyshort panty and a half-tee. Kris and I were both casual around the house and she would send a text if she needed to warn me that she’d be bringing her boyfriend, Kendrick, into the house when he dropped her off post-concert.

Kris and I live in opposite ends of the single-story house, a house in which all the communal rooms – kitchen, dining room, living room – were centered. As I approached the kitchen, my mind still thinking about that boy on the street, my attention was wrested from the most recent fantasy by an odd sound I couldn’t place coming from Kris’ wing of the house.

I stood still and listened, but the sound did not repeat. I was just about to turn into the kitchen when the memory of the canceled talk came to mind. Could that sound be caused by a problem with the house? I certainly didn’t want a major water problem with the house, so continued down the hall into Kris’ wing. I looked into the bathroom, on the right side of the hall, but could discern nothing untoward, so opened Kris’ bedroom door to check out her room.

I admit to being stunned by what I saw and to watching, but then one of the two fully naked boys lying on the bed with their legs south of their knees hanging off the bed said, “We have company, Kris.”

I admit to truly not noticing my daughter for some reason I cannot fathom, as she was also naked, and on her knees between the two boys’ sets of legs, leaning over to her right over that boy’s pelvis and obviously had the boy’s penis in her mouth. Even though it may seem from my telling that actual time passed between, first, the speaker’s incredibly calm response to my intrusion and, second, my detailing of the scene, all of it took place at once. The speaker was Kendrick, but he was not the boy on the right.

Kris raised her head abruptly and, with incredible sang-froid, turned to me and asked, “Aren’t you supposed to knock before entering my room?” Obviously seeing what must have been a chin-hanging look of surprise, she added, “I’m sure you’re supposed to knock first. Why are you in here without knocking?”

With that, Kris stood, then asked, “Haven’t you ever seen a girl trying to give two guys orgasms with her mouth?”

While my mind was still lost in ... something, perhaps in the sight of two naked ... penises in one field of view and while it registered Kris’ words, the connections between my brain and virtually all other parts of my body seemed to have been cut. Okay, I admit my brain wasn’t working to spec, either.

I had previously seen exactly three adult or near-adult penises in my life, and my brain insisted on telling me that I had just increased that number by almost 67%. Yes, my brain was certainly not up to spec. At least, it had never been so startlingly calm about anything like this situation, and I wondered ... seriously wondered ... if I was in my bed having the weirdest dream ever. Weirdest ... lust-inducing dream ever. Although my eyes continued to send information about my surroundings ... No, they didn’t send info about my surroundings, only about two naked penises. Two naked, erect penises.

Had I been in anything like my right mind, I might have marveled that both boys’ penises were still erect given the situation of them being with a girl whose mother had just barged into the room in which that girl was trying to fellate both to orgasm. Had I been in anything like my right mind, I might not have wondered if she wanted to get them to orgasm at the same time somehow. Had I been in anything like my right mind, I would have had a screaming fit about the situation or would have fled the scene of the crime and buried my head in the sand.

Instead, my head was in either my left mind or my wrong mind – I’m not sure which, but it began throwing up images to my mind’s eye (I’m not sure if that was the right eye or the left eye) of those two young, erect penises. Those two young, erect penises attached to my daughter’s current boyfriend and a boy I’d never seen before, respectively. Those two young, erect penises that were some two penises – of any sort – more than I’d seen in person in more than six years.

Insistent words – and an insistent nudge – finally broke through my semi-catatonia, although I was greatly confused by those words for some seemingly very long while that was actually not long at all.

“You take Kendrick’s and I’ll take Cy’s. Once we make them cum and their cocks have recovered, they’ll both be able to last longer and then we can ride them and maybe even switch back and forth.”

I was still shaking my head rapidly trying to clear my brain and figure out what my daughter had really said that couldn’t have been what I thought I heard when she added more nonsense that my brain obviously parsed incorrectly.

“I’ve never been close enough to any girlfriend to want to share this with her, but I’ve wanted to have another girl to share with for a while, now. C’mon, Mom. Get with it. Oh, and you have to swallow. No spitting.”

The scene was still quite gauzy in my mind and, at the time, I wasn’t sure why. Of course, after the fact, and I’m not claiming that it excuses my behavior, it seems obvious that my fantasies about that boy on the street were ... enabled ... no, were in lieu of similar thoughts about Kendrick. Obviously, it would be quite incorrect to fantasize about my daughter’s boyfriend ... but now that my mind is not befuddled, those fantasies were certainly about Kendrick.

Then, though, and there... in that room with two young, erect ... and perfectly nice penises, my mind took me on holiday. The next thing I knew, my daughter had divested me of my two clothing items and was gently pushing down on my shoulders. I obeyed and dropped to my knees, moved Kendrick’s knees a little farther apart, then lowered my mouth to his lovely dark erection and ... took the first throbbing cock into my mouth in well over six years.

My mind was still disconnected, at least somewhat, from reality, so I didn’t feel a speck of guilt, instead, exulted at Kendrick’s moan of pleasure my mouth elicited from him. It had been a long time since I’d done that and a bit more since I’d thoroughly enjoyed feeling the power over a guy by having his cock in my mouth. My pussy flooded with moisture, and I dredged every trick, every secret to success at cock-sucking from my past and expended every bit of that knowledge on ... my daughter’s boyfriend’s erection. Even now, just thinking those words sets my pussy afire.

I was reveling in getting Kendrick on the road to orgasm when Kris said, “Mom, let’s switch for a bit.”

I still don’t know why that suggestion sent shivers through me, but it did, and I quickly and exuberantly agreed, so Kris and I switched places and both guys moaned loudly, first at the thought and the situation, then when our two mouths lowered onto the two guys’ cocks.