Kill time at home (the girls make a move)

You head on home, the Sunday afternoon sun slanting through your car windows. "Hi Mom!" you say.

"Hi Tom!" she says. "I'm out tonight," she says. "I left dinner for you and Madison in the fridge."

"That's great, thanks Mom," you say. "I'm gonna take it easy this afternoon, still gotta do my laundry."

The college laundromat was fast and efficient. You could run a couple loads in parallel. But the washing machine at home was free, and nobody was going to kick your clothes on the floor. Well, maybe nobody.

You strip your clothes into the washing machine and dump your other dirty clothes on top, adding detergent and setting it up to wash away the smells of Taylor and Mary Forbes that had rubbed in from your skin. You saunter naked up the stairs to find your mom coming out of her bedroom. She has a nice dress on that flatters her figure and carries a fancy handbag.

"You look great, Mom!" you say. "Have a good time!"

"Tom," she scolds. "Clothes on in the house. Put something on." She waves her finger and steps toward the stairs.

When you make a move to hug her, she stiff-arms you and edges past.

"Settle down, Tarzan, no more of that," she says.

But she can't resist a good long glance at your cock as she pushes you away. Maybe you've got another chance.

"Aw, Mom," you say. "But we..."

"Uh-uh," she says. "Bye!"

The dress is just as flattering from behind. Your cock rises to salute her as she walks down the stairs.

The door closes with a thump.

Shrugging, you head into the bathroom and take a shower. Thinking of your mom. She was dressed to kill, where was she going tonight? Thinking of Mary Forbes. How amazingly hot. Thinking of her daughters coming home from college. Damn cute. And thinking of Taylor. Damn, now your sister was crazy for you. Maybe she'd be up for another go after her shift was over. Maybe she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Better rest up.

You dry off, find some soft clothes, and crash out on the couch to wait for the washer. With the faint, thrumming agitation in the distance, you drift off into a nap.