An Amazing Surprise

I recently wrote a story called "The Surprise" - a non-consensual story with a twist. I deliberately picked a vague title, and so I will try and write a different tale under each of Literotica's twenty-five writing categories with the same inspiration over the next year. This is Number Four.

I met Paul during freshers' week at university. He lived in a cramped flat of six, opposite me, in a building from the 1960s. Our rooms and accommodation were ridiculously expensive, but were the cheapest accommodation on campus.

We studied on the same course, often worked together, always cooked and ate together, and once a week, we went "on the pull" together. I didn't need to admit it, as it was painfully obvious, but I had not managed to find a girlfriend during my high school days and had travelled to university as a virgin. I was never comfortable talking to girls in such circumstances, and our evenings at nightclubs consistently finished outside the kebab van, rather than in bed with a nubile lady.

Paul was the complete opposite; he had two dozen dates and a number of one-night stands during his first term. He effortlessly made women laugh and could establish a connection in seconds that I was unable to make in hours.

I was envious and longed to have his confidence; I wanted to ask Nina, a girl on our course, on a date, and asked him to reveal his "secret", but he casually dismissed me. "Ain't no mystery," he laughed. "Just be yourself. You need to get laid once and then it'll be easy. Find a slut to show you what to do and then you'll have the bottle to chat Nina up."

It sounded so simple, but even at the Christmas Ball, I didn't hook up. Although a few revellers came with their partners, many women attended to party and have a one-night stand. Alas, my conscience and sexual confidence would not let me take advantage of a drunken lady, despite the array of inebriated and uninhibited students in alluring outfits eager for intimacy.

We broke for the Christmas holidays in December, and Paul invited me to come to his home for New Year. I accepted, and on New Year's Eve, I travelled by train to the Berkshire town where my friend had grown up. He lived with his mother in a two-bedroom terraced house a mile from the station, and he set up a camp bed in his room. It was a tight squeeze, but fine for a few nights. We took a walk to the out-of-town supermarket, and I bought a couple of boxes of beer and a pair of pizzas.

"I've been asked to go into work at lunchtime tomorrow," he said apologetically. "It's only four hours, but it's double rate 'cause it's bank holiday." He had taken holiday employment to top up his finances, and I promised him I would read while he toiled at the nearby superstore. His absence was not a problem.

We ate in front of the television with a few cans. Paul's mum was "out for her New Year's bash" and afterwards, we dressed in semi-smart clothes and walked to his local pub for an evening of revelry. We got drunk; Paul was catatonic and at 1am, I had to carry him to his home, helping him to the bathroom so he could throw up.

His mother, peering through her black-rimmed glasses, watched from the doorway, still wearing her party clothes. She was much younger than I expected, and had long, wavy dark hair that framed her face. She wore a tight, black lycra-style dress that hugged her curves and her large bosom, and finished a dozen inches above her knee. Her legs were encased in black hosiery and she shook her head as her son expelled his stomach into the lavatory.

"Silly boy," she muttered; I could smell lots of alcohol on her breath, too, but she was sober enough to be in control of her senses. "I'll go get him some water." We gave Paul a drink and tucked him into bed; she had changed from her black clothes to a thin, satin dressing gown. "You must be Steve. I've made us hot chocolates downstairs," she said. "Get into your pyjamas."

I didn't bring any nightclothes, but wore just my boxer shorts and T-shirt in her terraced abode. She grinned as she sat on the couch and passed me the steaming mug of brown sweetness. "Thanks, ... err ..."

"Ellen," she introduced.

"Thanks Ellen," I muttered. It felt wrong, but Paul's mother was sexy. Her short dressing gown had ridden upwards and rested at the top of her thigh, and as she leaned forward, I could see her cleavage. For a man who had used pornography significantly for years, and had spilt copious amounts of cum to "MILF porn," Ellen was unwittingly provocative. "You're much younger than I expected," I said, breaking the silence.

She coyly looked away. "Yeah, Paul was the result of a fifteen-year-old getting knocked up. He's eighteen, so you can work out my age."

"My mum was older than you are now when I was born!"

She tucked her hair behind her ear and licked her lips. "My partner was a senior director of a major firm with a wife and kids. He didn't want a pregnant underage girl spoiling his life. So I made him an offer he couldn't refuse." I raised my eyebrows at her. "He bought this house for me in 2005 for a hundred grand, and he pays me maintenance until Paul leaves full-time education."

"It's a nice home. Supermarket at the end of the road, and is close to the station and ..."

"All I had to do was to raise a kid by myself and not reveal who the scumbag father was." She slurped her drink. "And who wants to date a girl at nineteen with a three-year-old child?" She sighed. "Paul won't tell me. Does he have a girlfriend at university? He's mentioned a few names - Susie, Olivia, Maria - but I don't know if they are friends or ..."

"Susie and Maria are regular ... visitors," I said. My alcoholic consumption had impacted on my discretion and I was as candid as Ellen.

"As long as he uses protection."

"I'm sure he does. We got a box of ten from the university when we started and he's been to get replacements multiple times."

She smiled as she drank from her mug. "And you have too, I bet?"

"No," I replied. "I didn't need a single bloody one," I moaned, sipping my drink. She went to speak, but we heard Paul move upstairs, and we hurried into the toilet to see him vomiting once more.

My friend felt rough that morning. His mother cooked him a fried breakfast, chastised him, and put several glasses of water into him as she took down her Christmas decorations, boxing them up. I climbed the ladder into the loft as Paul and Ellen passed me the labelled boxes. By the time my friend left the house to walk to work, I had stacked the last box in the attic.

Ellen showered; the effort had caused her perspire, and she came into Paul's room, where I lay, reading a book, wrapped in a thick dressing gown. "Bathroom's free if you want a wash. I know it gets dusty and sweaty in the loft."

She passed me a fresh towel, and I thanked her. I stepped underneath a powerful, warm jet of water, washing away the grit and dirt from the morning's exertions. She called my name from her bedroom when I left the shower, and I entered her room with wet feet, looking at her lay on her double bed.

Naked.

Her breasts hung invitingly. No longer as pert as the ever-youthful young models in porn, but with large areola and big nipples. I ogled her, taking in sparkling blue belly button jewellery and her shaven pubis. "Now, about that problem of yours."

I gulped. "Problem?"

"Of not using a condom all year. Are you a virgin, Steve?"

My eyes stared at her smooth flesh. She had two tattoos on her left arm and wore a ring on her right hand. There was a necklace around her throat, and a scar on her right thigh. And I wanted to examine, lick, taste, and kiss her slit. MILFs: the subject of so many of my masturbatory fantasies lay less than three feet from me. I nodded at her question.

"Do you want to be a virgin any longer?"

I shook my head, unable to speak.

"Will you take that towel off and come to my bed?" I froze. Was this a joke? What would Paul say? "I don't intend to tell my son I seduced his friend," she added, soothing my fears. Once one foot moved, the other followed, and I walked to the window-side of the bed, and lay on top of the duvet, naked.

Her lips touched mine. For the first time in two years, I kissed a woman. Her hand floated over my bare flesh, as so I did the same, touching her torso, her flanks and her bosom. Breasts. Smooth, sprightly orbs of joy that were supple and soft. My fingers glided over her nipples, and she grunted as we snogged.

Then the tongues. Our mouths meshed as our hands explored. My cock strained, eager to play. My sensations were in overdrive as my touch swept over the naked body of my friend's mother.

We broke from our kiss and she whispered in my ear. "Have a feel down there. Have a proper look. Play with my cunt." My cock twitched; my heart pounded. Trembling hands touched the top of her warm cleft. "I won't break." She giggled. "Or suck my nipples. I love that."

She groaned as my lips closed over her nipple and I swirled my tongue over her erect point, sucking gently. She guided my hand to her clit, pressing my finger against her slippery button. She muttered instructions under her breath. "Just there ... up a bit ... not so fast ... slowly ... oh, that's fantastic ... oh, yeah ... harder now ... perfect ... oh, that's so fucking perfect."

Her hand grabbed the back of my head as she arched her back, raising her hips from the duvet. "Finger me!"

"Finger you?" He whispered into her bosom.

"Fuckin' finger me," she panted. "Rub your thumb on your left hand against my clit and then use two or three fingers in my cunt." Ellen watched me as I moved and knelt between her splayed legs; my thumb massaged her engorged button as I slowly pressed my forefinger and middle finger against her opening.

They easily slipped in. She was so slippery, and she groaned as she exhaled, as I touched her insides. "Massage the front wall," she demanded. "In this sort of motion." She illustrated with her hand.

Her breathing became ragged as I did as she asked. In twenty minutes, I had gone from first proper kiss to fingering this elegant and experienced woman. As my hands massaged her G-Spot, as rocked her hips to the same rhythm as my stroking. The room oozed with her arousal; a delicate, feminine musk that I had never smelt before and already loved.

She panted, demanding that I go "faster, harder." Ellen squealed, bucking her hips and arching her back as her cunt squeezed my fingers and her body convulsed. She yelled in ecstasy. "Oh ... fuck--!" She cried, collapsing on the bed, and waving my hand away. "Give me a minute," she murmured.

She lay panting and reached into her bedside cabinet. "Can you get that on?" I had never put a condom onto the end of my prick before, and she saw the look in my eyes. "Or I can put it on," she giggled and unwrapped it. Ellen leaned over to roll the sheath along my shaft. "Go slow," she warned. "Don't want you cumming too quickly!"

"I probably will," I said. "You're so sexy." Pre-cum had leaked onto my leg throughout the past fifteen minutes and I felt an intense horniness as I knelt between her thighs.

"And I'm flexible," she said, smiling as she brought her knees to her chest, opening her legs. She was ready for me. Her glistening folds parted. I teased her gently, running my fingertips over her sensitive skin, feeling the heat from her cunt. She moaned softly. "Fuck me. Give me your cherry."

She helped position my prick; I felt ridiculous as I leaned forward and her fingers guided my erect dick into her sopping hole. But the delicious, wonderful warmth on my shaft as I pressed it into her pussy was a beautiful moment. Her smile, as she put her ankles on my back, as I slowly slid my cock into her.

We stared at each other as I gently fucked Ellen. A million new sensations sparkled across my groin, exciting my balls, my taint and my prick, as I desperately fought the urge to pound a few strokes to speed towards the point of no return.

She understood my dilemma. This felt too good. Her breasts swayed as we screwed; her smile was genuine and erotic. "Good?"

"The fucking best," I replied.

"Go faster when you are ready," she muttered, closing her eyes as our rhythm increased. "I just want to feel you."

Gentle moans became squeals and groans as I pounded into her, chasing my own climax. I needed to orgasm. I wanted to reach my apex. For years, I had dreamt of this moment. I longed for the feeling of spilling my load inside another.

The warmth of sexual pleasure became a burning inferno. The point of inevitability neared, and I hammered into her tight cunt, intensifying my peak. Waves of ecstasy cascaded from my prick, unlike any wanking session, tingling every part of my body as several jets of cum filled the teat of the condom.

She smiled, rubbing my back as I sated my arousal.

"You're a man now," she said and kissed me. "A proper man."

I laughed, we had another shower, and tidied up from our afternoon tryst. Paul came home shortly afterwards, and we shared an evening of light drinking and television, not acknowledging our encounter.

The following morning, I promised to get breakfast while my friend showered. Ellen entered the kitchen as the kettle boiled, kissed me on the lips and then dropped to her knees, pulling my boxer shorts with it. Her lips closed over the head of my stiffening prick, and she bobbed her head up and down. Her hand gripped the base of my cock, matching the rhythm of her mouth.

Ellen deep-throated me, drawing gasps as I heard the shower patter on the ceiling. I leaned against the counter, enjoying the rapid swell of arousal bubble in my groin. "I'm going to cum," I warned her.

She never paused; the fellatrix expertly brought me to orgasm, swallowing every drop of my cum as I emptied my balls into her mouth, as the shower stopped above us. Ellen wiped her lips and slid my boxer shorts to my waist, grinning as she stood up.

I stayed with Paul until January 5th, and when he worked on another day, his mother introduced me to cunnilingus and the 69 position. Every morning she provided an expert blowjob, as the experienced MILF gave me a crash course in sex.

Two weeks later, I returned to university and asked Nina for a date; we ended up in bed, and I had the confidence to screw her, bringing her to four orgasms with my fingers and tongue. We dated for five months before we split up, just before the academic three-month-long summer break. Nina was my first girlfriend, and my first breakup and Paul came to eat with me to offer sympathies.

"Mum says why don't you come visit us and we'll cheer you up. And she wants you to sleep in her bed. Says it will be more comfortable than the camp bed." He casually drank from the beer can as his fork picked at the chilli con carne.

"What?" I cried.

"She wants to continue doing what you did at Christmas." His eyebrows rose. "Yeah, Steve. Of course I knew."

"And you don't care? You're not looking to kill me?"

"When I told her about you, she bet me a tenner that she couldn't seduce you if you came to stay over New Year. I knew she'd win." I blushed, and he shrugged. "And all my life, my mother has had fuck buddies and short-term boyfriends. I didn't know what they were until I became a teenager, but she's in her mid-thirties, so she shouldn't be celibate. She wants sex without relationship drama, which I understand. Over the years, she interrupted me with my college girls so often and I saw her with a new guy way too many times. It would be a change to have someone that I like in the house, rather than a rando. Plus, Maria's staying for a couple of weeks."

"Maria?"

"Yeah, she says she's had enough of being my friend with benefit, and wants to be my girlfriend. So, I have to go exclusive." His eyes sparkled. "And as I want some time with Maria in my bed, I need mum to be distracted."

"And I'm that distraction?"

"Yes, but it's her invitation," Paul said. "She likes your company."

I was silent at this revelation. I couldn't believe my best friend knew about me losing my virginity to his mother. "Please tell her that would be wonderful."

He smiled and shovelled a fork of my cooking into his mouth. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled," he said.