Kayla’s House

Kayla stormed into her house, shocked at the gall that her neighbour (what was his name again? Andy? Randy?). How dare he stare at her as if she was a piece of meat. She bet he was in his house that very moment, his pants around his ankles, his dick in his hand.

Ugh. Boys could be so gross! Why couldn't they just grow up?

"Why the sour face?" Kayla's mom said in her airy, distracted voice as Kayla made her way into the kitchen to get a cool drink.

"It's the perv next door," Kayla said, "He was totally staring at me like I was naked. I think his thing was even hard. He's so... ugh." Again the image of her neighbour staring at her, hard dick in his hand, getting himself off. It was horrible.

"Kayla, sweetie," her mother said in a saccharine tone, "What do you expect? He's a young man, and you're outside traipsing around dressed like that. It's not as if you're wearing a burka."

"Mother!" Kayla said, turning the tap on to fill her glass, “Stop victim blaming! Women should be allowed to wear what they want without being treated like a slab of meat!”

“If you don’t want to be seen as a slab of meet,” Kayla’s mother said, her voice somewhat less sweet, “then maybe you shouldn’t be such a cock tease. Now why don’t you bend over the counter and give me a show of that ass?”

“What the fuck?” Kayla spun around to stare at her mother, horrified at what she had just heard. What she saw, though, was far more horrific.

Instead of the mother she had seen when she entered the kitchen, a classy middle aged woman in a long skirt and a blouse engrossed in a romance novel, she saw a classy middle aged woman in a blouse, with shorts around her ankles and a large erect penis between her legs which she was currently and eagerly pumped away as she stared lustily at her daughter.

“What the fuck?!” Kayla said again, her world spinning.