Double Feature
"His best friend asks him to house-sit for a week. His friend's mom and older sister have other plans for their guest."
Derek asks me to house-sit while the family goes to his cousin's wedding.
"Mom and Sophie are staying home," he says. "Someone has to watch the dogs. But they could use company, and you've been crashing at that shitty motel since your breakup—"
"I'll do it."
"You sure? Sophie can be a lot."
"I've known Sophie since high school. I can handle her."
He doesn't know I've been trying not to think about handling Sophie since high school. Or that his mother, Grace, has featured in more fantasies than I'll ever admit.
But a free week beats the motel. I pack a bag.
Grace answers the door in a sundress.
Fifty-one, widowed young, raised Derek and Sophie alone. She's five-five and two-fifty-something, with curves that her sundress can't contain. Her hair is silver-streaked, her smile warm, her body the kind that makes you stare and then hate yourself for staring.
"Marcus! Come in, come in." She hugs me, and I'm surrounded by softness. "Derek said you'd be staying. I'm so glad."
"Thanks for having me."
"Thank you. Sophie and I get lonely rattling around this place by ourselves." She takes my bag. "Sophie! Our guest is here!"
Sophie comes down the stairs.
Twenty-six. Dark hair like her mother's. And a body that's an evolution of Grace's—same curves, same hips, same breasts straining against her tank top. She's maybe two-forty, all of it in the right places.
"Hey, Marcus." She hugs me too. Holds on a beat too long. "Glad you could make it."
"Glad to be here."
They look at each other. Something passes between them.
"I'll show you to your room," Grace says.
The first two days are normal.
We eat meals together. Watch movies. Walk the dogs. Grace and Sophie are perfect hosts—attentive, friendly, always around.
Always watching.
By day three, I'm wound tight. Every accidental touch feels intentional. Every look feels loaded. They're doing something—I just can't figure out what.
Until Sophie tells me.
Night three.
I'm in the kitchen, beer in hand. Sophie appears in a silk robe.
"We need to talk," she says.
"About what?"
"About why you're really here." She sits across from me at the table. "Derek didn't ask you to house-sit, Marcus. We did."
"What?"
"Mom and I. We told Derek we needed someone responsible around. He suggested you. It wasn't hard to make it seem like his idea."
"Why would you—"
"Because we've been watching you for years." She leans forward. The robe gapes. No bra underneath. "You think we don't notice the way you look at us? At Mom, at me? Derek's oblivious, but we're not."
"Sophie, I would never—"
"Never what? Act on it?" She stands. Walks around the table. "What if we wanted you to?"
She's right behind me now. Her hands on my shoulders.
"What if we've been talking about you for months? What if we've been planning this? What if—" She leans down, whispers in my ear. "What if we want to share you?"
"Both of you?"
Grace appears in the doorway. Same silk robe as Sophie. Same lack of anything underneath.
"Both of us," she confirms. "I know it's unconventional. I know it's—"
"It's crazy," I say.
"Yes." She walks toward us. Joins Sophie behind my chair. "But crazy isn't the same as wrong. And we've been lonely for a long time, Marcus. Both of us. We've been talking about what we want, what we need—"
"And we keep coming back to you," Sophie finishes.
Two sets of hands on my shoulders now. Two warm bodies pressing close.
"Say no and this never happened," Grace says. "We'll never mention it again."
"Say yes," Sophie murmurs, "and we'll give you a week you'll never forget."
I should say no.
I've known Derek since seventh grade.
"Yes."
They lead me upstairs.
Not to the guest room—to Grace's master bedroom. Candles lit. Silk sheets. They've prepared.
"Undress him," Grace tells Sophie.
Sophie circles in front of me. Pulls off my shirt. Unbuckles my belt. When she pushes down my jeans and boxers, my cock springs free.
"Oh." She wraps her hand around me. "Mom, look at this."
"I see it." Grace appears beside her. Both of them looking at my cock. "Better than I imagined."
"Me first," Sophie says.
"Baby, I'm older—"
"Rock paper scissors."
Grace laughs. "Fine."
Sophie wins.
Sophie pushes me onto the bed.
Straddles me immediately, her robe falling open to reveal everything—heavy breasts, soft belly, thick thighs. She positions me at her entrance.
"I've wanted this since I was eighteen," she breathes. "Eight fucking years."
She sinks onto me.
She's wet.
Hot. Gripping me with a hunger that makes me groan. She rides me hard—no slow build, just raw need. Grace watches from a chair, robe open, hand between her own legs.
"That's it, baby," Grace murmurs. "Take what you need."
"He feels so good, Mom—"
"I know he will. Make him last."
Sophie slows down. Grinds instead of bouncing. Her breasts sway above my face, and I pull one nipple into my mouth.
"Yes—suck them—"
I worship her breasts while she rides me. Grace watches, strokes herself, waiting for her turn.
"I'm gonna come," Sophie gasps.
"Already?"
"I've been waiting eight years—yes—"
She shatters on my cock. Her whole body convulses. I hold back, barely, because I know Grace is next.
Grace doesn't waste time.
The second Sophie climbs off, Grace mounts me. She's heavier than her daughter—all two-fifty settling onto my hips, pinning me down.
"My turn," she breathes.
She's different than Sophie. Slower. More deliberate. She rolls her hips in circles, finding angles, taking her time.
"So good," she moans. "So fucking good."
Sophie appears above my head. Straddles my face.
"Eat me while you fuck her."
I grip Sophie's thick thighs and pull her down onto my tongue. Mother on my cock, daughter on my face. Two generations of curves using me.
"Right there—right there—"
"He's so deep, baby—"
They come together.
Sophie floods my face while Grace convulses around my cock. I explode into Grace while Sophie grinds through her aftershocks.
We collapse together.
Panting. Sweating. Tangled.
"That was—" Sophie can't finish.
"The beginning," Grace says. "We have the whole week."
The week is a blur.
They wake me with mouths and hands. They ride me on every surface—beds, couches, floors. They share me like I'm a meal, passing me back and forth, never competing.
"We've talked about this for so long," Sophie says one night. Both of them curled against me. "About finding someone we could both have."
"Why me?"
"Because you look at us like we're worth looking at," Grace answers. "Because you're kind. Because you're Derek's friend, which means you know how to be loyal."
"And because you have an amazing cock," Sophie adds.
Grace laughs. "That too."
Derek comes home on day seven.
His mom and sister greet him with hugs, ask about the wedding, fuss over photos. I shake his hand like I haven't spent the week buried in both of them.
"Survive the week?" he asks.
"Barely."
"Sophie wasn't too much?"
"She was perfect." I catch Sophie's eye. She smiles. "They both were."
He doesn't notice.
He never notices.
Two weeks later, I get a text.
Derek's going to his girlfriend's this weekend. Want to come over? —Sophie
Then another:
I'll make dinner. Sophie's making dessert. —Grace
I'm in my car before I finish reading.
Some friendships come with benefits.
These benefits come in pairs.