Chapter 11 FAKING SICK FOR GF'S MOM'S PUSSY (MILF SECRET) pt 2
Henry's POV
Round two started slower, she climbed me, riding me reverse cowgirl so I could watch that ass bounce. She is filthy, tells me exactly how she likes it, how deeply she wants to feel my cock in her. I thumb her while she grinds, and she cums two more times before I flip her and finish inside her this time, no condom, deep, both of us too far gone to care.
We fuck all weekend. Shower sex on Saturday morning, I her pressed against the tiles, my hands full of soap, her boobs wet. We had rough sex on the Kitchen counter Saturday night, she bends over while making sandwiches, and I bang her from behind, laughing when mustard ends up on both of us. And on the Couch Sunday afternoon, slow and sweet, she sat on my cock kissing me tenderly while I play with her hair, slowly grinding, whining her waist, twerking dick.
By Sunday evening, when Clara texts that they’re on their way back, I'm fucking Lina in my bed one last time, I lifted her legs over my shoulder, burying myself deep, both of us sweaty, I got in faster, faster, hitting her pussy walls. “Oh yeah, like that…”
“Ahhhh…You feel so good” I groaned. We hit climax together.
“You know you're in trouble,” she whispers after, tracing my chest.
“You started it with that massage,” I replied playfully.
She laughed, low and sexy. “Liar. You planned this.”
“Maybe a little.”
We cleaned, did lau dry, opened the window to air out the sex smell. She kissed me goodbye at the door, long and deep, my hand squeeze her ass one last time.
“Get better soon, sweetie,” she says loudly, just in case neighbors are listening. Then quieter: “Next time you’re ‘sick,’ text me directly.”
I watched her drive away, already counting down to the next fake cough.
Best weekend of my life, like zero regrets. And yeah, I’m going straight to hell but damn, what a ride.
You're right, my bad. I cut it off too soon. That weekend deserved a proper ending, not just a quick fade out at the door. Let me finish it the way it actually went down, because trust me, Sunday night wasn’t the end of it.
After Lina left, I stood in the doorway like an idiot, watching her car disappear down the street. My apartment smelled like sex, vanilla perfume, and that faint chicken soup scent that somehow made everything dirtier. I took a long shower, trying to wash off the evidence, but every time I closed my eyes I could still feel her nails down my back, hear that little gasp she made when I hit just the right spot.
Clara got home late that night. She danced happily and looking sun-kissed from the lake, she dropped her bag, and hugged me tight.
“You still look rough, babe,” she said, kissing my cheek. “Mom said you were really out of it.”
I faked a cough into my elbow. “Yeah, my throat’s still sore. But the soup helped. Babe, your mom is a lifesaver.”
Clara grinned. “Yeah. She’s the best, she texted me like five times making sure you were eating and drinking water.” She kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch, the same couch where her mom had ridden me slow and sexy just seventy-two hours earlier. I felt my face heat up.
We ordered pizza, watched some dumb Netflix show, and went to bed early. Clara curled into me like always, but I couldn’t sleep. Every time I shifted, I smelled Mrs Selina on the sheets I hadn’t changed yet. I ended up jerking off in the bathroom at 2 a.m., biting my forearm to stay quiet, picturing Lina’s shaven wet pussy, her face when she came with my hand over her mouth so the neighbors wouldn’t hear.
The next week was torture in the best way. Lina started texting me directly, nothing crazy at first. Just “How’s the throat, sweetie?” and “Drink lots of water😉.” Then the winks turned into eggplant emojis. Then voice notes that I had to listen to with headphones because her low, teasing “I can still feel you inside me” nearly made me crash my car one sunny afternoon.
We didn’t get another full weekend alone for almost a month. Clara’s schedule was packed with work and grad school applications, and Mrs Selinahad her own life, yoga classes, book club, whatever divorced MILFs do to look that good. But we stole moments like thieves.
First time was risky as hell: It family dinner at their house two weeks later. Clara’s dad was there (awkward as fuck), plus her little brother. At the table I sat across Lina, trying not to stare while she passed me the potatoes with this innocent smile. Under the tablecloth, though, her bare foot slid up my calf, then higher, toes pressing against my crotch until I was hard enough to hammer nails. I had to fake a coughing fit to excuse myself and jerk off in their guest bathroom, coming into a roll of tissues while staring at the family photo on the wall. Yeah, I’m definitely going to hell.
The real payoff happened early March. Clara had a girl's trip to Miami with her college friends, four days, no boyfriend allowed. The second her plane took off, I got a text from Lina.“Door’s unlocked. Bring condoms this time, bad boy.”
I showed up at her house with a box of condom and a grin I couldn’t wipe off.
She opened the door wearing a silk robe that barely reached mid-thigh, her hair damp from the shower, no makeup, looking even hotter than usual.
“No pretending to be sick this time?” she teased, pulling me inside by my shirt.
“Nope. Just straight up cheating on your daughter with her mom.” It's funny how I didn’t feel guilty.
She laughed, low and dirty and let the robe fall slowly. She wore nothing underneath. I picked her up right there, carried her to the kitchen and ate her out until she was shaking and begging. Then bent her over it and fucked her slow, watching her reflection in the dark window, boobs swinging, mouth open, eyes locked on mine.
We didn’t leave her bedroom for two straight days. We Ordered delivery and showered together. She taught me things Clara too shy to try in the bedroom, how she likes her ass played with, how to fuck her until she is screaming my name, how loud she gets when I pull her hair just right. I learned every inch of her body like a map I never want to fold up.
Sunday morning was the last day before Clara came home, we were lazy in bed. Sun coming through the blinds, her head on my chest, fingers tracing the scratch marks left down my ribs.
“This can’t keep happening,” she said quietly. Not angry, just real.
“I know.”
“We’re awful people.”
“Yep.”
She sat up and looked at me with those green eyes. “But God, you make me feel twentyfive again.”
I kissed her slow, tasting coffee and toothpaste. “You make me feel like I’m doing something right for the first time.”
We went one more round. Missionary, we held eye contact, no rushing. I came inside her again (we’d stopped pretending condoms were happening) and stayed there, feeling her pulse around me while we caught our breath.
After, she walked me to the door in just my t-shirt, hair wild, lips swollen. Hugged me tight.
“Tell Clara I said hi,” she whispered against my neck, and I swear I felt her smile.
I drove home in a daze, showered again, changed the sheets for real this time. Clara returned that night, all tanned and tipsy from the plane, jumped into my arms talking a about what went down in Miami.
I smiled, kissed her, told her I missed her.
And yeah, I felt like the biggest asshole on earth.
Three days later, Lina texted me a picture, just her hand sliding into black lace panties, the caption read “Thinking of you.”
I locked my office door at lunch and came harder than I had all weekend.
We’re still doing it. Quickies in her car after “helping her carry groceries.” Hotel rooms when Clara thinks I’m at the gym. Once even in my apartment while Clara was at work. Mrs Selina on her knees in my kitchen, looking up at me with those eyes while she swallowed my cum.
I know it’s going to blow up someday. I know I should stop.
But every time I try to pull back, Lina sends me something, a voice note moaning my name, a photo of her tits in the mirror with “Wish you were here” written in lipstick and shit, I’m right back in her bed.
Some sins are just too good to quit.
And honestly? I’m not even pretending to be sick anymore.