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I meet Martin Bricca at work, stocking shelves overnight at the grocery store, and he’s cool. We work while everyone else sleeps, a perfect job for night owls like us. We play the same music over the store PA, talking about shows we’ve both watched, games we’ve both played. He’s the same as me, a recent graduate into the world of adulthood, but still living at his family home, and with no idea what he’s doing with his life.

So a few weeks into working with him, when he asks me to come over to his house to hang out, obviously the answer is yes.

The next night, after eating dinner with my dad and brother — my breakfast — I drive over to Martin’s, a quiet suburban neighborhood, an unremarkable ranch-style house. I reach to knock on the front door, but it swings open before my knuckles land. And I gasp.

A cute girl’s standing there, thin white t-shirt and underwear and nothing else. “What do you want?”

“Gemma!” someone shouts from farther inside, “Put some clothes on! It’s Martin’s friend.”

The girl, Gemma I guess, frowns. “You’re Ryan?” She’s cute, with long bronze hair and long bronze legs. I manage to not stare at her underwear. I can’t help but glance at the nipples poking through her shirt.

“Uh… yeah, I am.”

“Martin!” she calls out. She swings the door open wider, staring at me as I pass.

Another girl’s on the couch, craning her neck over the back to look at me, and but for the eyeglasses she has on, she could be Gemma’s clone. She grins, dimples on her cheeks, brazenly looking me up and down.

“Uhh…” I glance around awkwardly.

“Martin, get your lazy ass out here,” she shouts, “Your cute friend is here.”

Footsteps come down the hallway, and I look up, hoping for some guidance here, something to get me back on my footing. But instead of Martin, stepping out is this absolutely beautiful woman. She’s dressed plainly, just a t-shirt and yoga pants, but she’s tan and cute and her smile is inviting and her eyes are glowing. “I see you’ve met the twins. Hopefully Gemma and Gianna have been behaving,” she says, nodding at the other two girls, “I’m Martin’s other sister.” She holds her hand out.

I’m a foot taller than her, but she’s so smooth, so sure of herself, I feel intimidated. “Err, I’m Ryan,” I stammer out, “What do I call you?” Her hand is warm and soft and strong and lingers on mine a moment more than it needs to. I can hear the blood rushing behind my ears.

She tilts her head to the side, a sly grin on her lips. “I’ll answer to lots of stuff, but I’m Angela.”

There’s pounding, feet on carpet, and finally Martin comes bounding out from the hallway. “Sorry!” he shouts, “I was brushing my teeth–uh… what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Angela grins, “Just meeting your friend.”

He looks around, shrugs. “Whatever, c’mon, Ryan.”

And I follow him down the hall.

“I have my own room,” he explains, “So don’t worry about them, they’ll leave us alone.”

“Right,” I say, mind’s eye flashing back to the girls, “No distractions.”

Martin’s room is full of movies and games and toys and feels a touch childish. It is exactly like my room at my house. The biggest difference is that where I’ve got a Playstation, he’s got an Xbox. It’s awesome, and we jump right in.

We’re playing games, and I pay no attention to the passing of time, him and I are both prepared to hang out all night long. So when someone knocks on his bedroom door and swings it open, I am surprised to see that it’s only been forty-five minutes.

“Martin, honey?”

We both turn our heads, and there’s a woman standing in his doorway. Except for being older, she looks just like his sisters — the same tan complexion, the same bronze hair, the same beautiful smile, the same knowing glint to her eyes.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“I promised the girls dessert. Do you think you can run down to your store and pick me up some things? I made a list.” She holds out a paper. But she’s looking at me, studying me, observing how I react. She’s in a black cotton floor-length dress, snug over her trim waist, but otherwise loose and flowy.

“What? C’mon, Mom, it’s my night off,” he whines.

“Honey, please?”

I nod at him. “No big deal, we’ll grab some snacks and drinks and stuff, too.”

“Ok, fine.” He stands up, grabs his keys.

“Dear,” his mom says, “You don’t need to drag your friend with you. Why don’t you let him stay here, play your games. It’s fine with me.” She winks at me.

I don’t find out what is happening. But I am having fun with Xbox. Martin shrugs at me, and I shrug back.

“Ok,” he says, “I’ll be back, I don’t know, a half hour? Maybe longer?”

“It’s cool,” I say, “I’m all good here.”

His mom smiles gratefully. “Thank you, dear, I really appreciate it.”

They step out of his room and I unpause the game and I forget about the whole thing.

Until a few minutes later, when Martin’s mom says, “Hey, Ryan. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Uh, sure.” I pause the game, look up. His mom — Mrs Bricca — is back on his threshold, her dress gone, replaced by a silk robe, complete with a silk belt tight around her waist. I say, “What’s up?”

“Not here,” she says, nodding down the hallway, “Follow me.”

“Ohhhkay.” She leads me to the master bedroom and sits me on the edge of the bed, taking a seat right next to me.

“You seem like a nice young man, Ryan.”

“Err, thanks.”

“You’re getting along with Martin pretty good?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Great to hear,” she squeezes my shoulder, “He speaks highly of you as well.”

I don’t know what to say, so I stammer, “Uh, cool.”

“What do you think of Martin’s big sisters? Of my daughters?”

They’re hot as fuck? But I can’t say that, not to their mom. “Uh, they’re nice.”

“Mmmm, ‘nice.’ You don’t think that they’re… pretty?”

I frown at her, search her expression for some clue as to what she wants out of me. But she reveals nothing, her dimpled grin unfaltering.

“I mean,” I begin, “Yes, they are. Very pretty.”

“I knew it,” she says, like she caught me at something. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“What?!”

“Go on,” she says, her grin spreading, “Pick one. If you were going to sleep with one of them, which would you pick?”

“I don’t–”

“No,” she cuts me off, rubbing my knee with her long painted fingernails, “They’re all pretty, you said so yourself. And you’re a handsome young man. It’s only natural, to want to have sex. So I want to know, which one do you have your eye on?”

“I just met them!” I object, “I don’t know them.”

“Don’t give me that.” Mrs Bricca’s hand slides up my leg, grabs my crotch through my shorts. “I know what boys like you are like, how quickly you make up your minds. Tell me which of my daughters you want to screw.”

I’m wearing simple basketball shorts, and Mrs Bricca’s fingers easily discover my balls, squeezing them tight. I gasp. “Angela,” I whimper, “It’s Angela.”

“Hah! I knew it. I knew you wanted to fuck my daughters.”

Her hand on my balls, she’s not just gripping them, but she’s kneading them! And to my horror, my dick, it starts stiffening. “I swear, Mrs Bricca! I’m just here to hang out with Martin, play video games. I promise!”

“You promise?” she jeers, “Then why’s your cock so hard?” She slaps at the tent I’m growing in my shorts.

I moan, her roughness surprising me in how good it feels, how much it’s turning me on.

“What makes you even think you could get a girl like my Angela?” She slaps my erection again, and it springs back quickly. “That she would be interested in a boy like you?” Another slap. “Stand up, Ryan. Let me see what you’re made of.”

She lets go of my balls, and I could run away, dash out of the house and back to my car, drive away and never return. But I don’t. I stand up, let her pull my shirt off, push my shorts down.

“Turn around,” she instructs.

I face her, teeth gritted, tense with nerves. Her eyes pass over me, and she licks her lips as she looks me up and down. I’m pale and skinny and lanky. My dick, though, it’s large, thick, ruddy brown, protruding from my hips straight and true, intensely erect. My balls cling to its base, two taut orbs, fat and potent and brimming full.

Her gaze, of course, lingers on my crotch. “What are you thinking, Ryan, bringing an erection like that into my house?” She reaches down, drags her fingernails over my sac. “My daughters are good girls,” she says, teasing and tickling my nuts, “They won’t be seduced by a bad boy like you.” She slaps my cock.

It springs back instantly, even stiffer than before.

I’ve been staring at my own dick, watching Mrs Bricca focus on it. So when I glance up, just wanting to read her expression, my eyes never make it. Her silk robe has slipped open, and a breast hangs out. Not just any breast, but a large, round udder with a sexy, hard nipple. I gasp, jaw dropping.

“Did you think my daughters were the only ones in this house with tits?” Her fingers massage my balls, caressing and tugging on them. “My twins like showing off their cute little melons, but where do you think they got them from? No, the real jugs in this household are right here.” She flicks free the other half of her robe, and it slides down her torso.

I have an unfettered view of her chest, her back arching as she smiles proudly, showing off her glorious rack. I suck in my breath, a bead of fluid building on the tip of my cock as I stare, soaking in the sight.

“What have we here,” she says, dabbing her finger into my precum, smearing it around. She brings her hand to her mouth, where she sucks her finger clean. “Ryan! I can’t believe you, are you so horny you can’t control yourself?”

My head’s swimming too much to catch her mocking tone. “No! I–”

“Sit down and behave,” she says, guiding me back onto the bed, sitting me against the headboard, spreading my legs. “I told you, my daughters are good girls. They may tease you, flirt with you, but they’re not going to touch your penis.”

Martin’s mom kneels between my thighs, one hand cupping my balls, the other making a fist around my shaft. My dick sticks up, powerfully erect, straining towards her huge tits, almost reaching them.

“Well, Gemma probably would,” she chuckles, her fist slowly sliding up my cock, “But then, she doesn’t have the muscles to match my grip.” Her fingers tighten around my shaft, around my balls, a glacial progression from base to tip and back.

I whimper, confused, head swimming, out of my depth. “Please,” I beg, “Faster.”

Her grin spreads. “I always like making you bad boys fall into line.” She doesn’t speed up, her hand instead continuing its aggravatingly slow journey up and down my shaft.

“Please,” I say again, “I need it.”

“He needs it,” she mocks, “You boys, you’re all the same, no matter how big your cock is.” Her grip on my balls tightens. “Coming over to my house, trying to fuck my daughters, looking right past me. What about my needs?”

“I wasn’t–” I begin, “What do you need?”

“I need the contents of your balls,” she says, “All over my tits.” Her stroking my cock, mercifully, it picks up speed, growing faster and faster and faster, driving ecstasy into me with a furious tempo.

I groan, my cock and balls completely under her control, more erect and more demanding than they’ve ever been in my entire life.

“Can you do that for me, Ryan?” she says, “Can you cum for Momma?”

“Yes…” I whimper, staring at her tits, bouncing wildly, her smile, twisting mischievously.

“Are you close?”

“So close!” And it’s true, I can feel it, the orgasm rising inside me. I repeat, “So close!”

Suddenly her hand is gone from my shaft, and my world is shattered. I needed that! I needed her touch, how could she take it away now? I was almost there, why is she doing this to me? My dick sways, abandoned, swollen red and twitching, so near release. I reach out, she bats my hands away.

“No!” I beg.

Her grin spreads, she tugs on my balls even harder.

I groan, and my dick surges, springing up completely on its own, and a enormous, thick rope of cum sprays wildly from it, uncontrolled, but landing mostly all over Mrs Bricca. She laughs, and another wave comes, another fountain of semen issuing from my cock and onto her tits. I have never cum so hard in my life, a whole-body orgasm, my limbs tensing, my ears ringing.

The cum surges and surges, now coming out in little spurts, dripping down my shaft.

She finally releases my balls, and I whimper, sinking back into her pillows. My dick collapses against my belly, still semi-erect, still oozing cum. She runs a finger up its underside, coursing up through my semen, urging even more from my balls.

“Have you ever been milked before, Ryan?” she coos.

“No.”

She squeezes my balls, and I gasp as yet more cum leaks from me. “Well, you needed it. I can’t have you spending the night in my house, around my daughters, with balls this full. Now go clean yourself up, the pink towel is fresh.”

I emerge from Martin’s mom’s room a few minutes later, cleaned and clothed, still slightly in a daze. But I snap out of it when Martin opens the front door, toting three big bags of groceries.

“Hey, man,” he says, “Help me out?”

In the kitchen, I set out the slices of cake while he puts the groceries away. His sisters filter in, taking the plates. Angela’s still just as beautiful, Gemma’s still not wearing pants, and Gianna when she comes up next to me, bites her lip and grins.

They’re cute, all of them. But I turn my back on them, say to Martin, “You ready? To get back to the game, I mean?”

“Yeah,” he says, “So ready.”

A trio of pouts bounce off my back as I follow him to his room.

NSFW: yes

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