The More Mom

THE MORE MOM

This story is categorized in Erotic Couplings, which is perfect. But it tends to veer into other categories and includes several kinks that are real to the story and possibly your fantasy.

If anything offends you, I make no apologies since this is about consensual sex, and when you write about consensual sex, an apology is never needed. Lastly, this story is set against the backdrop of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is not an attack on that religion, which happens to be the religion I grew up with. It is a retelling of actual events.

And just so there are no surprises for those of you who object to certain things (because these stories are full of surprises), here are some tags: anal, cheating, Mormon, anilingus, cunnilingus, blow jobs, pegging, kinky, swallowing, cream pie, queef, voyeur, romantic, hairy, underarms, fetish, cheating, insemination

- WT

THE MORE MOM

CHAPTER 0

GIDEON'S DILEMMA

Despite living in a large home with four brothers and two sisters, Gideon Barton had little privacy. When you're 18 just about everything gives you an erection and most young men turn to porn for relief.

But in Gideon's strict Mormon household, his father, The Bishop, a respected pillar of the church, imposed restrictions on internet access, computers, and phones. Visiting sites like Pornhub or Literotica was nearly impossible.

But then again, nothing's as vivid as the mind of a horny teen, and Gideon could create fantasies from just about anything. He had masturbated to thoughts of the weather girl on channel 5, several of his teachers, and right now, his mother's good friend, Kristi Haskett.

It was the Barton's big summer backyard barbeque and Mrs. Haskett had just emerged from the pool with firm, erect nipples poking through her bathing suit. She went for her towel, but the image of her thick nipples tenting the nylon of her modest swimsuit would remain burned in his memory to be recalled for countless masturbation sessions in the days to come.

That's all it took to make Gideon's balls swell. He needed to masturbate right now. With two brothers and two sisters plus a houseful of guests for the cookout, jerking off in a bathroom wasn't going to happen.

That wasn't an issue for Gideon as he entered the spacious car barn to conduct his personal business. Much more than just a garage, The Bishop had built the car barn to house his collection of cars, cars he felt promoted his masculinity. The barn housed seven vehicles and the family's Gulfstream trailer.

Gideon noticed how dusty his dad's 1970s green Bronco was. He coveted this vehicle, even if that was a sin. His mom was trying to convince his dad to let him take it to college after his mission. After all, he was an adult, and his mother believed he needed to take on responsibilities, like owning a car.

But right now, he needed to masturbate and quietly entered his go-to spot, the Gulfstream trailer.

This had become his favorite place to masturbate. It was private, and he could concentrate on his fantasy as he stroked himself.

Getting some hand lotion from the bathroom, he sat on the couch, pulled his shorts down, and lathered himself up. Gently grasping his cock, he began slowly gliding up and down the shaft.

He closed his eyes and imagined Mrs. Haskett taking him by the hand behind the garage and showing him her tits. She held them out for him, offering him one to feed on.

This wasn't going to take long. He could feel his balls swelling and then...

He heard the side door to the car barn open and someone entered.

Fuck, not now.

Mrs. Haskett's tits would have to wait. He could hear two people talking in hushed tones.

"Wow, is this what you wanted to show me? It's great. Look at the condition. This is wonderful."

The voice was familiar, and Gideon moved to the window to see who it was.

"Want to see something even better?" came a voice he recognized as his mother's voice. Why was she in here?

He peered into the car barn, trying to see who she was talking to and if they were going to leave.

Looking out, he saw his mother leaning back on the hood of his father's green Bronco like a teenage girl flirting on a date.

Whomever it was, Gideon felt he was way too close to his mother. She then turned around, leaned forward, and her skirt hiked up slightly, but not enough to reveal anything. Reaching back, she flipped it up exposing her soft white ass.

Gideon nearly fell over in shock. What was she doing?

Just then, he could see the face of the other person. It was Ethan. He lived next door; he was in his last year of law school in Boston and home for the summer, clerking for The Bishop. He was probably around 25 or 26 years old.

"You wore the red lingerie," Ethan said with a lascivious smile.

His mother was always talking about Ethan's success at law school and kept encouraging Gideon to use him as a role model.

"That's not all," his mother replied to Ethan as she put her thumbs in the bands of her panties pulling them down to reveal her bare ass. Ethan's eyes were fixated on her behind. Gideon strained to see, but from his angle, there was no looking into that dark abyss.

"How long have you-"

"All day. Just for you," she interrupted.

"Oh my God. How does it feel?" Ethan asked.

Gideon's mind was racing. How does what feel? Did she get some kind of piercing? What was he looking at?

"Full, I feel wonderful, but full. I had a spontaneous orgasm about an hour ago. I was sitting there, and it hit me when I was talking to Sara Carlton. She asked if I was ok."

Gideon remembered noticing his mother shivering earlier when she was talking to Mrs. Carlton. What the hell was going on?

"You're amazing," Ethan said in a loud whisper.

Gideon's mother remained slumped over the car.

"Make it fast," she replied.

Ethan had his cock in hand in seconds. Gideon's eyes were wide. This was it. He was going to see someone have sex. Not just someone, his mother. He resigned himself to worry about that later.

Gideon watched as Ethan gently inserted himself into his mother from behind. She let out a long, plaintive groan, enjoying the moment.

Gideon thought he should run out there and put an end to this.

But he didn't.

Above anything in the world, he wanted to see people having sex. And here it was, just fifteen feet from him, a man riding an older woman from behind. They were carnal, and they were desperate. Never mind that it was his mother; this was sex, raw and unbridled, and he began to masturbate as he watched.

His mother's pelvis hitched as Ethan began increasing his cadence. It started slow, but they were picking up the pace.

Her red panties were now around her ankles. Her torso lay flat against the Bronco, and her face was a portrait of bliss.

If there was any doubt his mother wasn't a willing participant, the wet sounds of her pussy, and her less than muffled moans testified just how much she was enjoying the moment.

Gideon continued to stroke himself, pacing with the couple, not wanting to blow his load too soon.

His mother put her hands back, grasping her ass cheeks and spreading them, offering Ethan a better view of his target.

Then, out of nowhere, Ethan pulled himself out, revealing his sizable penis, dropped to his knees and planted his face in between her ass cheeks. The sounds of his mouth on her pussy echoed off the walls.

"We don't have time for you to-"

Gideon's mother never finished her sentence as she froze with pleasure.

"Oh, that fucking tongue of yours. That motherfucking tongue of yours."

From his hiding spot, Gideon was about to hyperventilate, having never heard his mother say anything more substantial than "darn it".

Ethan stood, wiped the wetness from his face and then returned to fucking Gideon's mother from behind.

Their body friction increased, and it was evident the two were to about cum, as was Gideon. Mrs. Barton groaned loudly, followed by a metallic clank on the floor like someone had dropped a tool.

The two lovers didn't seem to notice or care and kept at each other, intent on reaching a mutual climax quickly. While Gideon's only experience with orgasm was his own, he watched his mother plateau, determined to burn the memory into his brain.

Inside the trailer Gideon was about to cum despite slow strokes, just the visuals were enough to finish him off. When he heard his mother's final groan he felt his balls swell and his cock erupted in a geyser of cum spraying on the walls and window.

With his pants around his knees, he staggered back and knocked over a box of cooking utensils, making a slight but audible clatter.

Fuck!

Gideon looked out the window again. The sound had spooked the two as his mother pulled up her panties and flipped back her dress, while Ethan zipped his shorts and straightened up.

She then led Ethan out of one of the side doors.

When Gideon was sure they were gone, he quietly exited the trailer and walked to the Bronco. The dust on the hood was disturbed, showing the buxom outline of a woman's body. On the floor was a puddle of what could only be spent cum and his mother's fluids combined.

Gideon took a rag and wiped off the dust, wiping off any evidence, then took the rag to wipe up the fluids on the ground. On his knees, he noticed something shiny under the Bronco. Reaching for it, he held it in his hand—a metallic gold butt plug, covered in a sheen lube and a bejeweled handle.

He knew what he had to do.

CHAPTER 1

THE HOMECOMING

Two years of law school were behind me, and I was returning home to Provo for my last summer. I was happy to be going home and sleeping in my old room, and equally excited that my neighbor, Bishop Barton, had secured me a legal clerking internship in his firm.

There was no better way to finish a successful law degree than clerking for Utah's most prestigious law firm, Pratt, Collins, and Barton.

I can't remember the last time I heard anyone call Rob Barton by his name. He was known as "The Bishop" due to his high standing in the LDS Church. That's the term that Mormons preferred, with LDS meaning The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although they did use the term "Mormon," that name was sometimes used in a pejorative way. Thus, using LDS avoided any possible negative connotations.

The Bishop was a mountain of a man, imposing and always the center of attention. Despite having been our neighbor for as long as I can remember, I rarely spoke to him, but my dad and The Bishop's wife had secured me this internship last year.

Then the worst happened. My father passed away suddenly ten months ago. At just 25 years old, I had faced the loss of both my parents. My mother had died when I was only three, leaving Dad and me together all those years. Our relationship was rocky at times, but he always supported me and kept me focused on a prosperous future. I felt his absence deeply now that he was gone.

He was disappointed that I had left the Mormon faith. It wasn't that I questioned the faith itself, but all faith. Still, I was respectful of his beliefs and those of my LDS neighbors.

Living in Provo meant having LDS neighbors everywhere. Honestly, I can't think of a better place and better people. Despite the slurs and jokes about the faith, my LDS neighbors were some of the kindest people on earth. When Dad died, The Bishop and his wife, Amanda, traveled to Harvard to convince me to stay in school and finish. He reminded me how important it was to my Dad that I get that degree and assured me of the clerkship. Mrs. Barton promised to take care of my dad's home. They came through on both accounts.

These were good people, and I felt fortunate to have pillars of society in my life.

Mrs. Barton was younger than The Bishop and could have been a recruiting poster for Mormon wives. She was sporty, with blond, shoulder-length hair that framed her face effortlessly. She had an attractive figure, and her larger-than-average breasts always caught the church dads' attention...and their wives. But if there was one feature that could stop me in my tracks, it was her smile. It made me feel welcomed and safe.

I grew up with the Bartons. I was seven when they bought the huge house next door. My memories of Mrs. Barton are that she was always pregnant. She had her first child, Gideon, that year, and then it seemed like she was always expecting right up until last year when she had her fifth child. Perhaps that explained her large breasts, which I must confess, I'd sneak a peek at whenever I could.

Mrs. Barton was a traditional wife who began by having children to continually increase the LDS population. She was always busy, driving carpool, cooking meals, and doing everything necessary to support The Bishop's vital role as a community and church leader. The affectionate term for a woman devoted to her husband and family was helpmeet. As in, she was The Bishop's helpmeet.

Of course, being seen and at the center of attention due to her husband's status caused some jealousy, and some of the catty mothers called her the "More Mom," which is a bit of a slur, especially coming from other members of the LDS faith, demeaning her role to merely being attracted to the attention she received from her status.

I found an Amazon package at the door when I arrived home. After taking it inside, I turned on the lights. The place was clean and bright for a home that hadn't been lived in for several months. Mrs. Barton had undoubtedly ensured it was cheerful upon my return.

I sorted through the stack of mail, opening some items and throwing away others, and then remembered the Amazon package. Opening it up, I was surprised to see a delicate but revealing lingerie set. I held up the red thong and bustier top, wondering where they had come from. Looking back in the box, I found a sex toy, the Womanizer. It was a vibrating suction toy that only added to the mystery.

I looked at the box and noticed that it was addressed to me, but I certainly didn't order this. I put the items back in the box and set it aside.

A day later, I was finishing my paperwork for the clerk internship when I heard someone at the door.

I opened it to see Mrs. Barton, who walked into the house as if it belonged to her. I understood her actions because she had cared for it for so long.

"Come on in," I said with a joking smile. She looked at me with a smirk.

"Sorry, I just barged in, didn't I? I'm so used to coming over here and just decompressing."

She gave me a warm hug, pressing herself against me.

"Welcome home, Bryant. We've missed you. I've missed you."

I smelled toast burning and rushed to the kitchen. She followed me. It was burnt, so I tossed it out and poured myself a cup of coffee.

I had never tasted coffee until my first year of law school. Shunned by the LDS faith as a stimulant, I avoided it until midterms, but after my first cup, I was hooked.

"Coffee? Tsk tsk, what'll I ever tell The Bishop?"

"Law school, late nights. If this is a sin, let me be burned at the stake," I replied.

"I'm sure it can be overlooked. You know how many exceptions we must make to keep the faith. I had a Long Island iced tea a few weeks ago."

Mormons don't drink coffee, and they sure as hell don't drink alcohol, let alone a strong drink like a Long Island Iced Tea.

"I was out with some friends who weren't from church. They had wine, and I innocently asked for tea. Well, I said Long Island Iced Tea. I assumed it was like a tea and lemonade drink."

"That's an Arnold Palmer," I added.

"So, I found out. I took a sip and instantly realized it wasn't made with lemonade."

She leaned in with a conspiratorial look.

"Can you keep a secret, Bryant?"

I nodded yes.

"I drank the entire drink, and by the end, I was, well, my head was spinning. I think I did a pretty good job of pretending to be sober, but I wasn't. I returned to the suburban, crawled in, and fell asleep for three hours."

"Just from the one drink?"

"Well, I had a Xanax earlier, so that combo did not help."

I looked at her quizzically.

"It's a prescription for stress. It's allowed."

While Mormons don't use recreational drugs, many of the women I knew had prescriptions for anxiety. I felt guilty because my expression made her think I was judging her.

"Of all the drinks you could order, that's like a nuclear bomb."

"Do you drink, Bryant? You drink coffee; do you also drink at bars?"

I wasn't sure if this was a test. Was she doing some recon for The Bishop?

"Me? No, I don't drink alcohol."

That was a lie.

She looked at me and studied my face.

"You wouldn't lie to me, now, would you?"

"No, I don't..."

"Have you ever experienced something so intense, so incredible that you wonder how God would make it criminal to enjoy? Like wine, for instance. Jesus drank wine, why can't we?"

"The Catholics certainly do," I replied.

"Oh my God, even Catholics are having more fun than us," she bemoaned, "and they are always miserable."

"I don't usually question the doctrines of the faith," I replied.

I was attempting to evade the question. She was probing, and I wasn't sure what she was after.

"Of course not. Neither do I. So, we'll keep this story about the Long Island iced tea between us? I can trust you?"

"If you can keep my coffee addiction between us," I replied.

"Bryant, you can trust me to keep secrets. I'm a vault when it comes to this stuff. I know what it's like to have secrets, so anything you share with me. It's in the vault."

"Coffee in the vault. Got it."

"Can I try some?" she asked.

"Try what?"

"Your coffee."

"Are you sure? It's bitter. Kind of acquired taste. And I don't want to get you in trouble."

"I'm a big girl. Plus, I don't think my husband will cast me out into the wilderness for trying some coffee. He always encourages me to try new things."

I held out the cup, and she took it in hand, inhaling the rich scent.

"It smells so good. I sometimes wander into a Starbucks just to breathe the air. It almost makes me shiver with excitement. You don't think caffeine is airborne, do you?"

"No, I don't."

I was anxious to see her taste the coffee. There was something about witnessing a grown woman, a devoted believer, break her promise to her faith before me.

It was a far cry from any real sin—it was just a sip of coffee—but the fact that she was doing this before me held an unusual sensuality. I licked my lips as she brought the cup to her mouth.

She took a long sip, let it sit in her mouth, and then swallowed.

"Wow, that's not what I thought it would taste like. I was hoping for something like the Long Island iced tea."

"Well, if I had some Kahlua and vodka, I could make this more of a fun drink."

"Do you have any?" she asked.

"Uh, no. My dad didn't drink, so no."

"Too bad. I could like coffee if it had something fun in it."

Looking around the kitchen, she noticed the pile of mail.

"Oh, that reminds me. I had a package from Amazon sent here."

Oh shit! That was hers?

"I didn't see anything. Why would you send it here?"

"Well, nothing gets into our house without one of the kids opening it. They're just feminine products, so I sent them here. I don't need my kids looking through my tampons and breast pads."

I looked at her, confused. She could see I didn't understand.

"I'm still breastfeeding John-John. I know it's time to wean him, but I've been pregnant more than not pregnant this past 18 years, and so, well, I leak a lot."

"You leak a lot?"