John's summer - friend stays in the family home

**For my reader, who left a comment, about how in my stories sons get a bad ending too often. Here is one with a slightly better ending.**

John wakes up to the bathroom door slamming shut on the first floor, and he hasn't even opened his eyes yet, but he already knows what's coming because this has happened every single morning for twenty-three days in a row.

He rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow, but the walls in this house are paper-thin, so he hears everything.

"YES, KYLE! Fuck your married slut, yes!" — that's his mother's voice, bright and sweet, but now it sounds completely different, soaked in something raw and breathless, though John's already used to Mom being loud when she helps guests.

Kyle is his college roommate, stuck here for the summer because COVID canceled his flight home to Australia, and now Mom has decided it's her sacred duty to make his stay as comfortable as humanly possible.

"YES, you American MILF," Kyle growls back, his voice low and mocking, "you like how my cock pounds you, don't you?"

Then he says something else John can't make out, and then comes the sound of water splashing, and then more slapping sounds and moans — rhythmic, wet, meaty, like someone tenderizing steak in the kitchen, except there's no steak in there, just his mother and a nineteen-year-old guy in the shower stall.

John sits up in bed and stares at Kyle's empty mattress, neatly made, and he thinks: why do I have to listen to this every day, why doesn't Dad say anything, why does Mom act like washing her son's roommate's cock is the same as doing the dishes?

Because if any of my high school buddies who have a crush on her asked to shower with her, she'd tear them a new one so hard their ears would burn for a week.

But this is different somehow, and he can't figure out why.

---

Downstairs he goes, following the wet smacks and muffled screams, and through the crack in the bathroom door he sees the tile floor and his mother's bare, wet knees.

"So, Kyle," her voice purrs, "you said you wanted my little asshole?"

Kyle laughs and John feels his face get hot because he knows he shouldn't be peeking at his own mom like this, but he can't move, he's frozen for one stupid second.

Then he hears her hiss through her teeth, "Kyle, wait, my ass isn't used to your size yet... use some lube."

John spins around and practically flees to the kitchen, where his father Michael is already sitting with a newspaper in his hands — except he's not reading it, he's staring at his phone, same as every morning, not noticing a thing.

---

"Morning, son," Michael says without looking up.

"Dad, they're... Mom's showering Kyle again," John says, and for the first few days he thought his father would explode with rage, but now he knows — he *knows* — there's nothing strange about any of this, and yet his voice still comes out whiny and pathetic.

"So?" Michael lifts his eyes, and his face shows genuine confusion, like John just said grass is green or Mondays suck. "Kyle asks Mom to help him in the shower every morning. What's the big deal?"

"What do you mean, 'what's the big deal'?" John says, and he knows he sounds like a child right now, but he can't help the jealousy bubbling up in his chest — this weird, nameless feeling like Kyle stole something precious from him, something that should have been his. "He's not a kid, Dad. He's nineteen. He can wash his own damn body."

From the bathroom comes a long, strangled moan from his mother, and then her scream: "YES, KYLE, FUCK MY ASSHOLE, FUCK YOUR ANAL SLUT!!!"

Then the wet slapping sounds again, and finally a long, drawn-out groan and Kyle's shout: "YES, TAKE MY CUM, YOU WHORE!"

John freezes with his mouth hanging open because even for him, that sounds way too fucking explicit. Thankfully, the moans and sounds seemed to die down a bit.

---

"John, don't be a child," Michael says, not even glancing toward the hallway. "Kyle just asked Mom to help him. What's strange about that?"

John opens his mouth to say he's never once heard Kyle complain about anything, ever, and he wants to ask something else — but then his mother screams from the shower: "John, make us breakfast, okay? We'll be out soon!"

Her voice breaks after every word, and for some reason John pictures Kyle shoving his tongue down her throat between syllables, and he thinks: *weird, or not?*

But he decides probably not, since Dad doesn't seem concerned.

"See?" Michael says. "Mom wants you to handle breakfast. And here you are, whining about the shower."

John pulls out a frying pan because there's no point arguing, and he starts scrambling eggs, but after a minute he turns to his father and says, "Dad, what about what Mom said earlier?"

"What?" Michael doesn't look up from his phone.

"You know... Mom said... she said Kyle should make her a... a slut..."

John can't even finish the sentence because it sounds so wrong coming out of his mouth, and he feels his cheeks burning bright red.

"Your mother is a very emotional woman," Michael says calmly, turning a page of his newspaper. "She's always been loud about her feelings. Especially during sex."

John doesn't understand why his mom would be having sex with Kyle — wouldn't that mean she's cheating on Dad? — and he's sure something's off here, but the eggs need cooking, so he turns back to the stove and tries not to think about what's happening on the other side of the wall.

---

Soon the bathroom door opens, and his mother steps out wearing only a bathrobe tied crookedly, so he can see her neck covered in red hickeys, her collarbone, her chest — and John looks away immediately because her nipple is visible too, and he swears there are teeth marks around it, little red crescents biting into the soft skin.

He feels his own cock twitch in his jeans, even though he's trying to think about football and homework and anything else.

Behind her comes Kyle, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, and on his neck just below his Adam's apple there's a red mark that looks exactly like a hickey, and he's smiling like he just won the fucking lottery.

Mom sits at the table, Kyle slides in next to her, and John sets the scrambled eggs in front of them.

"Thanks, sweetie, you're so thoughtful," Mom says, and she runs her fingers through John's hair, and her hands smell like Kyle's mint shampoo, and John feels a sharp pang of jealousy for reasons he can't explain.

Kyle eats two bites of eggs, then licks his lips and says to Mom: "Stacy, how about you taste my eggs instead?"

He's not looking at the plate. He's looking under the table.

And Mom nods like he just suggested something completely reasonable, and she starts to slide off her chair.

---

Mom disappears under the tabletop, and two seconds later John hears Kyle lean back in his chair and exhale: "God damn, holy fuck."

Michael sits across from them, turning a page of his newspaper, and John stares at his father's calm face, at his hands holding the paper steady, and John's cock gets so hard inside his jeans that it actually hurts — because his mother is sucking Kyle's dick under the table, he *knows* she is, and he can't stop it, and he shouldn't even try, because what's so weird about it anyway?

"Dad, Mom is... she's under there... with Kyle..." John's voice cracks halfway through, and he feels blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Oh, that," Michael says, looking at his son with a smile like a teacher explaining basic math to a first-grader. "Here's the thing, John. Kyle recently discovered that your mother has a natural gift for sucking cock, and now she needs to practice as much as possible. You've got to develop a talent like that."

John hears the wet, sloppy sounds from under the table, and Kyle moans, his voice getting higher as he says, "Stacy, fuck, don't slow down, swallow me deeper," and Mom hums something in response, and John closes his eyes, but the sounds still crawl into his ears, and he feels his pulse hammering in his groin, his breathing getting heavy.

"So why's she practicing on Kyle and not on you?" John asks, trying to talk over the rhythmic slurping, and he's genuinely surprised by his own question because he's never thought about that before.

"Because she likes Kyle's cock better," Michael says, as simply as if he's commenting on the weather. "And besides, Kyle's a guest. You can't say no to a guest's request. Especially since he's home all day, same as you, while I'm at work — I don't have time to train Mom's talent."

Kyle inhales sharply, noisily, and under the table Mom starts making these guttural sounds like she's ****, and John knows she's about to come because she always does that right before she swallows — and then, after a few seconds, everything goes quiet, and Mom crawls out from under the table.

---

She stands up with wet lips and a shiny chin, and she smiles at John like she just brought in the bread from the kitchen instead of giving head to a nineteen-year-old at the family breakfast table.

Then she walks over to Michael, climbs onto his lap, and kisses him long and slow on the mouth.

Michael closes his eyes and hums with pleasure, and when she pulls back, he licks his lips and says, "Mmm, especially tasty today — like syrup."

"That's not syrup, honey," Mom says, giggling, her cheeks flushing with pride. "That's Kyle."

"Well then," Michael says seriously, "let's thank Kyle."

"Thanks for using my juice," Kyle calls from the table, his face relaxed and smug like a cat who just ate all the cream, and he leans back in his chair without even trying to cover himself, his towel already slipping down.

Michael finishes his breakfast quickly, stands up, ruffles John's hair, and says, "Well, I'm off to work."

He kisses Mom on the cheek and adds, "You two behave. John, look after Mom and Kyle."

Then he puts on his shoes, grabs his keys, and walks out the door.

The moment the lock clicks, Mom drops back to her knees under the table because Kyle says, "Hey, we're not done yet."

John sits there staring at the ceiling, thinking: *nothing strange, nothing strange, Dad said it's normal, Dad himself said it, and Dad didn't look upset, he looked happy, and if Dad's happy then I should be happy too.*

---

John watches his mother slowly lick Kyle's balls, her tongue tracing every fold and crease until Kyle groans and grabs her by the hair, and she doesn't pay any attention to John until she pulls her mouth away for a second and says, "John, clear the table, please."

So he does — he stands up, gathers the plates, carries them to the sink, and when he turns around, Mom already has her mouth full again, and Kyle is staring right at John with a smirk on his face.

Half an hour later, when it's all over and Mom goes to the living room to dry her hair, Kyle yawns, adjusts his pants, gets up from the table, and says, "So, John, video games?"

John follows him to the bedroom, and he's still hard in his pants, but he hopes it'll go away while they play.

---

They're already on the second round when Kyle says, "Listen, let's make this interesting, yeah? Every round's a blowjob from your mom. Winner gets his dick sucked by Stacy. Deal?"

John feels his heart start racing, and a hot wave rolls through his lower belly, and he says, "But that's... my mom... she wouldn't actually..."

"Stacy!" Kyle shouts without looking away from the screen.

Mom appears a minute later in her robe, her hair already brushed, and Kyle explains the rules to her.

She nods and says, "It's no trouble. You're both my boys, and boys need to compete — it's good for their self-esteem."

Then she smiles at John with such warmth that he forgets to breathe for a second.

---

She sits on the floor between their chairs and waits, and her robe falls open at the chest because the belt is tied loosely, and John can see how her nipples stick out through the thin fabric, and even though she definitely caught his stare, she doesn't fix the robe, but instead leans back a little on her heels, spreading her knees just a bit wider so the edge of the robe slips off her thigh and reveals bare skin with no underwear. "So, boys, who's first?" she says, licking her lips slowly. "Watching you play — it's so exciting, you have no idea."

John turns his head to the screen and locks the fuck in and wins the round, his fingers moving across the controller faster than they ever have before because he can feel his mother's eyes on him and something in his chest wants to prove that he's better than Kyle at least at this one thing.

"Wow! Honey, that was so cool!" Mom says, and her voice is high and breathy like she just watched the most amazing thing in the world. "Let me reward you now!"

She crawls over to him on all fours, and her robe drags on the carpet and falls off one shoulder, and when she reaches his chair she doesn't stand up but just stays on her knees between his legs, looking up at him with her wet lips parted and her pupils wide, and unzips his jeans with both hands, pulling down the zipper slowly so he can hear every tooth of the zipper come apart.

She reaches inside his boxers and takes him in her mouth, not gently at first but deep right away, and her tongue presses flat against the underside of his shaft as she pulls back up, and John throws his head against the back of the chair and stares at the ceiling because if he looks down he knows he'll see her eyes watching him, and he'll come in ten seconds instead of thirty.

John closes his eyes and tries to think about anything else, but his mother's mouth is hot and wet, and she's so good at this — she must really have a talent, just like Kyle said — and after a minute she pulls her mouth off and says:

"That's it, sweetheart, don't hold back, fill my filthy incestuous mouth, or you can come on your mommy's face instead — Kyle's trained me so well, let me show you how good your mommy is at taking cum!"

John hears these words and feels everything inside him tighten, because his mother has never talked to him like this before, and it's terrifying and insanely hot at the same time.

Soon John comes with a groan, and Kyle starts another round, and to John's own surprise he wins again, and Kyle immediately throws his controller on the floor and says: "No way, bro! You cheated, there's no fucking way you beat me twice in a row!"

To John's surprise, mom comes to his side immediately, as she shuts Kyle with a kiss on the lips, deep and slow, and when she pulls back she puts her finger on his mouth and says: "Shh, Kyle! My son won fair and square, and now I will blow his cock again like a good slut-mother should, so don't be a sore loser," and she doesn't wait for Kyle to answer before she turns around and crawls back to John's chair on all fours.

Thirsty seconds later, john looks down his mom between his legs taking his cock back in her mouth. This time John doesn't come in three minutes and takes his sweet time enjoying his mom's wonderful talents.

Unsurprisingly, however, Kyle gets bored of watching and he stands up and unzips his pants, letting them fall to his ankles, and John sees his cock for the first time up close in the bright light of the TV screen: it's half again as big as his own, thick and red with a glistening head that still has a smear of mom's lipstick on it from the morning. John watches how Kyle strokes it slowly a few times before slapping mom's ass making her pause on John's cock: "Pants off, Stacey, I want to see if you can do both at the same time."

John watches, hypnotized, as his mother pulls down her shorts and her panties, pulls her mouth off his cock, and says: "Do it, Kyle, fuck your married slut while she sucks her little boy's tiny cock!"

And for some reason this turns John on like crazy, even though after Kyle starts pounding his mother from behind, she stops sucking and just strokes him lazily with her hand while moaning with every thrust.

John feels his orgasm building again, and he comes all over his mother's face — and she's moaning so loud from Kyle's cock that she doesn't even wipe it off.

---

"See how it's done? Fuck, you're so tight, Stacy," Kyle says, and John watches his mother on her hands and knees, Kyle shoving into her, and she's moaning, and John closes his eyes and counts to a hundred, but at forty-seven he hears her scream:

"YES, FUCK ME, FUCK YOUR DIRTY WHORE!"

John opens his eyes and sees Kyle's hips pumping, and his mother's face turned to the side, her lips glistening with spit and his own cum, and she smiles at him — her son — and says:

"It's okay, sweetheart, Mommy's just helping out, Kyle's got such a... such a big cock, he needs to let off some steam."

And there's not a drop of shame or embarrassment in her voice — just care, and this weird kind of pride.

John thinks: *nothing strange, Dad was right, Mom's just helping, and Kyle really has seemed tense lately, and what else is a good hostess supposed to do except offer her mouth and her pussy... and her ass, probably — it's just summer, just vacation, just COVID, just friendly help, and nothing more.*

---

Evening comes, and after dinner Kyle and Mom disappear into the parents' bedroom again, the door closing behind them with the same soft click John has learned to recognize over the past three weeks, a sound that means he won't see either of them for at least an hour or two, depending on how much energy Kyle has left after the day's games.

Through the door, muffled but still clear enough to make his stomach tighten, John hears Mom say, "Put the collar on me, please — I've always dreamed of being fucked like a bitch in heat," and her voice has that breathless quality he used to hear only when she was really happy about something, like when his report card came back with all As.

Kyle laughs and then a moment later something heavy hits the floor, maybe a lamp or a pillow, and Mom says, "Oh, master, fuck, pull that chain! Make me feel like a real bitch," and there's a jingling sound like dog tags shaking, followed by a sharp gasp that cuts off into a moan, and then the rhythmic creaking starts again, faster than before.

John sits in the living room with his father, both of them watching football on the big screen, and from the parents' bedroom come the sounds of sex and squeaking bedsprings, and then Mom screams so loud that even the announcers on TV seem to pause for a second: "YES, KYLE, PUNISH YOUR SLUT, SPANK MY ASS!" and John sees his father take a slow sip of beer without even flinching, his eyes fixed on the quarterback's throw, and for a moment John wonders if he's the only one in the house who hears anything unusual at all.

John turns to his father and asks, "Dad, don't you hear what Mom's doing in there?"

"Of course I hear," Michael says without looking away from the TV. "She's helping Kyle with his dominance issues. He's insecure, can't you see? He needs to feel in control sometimes, to boost his self-esteem. And your mother's a brilliant therapist. She's doing this for purely therapeutic reasons."

"But she said something about a collar and a chain..."

"Well, some therapies incorporate role-playing elements, John," Michael says with a slight smirk. "Don't be a prude. It's the twenty-first century."

John nods because his father looks so calm, so confident, that doubting him seems impossible — and if something were wrong, Dad would have noticed, right? He's the head of the family, he takes care of everyone, and if he says this is normal, then it must be normal.

---

At eleven o'clock, the bedroom door opens and Kyle walks past the living room toward the bathroom.

John sees him through the open doorway: lipstick marks all over his body — chest, stomach, thighs, neck — and his cock is completely red from kisses, and on the head there's a clear lip print, sharp as a tattoo, and John can't look away.

Kyle doesn't close the bathroom door.

John hears him piss, then the tap running, and five minutes later Kyle comes back, so John goes to the bedroom and waits for Kyle to get into bed.

"Kyle," John says in the dark.

"Mmm?"

"Are you fucking my mom? Be honest."

Kyle rolls onto his side and looks at John, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

"What? Don't worry about it, there's nothing going on," Kyle says calmly. "I just asked her to help me shower, and then she saw my hard-on and offered to help with that too, and it just kind of spiraled from there..."

He yawns and scratches his stomach.

"She said to me once: 'Kyle, your cock is so big, I want it inside me, but only if you call me a dirty whore.'"

He yawns again.

"So I'm just helping really. And honestly? She told me she's really grateful, because your dad's dick is like half the size of mine, and she could barely ever come with him."

John says nothing.

The words spin around in his head — about Dad, about half the size, about Mom not being able to finish — and for some reason he feel jealous, and a bit angry again.

Kyle adds, his eyes already closing: "You don't need to know any of this, but since you asked — yeah, I come in her mouth every morning, in her cunt every night, sometimes in her ass before lunch if she's been a good girl. But what's so weird about that, John? Go to sleep. Tomorrow let's play for her pussy, if you want. You'll just need to run out for condoms. No way she'll let you come inside her."

---

Kyle closes his eyes and in a minute he's snoring, and John lies there staring at him, thinking: *Kyle said it's just helping, and they all sound so convincing — Mom, Dad, Kyle — so it's probably true, and probably it's completely normal for a college guy to live in your house and fuck your mother every day, and then you play video games for blowjobs from your mom, and your dad reads the paper and calls it therapy.*

Besides, tomorrow, if he beats Kyle, he'll get to actually have sex with his mother — and that's been his fantasy ever since he got his first boner.

John feels a smile spread across his face, and he falls asleep with that smile, because everything is right, everything is good, and there's nothing strange about this summer at all.

Absolutely nothing.