Caught
"He's been staring at his best friend's mom for years. She's been watching him watch her. When they're finally alone, she decides it's time to stop pretending."
Derek's car pulls out of the driveway at 6 PM on Friday.
Weekend camping trip with his girlfriend. Won't be back until Sunday night. He'd asked if I wanted to come, but three's a crowd and five is a disaster—his girlfriend's roommate was tagging along, and I had zero interest in being the spare tire on a double date.
"Just drop off my charger if you find it," he'd texted. "Mom's home. Door's unlocked."
I find the charger wedged between my couch cushions an hour later. I should wait. Should text him that I'll bring it Monday. Should do anything except drive to his house at 7 PM on a Friday when I know—know—that Vanessa will be there alone.
I go anyway.
The Matthews house smells like something savory. Garlic, maybe. Herbs I can't name. The door is unlocked, just like Derek said, and I step inside without knocking—I've been doing that since I was thirteen.
"Derek?" Vanessa's voice floats from the kitchen. "Did you forget something?"
"It's Tyler, Mrs. Matthews."
Silence. Then: "Tyler. Come on back, honey."
I walk through the living room I've known for a decade. Past the couch where Derek and I played video games until 3 AM. Past the photos on the wall—Derek at graduation, Derek's dad before the divorce, and Vanessa. Vanessa in a sundress at some beach. Vanessa laughing at a party. Vanessa looking at the camera like she knows exactly what you're thinking.
I round the corner into the kitchen.
She's standing at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smells incredible. She's wearing a silk robe—deep purple, hitting mid-thigh, tied loosely at the waist. Her feet are bare. Her hair is down, natural curls framing her face.
She's forty-eight years old and she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Vanessa is not a small woman. She's maybe five-five, but she fills space like she owns it. Her hips are wide—the kind of wide that makes the robe strain when she moves. Her ass is round and heavy, bouncing slightly when she shifts her weight. And when she turns to face me—
Her breasts.
The robe is doing nothing to hide them. They're large, heavy, creating a canyon of cleavage where the silk gapes open. No bra. I can see the shadow of her nipples through the fabric. Her belly is soft, curving out and down, the robe cinched above it in a way that emphasizes rather than hides.
She's thick everywhere. Two-forty, maybe two-fifty. Soft and solid and present in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
"Tyler." She sets down the spoon. Leans against the counter. "Derek's not here."
"I know. I—" I hold up the charger. "He forgot this. I was just dropping it off."
"Mm." She doesn't move to take it. Her eyes travel over me—slow, deliberate. Up and down. "That's why you came all the way over here on a Friday night? To deliver a charger?"
"I... yeah."
"You could have waited until Monday."
"I could have."
"But you didn't." She pushes off the counter. Walks toward me. Each step makes her body sway—hips rolling, breasts shifting, thighs brushing together under the silk. She stops two feet away. "You knew Derek was gone. You knew I'd be alone."
"Mrs. Matthews—"
"Vanessa." Her voice is low. Warm. "I've told you to call me Vanessa since you turned eighteen. That was four years ago, Tyler."
"Vanessa." It comes out rough. "I should go."
"Should you?" She takes another step. One foot away now. I can smell her perfume—something rich, something that makes me think of dark rooms and tangled sheets. "Or should we finally talk about the thing we've been not talking about for years?"
My heart stops.
"I don't—"
"You do." Her hand comes up. Lands on my chest. I can feel the heat of her palm through my shirt. "I've seen you looking at me, Tyler. Since you were sixteen. At first I thought it was just teenage hormones—Derek's friends all looked. But you kept looking. And you got better at it. Thought I wouldn't notice."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't be." Her hand slides up to my shoulder. Squeezes. "Because I've been looking too."
I should leave.
I should apologize and walk out the door and never come back. Derek is my best friend. Has been for eleven years. His mother is standing in front of me in a silk robe with her hand on my body and I should leave.
"I watched you grow up," Vanessa says. Her other hand joins the first. Both on my shoulders now. "Watched you turn from a skinny kid into..." Her eyes drop. Rise again. "This. And I told myself it was wrong. That I was too old. That you were Derek's friend and I had no business thinking about you the way I thought about you."
"How did you think about me?"
The words fall out before I can stop them.
She smiles. It's slow, knowing, devastating.
"At night," she says. "Alone in my bed. Thinking about your hands. Your mouth." Her fingers curl into my shirt. "Wondering if you'd be shy or bold. If you'd worship me or try to control me. If you'd even know what to do with a woman like me."
"A woman like you?"
"Big." She says it without shame. "Older. Experienced." She pulls me closer. Our bodies are almost touching now. "Most boys your age want skinny little things they can throw around. They see a body like mine and they don't know where to start."
I put my hands on her hips.
She inhales sharply.
"I know where I'd start," I say.
She kisses me first.
Her mouth is soft, confident, tasting like wine. She takes control immediately—her tongue sliding against mine, her hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me into her. Her body presses against me, and I'm drowning in softness. Her breasts crush against my chest. Her belly is warm against mine. Her hips fill my hands like they were made for me to hold.
I'm hard instantly. Painfully.
She feels it. Grinds against me. Makes a sound low in her throat.
"Good," she murmurs against my lips. "I was hoping you'd want this."
"I've wanted this for years."
"I know." She bites my bottom lip. "I've seen the way your pants fit when you look at me too long." Her hand slides down my chest. My stomach. Cups me through my jeans. "This is for me?"
"Only you."
She squeezes. I groan.
"Come with me," she says.
She takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen. Down the hall. Past Derek's room—past my best friend's room—to the master bedroom at the end. The room is dim, lit only by a lamp on the nightstand. The bed is king-sized, covered in dark sheets.
Vanessa turns to face me.
"Last chance," she says. "Walk out now and we never mention this again. Derek never knows. We go back to pretending." Her hands go to the tie of her robe. "Or you stay. And I show you what I've been imagining for four years."
I close the door behind me.
"Show me."
She pulls the tie.
The robe falls open.
She's naked underneath.
I stop breathing.
Her breasts are magnificent—full, heavy, hanging naturally against her chest. Her nipples are dark brown, large, already stiffening. Her belly curves out and down, soft and round, the kind of belly that means she's lived and eaten and enjoyed. Her hips flare wide, leading to thick thighs that press together at the top.
Between them, she's bare. Shaved smooth. Glistening.
"Well?" She lets the robe slide off her shoulders. Pools on the floor. She stands before me completely naked, two hundred and forty pounds of brown skin and curves and want. "Was I worth the wait?"
I cross the room in three steps.
My hands find her waist. Her hips. I pull her against me and kiss her like I'm dying—because I am. I've been dying for years, wanting this woman, and now she's here, she's real, she's letting me.
"Undress," she commands against my mouth.
I step back. Pull my shirt over my head. Her eyes roam over my chest, my stomach, and she licks her lips. I fumble with my belt, my jeans, shove them down with my boxers.
My cock springs free. Hard, aching, pointing at her like a compass finding north.
"There he is." She wraps her hand around me. Strokes once. I nearly collapse. "Even better than I imagined."
She backs toward the bed. Pulls me with her, hand still on my cock. When her knees hit the mattress, she sits—and suddenly her face is level with my stomach.
"First," she says, "I'm going to taste you. I've been thinking about having you in my mouth for so long."
She leans forward and takes me in.
Her mouth is hot, wet, perfect.
She doesn't tease. Doesn't play. She sucks me like she's been starving for it—her lips wrapped around my shaft, her tongue swirling, her hand working what her mouth can't reach. Her other hand cups my balls, rolls them gently, and I grab her hair to keep from falling.
"Fuck—Vanessa—"
She moans around me. The vibration makes my legs shake.
I look down. Watch my cock disappear between her lips. Watch her cheeks hollow as she sucks. Her eyes are closed, her expression pure pleasure, like she's the one being satisfied.
"I'm going to—" I gasp. "If you don't stop—"
She pulls off with a wet pop. Looks up at me with dark, hungry eyes.
"Not yet," she says. "I want you inside me when you come. I want to feel you fill me up."
She scoots back on the bed. Spreads her legs. Opens herself to me like an invitation.
"Come here."
I climb onto the bed. Crawl over her. My cock drags across her thigh, her hip, and then I'm between her legs, the head of me pressed against her wet heat.
"Tell me you want this," she breathes. "Tell me this isn't just about the fantasy."
"It's not." I brace myself over her. Her breasts flatten against my chest. Her belly is soft under mine. "I want you, Vanessa. I've wanted you since I knew what wanting was."
She wraps her legs around my waist.
"Then take me."
I push inside.
She's tight.
That's my first thought—impossibly, wonderfully tight, gripping me like she's been waiting for exactly this. Hot and wet and perfect, and I have to freeze for a moment just to keep from ending it all right there.
"Oh God," she moans. "Yes—just like that—don't move—just let me feel you—"
I hold still. Feel her pulse around me. Her legs are locked behind my back, her heels pressing into my ass, pulling me deeper.
"Now," she breathes. "Now move."
I do.
I pull back, push in. Slow at first—watching her face, reading her reactions. Her eyes roll back. Her mouth falls open. Her hands grab my shoulders, nails digging in.
"Faster," she commands.
I give her faster. The bed starts to creak. Her breasts bounce with every thrust—heavy, hypnotic, slapping together and apart. I lean down and capture one nipple in my mouth, suck hard, and she screams.
"Yes—yes—just like that—don't stop—"
I don't stop. I fuck her harder, deeper, one hand gripping her hip while my mouth moves from one breast to the other. She's so soft under me. So much flesh to grab, to squeeze, to worship. I've dreamed of this body for years and reality is so much better.
"You feel so good," I groan against her skin. "So fucking good—"
"Harder—I can take it—harder—"
I grab both her hips. Slam into her. The headboard cracks against the wall. She's moaning continuously now—a stream of yes and fuck and Tyler that goes straight to my cock.
"I'm close," she gasps. "Make me come—make me come on your cock—"
I shift my angle. Hit something deep. She shatters.
Her pussy clamps around me like a vice. Her whole body shakes—all two hundred and forty pounds trembling beneath me. She throws her head back and screams, her nails raking down my back, and I can't hold on.
I bury myself to the hilt and explode.
I fill her with everything I have—pulse after pulse of release while she's still shaking through her orgasm. Her legs tighten around me. Her hands clutch my back. We're fused together, trembling, gasping.
I collapse onto her.
She catches me. Wraps her arms around me. Her heart is racing against my chest.
"That," she breathes, "was worth the wait."
We lie tangled in her sheets for what might be minutes or hours.
Her hand traces patterns on my back. My head rests on her chest—on the soft pillow of her breasts—and I listen to her heartbeat slow.
"Derek can never know," she finally says.
"I know."
"I mean it, Tyler. This..." She sighs. "This was perfect. But it would destroy him."
I lift my head. Look at her. "So this is a one-time thing?"
She's quiet for a long moment. Her fingers still on my skin.
"I didn't say that."
My heart kicks.
"What are you saying?"
She pulls me up. Kisses me—slow, deep, promising.
"I'm saying Derek goes camping a lot. I'm saying you know when he works late. I'm saying..." Her hand slides down between us. Finds me already getting hard again. "I'm saying I've been starving for four years, and I'm not full yet."
She rolls us over. Straddles me. All that weight, all that softness, settling onto my hips. My cock is trapped between her slick folds.
"Think you can keep a secret?" she asks.
I grab her hips. Pull her down as I thrust up. She gasps, her head falling back, her breasts swaying.
"The best kept secret you've ever had."
Derek comes home Sunday night.
I'm there, on the couch, playing video games like I have been for a decade. He drops next to me, talks about his trip, complains about his girlfriend's roommate. Normal. Easy.
Vanessa brings us snacks. Wearing jeans and a modest sweater now. Smiling that same smile she's always had.
But when she leans over to set down the plate, she looks at me. Just for a second. And in that second, I see everything—her naked body, her mouth around my cock, the way she looked riding me on Saturday afternoon.
"Thanks, Mom," Derek says.
"Of course, honey." She straightens. Her hand brushes my shoulder as she passes. Light. Casual. Anyone watching would see nothing.
But I feel the press of her fingers. The promise in them.
"You good?" Derek asks, looking at me weird.
"Yeah." I grab a chip. "Never better."
Vanessa disappears into the kitchen.
And when my phone buzzes an hour later, I already know what it says.
Wednesday. He works until 9. Be here at 6.
I don't even have to think about my reply.
I'll bring dinner.
Some secrets are worth keeping.
This one is worth everything.