Dinner with Mona and her mom

A lot of hype stacks up days before the dinner; the thought of the event circulates through your head as you go about your life. Practice feels more refreshing, schoolwork seems to get done quicker, and you're just waiting for the night before. When the moon does come out on Friday night, you're in the middle of packing up the last of your necessities. A toothbrush, toothpaste, body-wash, deodorant... you smirk when you find your condoms and lube. You slip those in a secret spot in your traveler's bag. Never know when it might come in handy.

Saturday evening has plopped itself in front of you. You're in the bathroom finalizing a self-inspection. Your short hair is neatly combed-over. Teeth look as white as tissue paper thanks to your good oral hygiene and darker complexion. Dress shirt's tucked into some new dress pants. You look at your luxury watch. Good on time. You finish up and then take your belongings to your sedan's trunk.

The drive over is actually eventful as two car accidents manage to cause a massive delay. Fortunately you planned ahead for this. You reach the Taylor's house with 15 minutes to spare.

You take a deep breath in front of the fancy entrance. You can somewhat see your own reflection through the golden handles. With a bag of white macadamia chocolate chip cookies (you know Mrs. Taylor loves those) in one hand you ring the doorbell.

After what seems to feel like an eternity the door swings open to reveal Anne Taylor, Mona's 37 year-old mother. She looks like a woman straight out of college! You swallow as your eyes drink in the legendary beauty. Her long straight hair rests over her left shoulder. The blonde's eyes, as blue as the sky along with her warm, radiant smile has you feeling flustered. To make you even more uncomfortable down there she's wearing a red blouse that has a black belt underneath her bust. Her nice, big breasts are grandly displayed thanks to a modest cleavage window. You remember being too shy to check her out at your games, the few times she did show up. You kinda regret it now. You want to gawk at her for hours, but you remember that you're here for a nice dinner.

You offer her the bag of cookies.

"Hi Mrs. Taylor. I heard you liked white macadamia chocolate chip cookies, so I brought some for you and Mona," you say with a hint of anxiety.

Her smile widens. "Hey! Oh that's so sweet of you Dutch, thank you so much! Please, come on in. Mona's at the dinner table."

You step in and look around. It feels like the house is made for way more than just 3 people. Pictures of the family, relatives, and even friends are on display. Exotic souvenirs from around the world are in a tall cabinet. There's a grand piano by the winding staircase that, although is dust-free looks like it's rarely played by anyone.

Mrs. Taylor walks past you to put the cookies in the kitchen. As she moves in her designer heels you can't help but look at the her rear. Those tight black pants, they hug her round, firm ass ever so finely. Your cock stirs.

Once she's around the corner you make your way to the dining table. It looks like a huge feast! Mona's just finished putting down the eating utensils when she sees you. Her eyes light up in excitement when she runs to wrap you up in her arms. Whether she's in her cheer uniform or casual wear doesn't matter, she looks amazing as ever. You both hug each other tightly. Feeling her wonderful waist and inhaling her sweet scent is intoxicating. You utter a sigh.

"Was traffic bad?" she looks up at you with that pretty gaze.

"Yup but it doesn't matter, even if there was a tornado or something, nothing would stop me from coming here."

She giggles and breaks the embrace. Mona sits down in her chair and pats the seat to her right which is at the end of the table. You join her. Mrs. Taylor comes through and sits at the head of the table to your right.

She licks her lips. "Let's eat! Dutch, I hope you'll like my cooking."

The first bite of turkey confirms your suspicions that she's an excellent cook. You help yourself to a lot and compliment the woman's cooking.

"Eat up Dutch, I know how much fuel you star athletes need!"

The conversation around the table is pleasant and you do your best to make yourself sound interesting. Mona talks excitedly about her friends' dresses and possible plans after the dance. Everything is going swimmingly, but a part of your mind is drifting off into a naughty place. Whenever Mrs. Taylor gets up and leans forward to get biscuits out of a basket, her exposed cleavage gets close enough to your face for you to appreciate how perfect her breasts are. It doesn't help when Mona leans out of her chair to pick something up. Her cute caboose wiggles enticingly at you.

By the time Mrs. Taylor is talking about how so many boys tried to fight over her in high school and college you realize that you're in a little bit of a rut. Your huge dick is straining to be set free. It's getting bigger, pushing against your pants, almost becoming painful. A voice in the back of your head tells you to do the unthinkable under the table. You figure it's possible, the cloth hanging down over the table should be able to help hide the deed. So the question is which woman will you jerk off to? Or will you try to restrain yourself?