I’m greeted at the door by my friend John.

"Hello, John. Happy birthday," I say, trying to match his smile with my own.

"Great to have you here, Leo," he replies, leading me down the hallway.

Laughter spills from the living room. *I must be one of the last ones to arrive*, I think to myself.

As I walk in, I see familiar faces—John’s friends, all around my age—wearing party hats and helping themselves to food laid out on the table. There's a cake in the center, its candles reading "24."

I can't help but reflect on it—24. *It’s not exactly young*, I think, *especially for someone still living at home*. I've been on my own for years now, a fact that lingers at the back of my mind, making me feel a step ahead of everyone else in the room.

After greeting everyone, I sit down with the others, joining in the multiple conversations happening around me. I notice John’s parents in the kitchen, working away quietly. They’re an ordinary-looking couple in their late 50s—he's tall, slim, and well-dressed as always. She’s different, not quite slender, but far from large, with broad hips that she dresses gracefully in a sundress. Her short brown hair complements her style in a way that’s hard not to admire.

I’ve only known them through John, and even then, only in passing. But her sense of style, It’s something I’ve always noticed.

As the conversation turns to rugby, a sense of camaraderie builds around the table. We all recount the highs and lows of the season—the funny moments, the near misses—and start talking about our plans for the next one. John proposes we take up rowing during the summer to keep in shape, and I’m keen on this idea. It'll definitely keep me fit and looking good. Maybe I’ll meet some interesting people along the way too.

While we chat, I notice John’s parents again, sitting across from us now. They’re smiling at each other—almost smirking. It’s subtle, but enough to catch my attention. *What’s that all about?* I wonder, feeling an odd twinge of curiosity.

As we finish eating, John suggests heading down to the field for a game of touch rugby. Everyone agrees, except John’s dad, who suddenly speaks up.

"Someone should stay behind to help with the dishes," he says, his tone casual but firm.

Before anyone else can react, I offer to stay and help. It's automatic—being polite, avoiding the awkwardness. The other guys sigh with relief, clearly eager to avoid kitchen duty.

That smirk again. John's parents exchange another glance, and for a moment, I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something important.

After a few minutes of washing dishes, the conversation shifts. They ask me about my life, my job. It’s typical small talk for people their age, but I play along, happy to fill the silence.

Just as I finish drying the last plate, I turn to leave, ready to join the others for rugby.

"Leo, wait a minute," John's dad calls out, stopping me in my tracks. His voice is calm, but something in it makes me pause.

"Take a seat," he says, gesturing to the couch. I comply, wondering what this is about.

“Ah, Leo,” he continues with enthusiasm, “My wife wanted to tell you something.”

I glance over at John’s mum, and she’s looking at me with a nervous smile, her fingers fiddling with her wedding ring.

"Why don’t you tell him what you told me last night?" he says, nodding toward her.

Her eyes flick to her husband, who’s nodding at her with encouragement. She takes a deep breath and walks over to sit beside me. Her proximity sends a jolt of unease through me.

"Leo, dear," she begins softly, her voice slightly trembling. She twists her ring again, as though gathering courage.

"You’re such a handsome young man." Her eyes seem to linger on me a moment longer than I expect, and before I can respond, she sets a pillow in front of my legs and kneels down.

*Wait—what’s happening?* I think, but my body doesn’t move.

“Thank you,” I finally say, the words almost automatic, as she slides her hands up my thighs, her touch deliberate.

Her fingers brush my waistband, and though every rational part of me screams to stop this, my body betrays me. I feel myself lift my hips slightly, as if on instinct, helping her pull my shorts down.

My mind races. *What the hell is going on? I think to myself.

She moves slowly, as though savoring every second, her eyes on me. She pulls my shorts just enough to release me, and there I am, fully exposed. My breath catches in my throat. She looks up at me, almost searching for a reaction, but I can’t say a word.

“Sit back,” she says softly.

And I do, leaning back into the couch, feeling the weight of the moment press down on me.

Her hand wraps around my shaft, her fingers warm and sure. A soft, involuntary gasp escapes me as she lowers her head, her lips parting slightly. Time seems to slow as her mouth makes contact with my skin, a long, deliberate lick from base to tip.

I glance over at her husband, unsure of how to feel—how to react.

“Good boy,” he says from the other couch, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Now relax. Let her take care of you. You’ll enjoy this, I promise.”

His voice is unnervingly calm, almost as if he’s done this before. I don’t know what to make of it.

Before I can think further, her mouth takes me in again, deeper this time. The warmth, the pressure, it’s all too much. I force out a breath, my hips twitching involuntarily, pushing me further into her throat.

A small gasp escapes her, but she doesn’t stop. She holds me in place with one hand, while the other reaches for my balls, massaging them gently as she twirls her tongue around my tip.

I let out a small moan of pleasure, unable to hold back any longer.

Her body seems to react to my sounds. A shiver runs through her, making her press closer, her movements becoming more deliberate. I reach out instinctively, my hands finding her shoulders, gripping lightly as she works her mouth down my length.

She pauses, pulling away for just a moment to look up at me. “You can touch,” she whispers, her voice soft but steady.

And then she’s back, her lips sliding down my shaft, taking me deeper, her throat tightening around me. The sensation is overwhelming.

"Shit...fuck," I blurt out, barely able to contain myself.

Her husband watches with a satisfied expression, completely unbothered by the scene unfolding in front of him.

He eyes flickerd up at me as she continueed to take me.

She was bringing me to the brink of a soal shattering orgasm

I felt her throat clench on my tip, her lips tightened around me and she sucked hard.

"Fuuuu" I moaned loudly as my load erupted into her mouth.

She hummed in delight as my cock continued to pump and my cum continued to wash down her throat.

She worked her throat off of my length, swallowing after each spurt I gave her. She sucked my softening cock clean, licking it gently as I quivered beneath her.

"I’m so sorr—” I said before she interrupted me

“No. I wanted you to,” she said as she reached up and caressed my cheek.

“Do you think...”

She bit her lip and drew herself away.

“What,” I breathed, “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, you should probably go to touch, before someone comes back looking for you.” she said.

She tried to pull away again, but her husbands low voice stopped her.

“Love, you're soaking through your dress. Tell him what you really want.” He said

“What does he mean?” I asked.

“Would you...take me...fuck me”

Her voice was low and my eyes widened.

(End of chapter 1)