Forty-Love

⁅ Author's Note: Hello, everyone! This story was commissioned by the wonderful pickleherring. He writes too, so give his stuff a look. (〃￣︶￣) ⁆

^{﴾Content: 18+, age difference, anal sex, big ass, big breasts, big dick, boobjob/pazuri, creampie/cum in vagina, cum in ass, cum in mouth, excessive cum, futanari/intersex/girls with dicks, interracial, locker room, milf, multiple orgasms, older woman, oral sex [fellatio], shower sex, vaginal sex, virgin﴿}

Part One

"Here we are!"

Justine awoke with a start at her mother's announcement, half-lidded eyes rolling around to the blurry figure in the driver's seat.

"Hwuh?" She mumbled, rubbing the imprint that the seat belt had left on her cheek as she slept against it.

"Here you go, sleeping cutie..." Her mom laughed, pulling Justine's glasses down from the sunglasses holder, "I took your glasses off when you fell asleep so they wouldn't smush into your face."

She slipped them onto her half-conscious face. With a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, Justine's mom hopped out of the car and began to rifle through the trunk. By the time Justine finally got out of the car, she had already closed it and approached her sleepy daughter with gym bags in either hand.

"Here's yoouuuurs⁓♪" With a sing-song voice and a big smile, she put the bag in Justine's hands with characteristic insistence, "Now let's get inside and get changed. We don't want to be laaaaa-aaaaate⁓♪"

Justine yawned and reached down to scratch herself as her body walked behind her mother on auto-pilot. The slap of her flip-flops soon quieted as they transitioned from the sidewalk to the soft carpet. The cool whoosh of an air-conditioned room signaled their entrance, which beckoned Justine's eyelids to open.

"Ahem."

A rather insistent voice drew Justine's attention to a rail-thin woman in her mid-50s. She looked down the end of her long nose, her pale and powdered cheeks stretching in an opaquely insincere smile.

"Oh... c-can I h--uh... I mean... what can I d--" Justine

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave, ma'am," the smiling woman interrupted.

"Wh--" Justine's eyes shot open as she suddenly felt very awake. As she clutched her bag in front of her chest, the young woman glanced around the room. She found nothing but the stares of the many older patrons, their breakfast interrupted by the intrusion.

"I'm afraid that your... attire..." Her beady eyes rolled down her long nose and back, scanning Justine condescendingly, "...does not meet our dress code."

Justine looked down over her bag in horror as she realized that she was still in her pajamas--and not cute ones either. No, she was wearing a T-shirt that was a couple of sizes too big, a pair of very loose boxer shorts, and flip-flops. The half-chub that remained of her morning wood made a rather obscene arch down one side towards her leg, millimeters from breaching containment.

Nervous sweat began to bead on her forehead as she realized how well-dressed the average person in this room was, as well as the stunningly expensive-looking décor that surrounded her. With a mouth that felt like it was stuffed with peanut butter, she struggled to explain herself. Nervousness progressed into full-on panic as she realized that she had no idea what she was doing here--or even where 'here' was.

"Excuse me, is something the matter?"

Noticing that Justine had been stopped, her mother turned back with a sense of urgency that made her curls bounce as she approached. She stood beside her daughter, a bag over one arm and two brand-new tennis rackets tucked under the other.

"Oh, this young lady wandered in, and I was--"

"Wandered in? Good god, some things never change."

"Is there a problem here?" A suited man entered the conversation from behind them, and he positioned himself alongside the doorwoman.

"Indeed there is. This woman has been very rude to my daughter--"

"This club is for members only, ma'am."

With that, her mother's expression darkened to the new man as it had with the long-nosed woman.

"Mom... People are staring..." Justine whispered, shrinking with embarrassment.

"You should be used to it, dear. Eyes tend to follow the glow," Minerva pulled out her phone, angrily tapped the screen a few times--taking care to turn up her fingernails to avoid the screen--and put it to her ear. She glanced at either of the two employees in turn, "That'll be all from the both of you, thanks."

"Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to lea--"

"Annie? It's Minnie. Hi, I'm sorry to call you like this, but it seems we've arrived a little early, and--... Yes. Exactly. This under-stuffed screech owl and her frat boy fling are being very rude to me and Justine--... Thank you, honey. Hugs and kisses. See you in a few."

Minerva tapped the end call button with a bit of flourish to her motion, spreading her fingers out to show off her immaculately-styled nails again. She turned from the two as if they had vanished from her sight and proceeded inside, grabbing Justine's arm to pull her along. They started to pursue in protest, but both of them ground to a halt as their pockets started vibrating.

"Mom... I could've just gotten changed in the car if you'd--"

"They have a changing room for a reason, dear. So we'll change there."

"But the dress code--" Justine began to protest.

"Trust me, dear--if you were a white girl with straight hair, they wouldn't have given a shit about their dress code."

"But I'm barely dres--"

"Then they should be grateful they don't have to pay for the privilege. Ah! Here we are!"

Minerva led Justine through the entryway, the fancy dining room, the bar area, and the locker rooms before they finally arrived at a private changing room with a small reserved sign on it.

"Mom... we were going to go get the rest of my stuff. From the dorm...?" Justine grumbled--shaken, but now thoroughly awake.

"Oh of course we are, College Queen! Annie called while you were sleeping--she's my girl from way back in my college days--and she invited us to play a game or two with her and her daughter Elaine. I haven't seen Annie in so long, so I just couldn't refuse!" She held her phone up next to the knob, causing the red LED above it to turn green.

"Mom, I didn't pack any clothes to play tennis. I don't have anything but flip-flops and hiking boots."

"Oh, I know dear. That's why I stopped off and bought us some equipment for the occasion! What did you think was in that bag you're carrying? Silly..."

"Great..." Justine mumbled, her mood still thoroughly soured from the rude awakening at the entryway.

"What was that, honey?"

"Oh... it was nothing. Sorry. I'm just really tired, is all..."

"I'll grab you a coffee while you're getting changed, then," Minerva held the door open and waved her daughter inside.

Justine hesitated for a moment but proceeded inside regardless. She didn't want anything to do with this, but given all the equipment her mother had bought, she would feel pretty bad turning her down. Then again, knowing her mother, there was a pretty good chance that was part of the plan.

"Mom... I don't really want to play..." Justine rubbed the back of her neck in the uncomfortable silence, "I mean, I haven't practiced in a long time. So I bet I'm gonna be super rusty. I don't want to drag you down."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, sweetie; this is just for fun! Just a friendly game between old friends and their beautiful, talented daughters," She patted Justine on the shoulder with a broad smile, "The stakes couldn't be lower, dear!"

Somehow Justine still had doubts. Her mother was the woman that shame forgot. Her face was never without a veneer of infectious confidence. She was a star athlete, a part-time model, one of the most accomplished trial attorneys on the east coast, and an incredibly shrewd investor besides.

Justine, on the other hand? She often joked that she must've been adopted. She inherited none of her mother's natural charisma or confidence, and certainly none of her outgoing personality. Justine was a bookish, awkward, kissless virgin at the age of 22.

That's not to say she lacked friends--she had plenty of those that she cared for very deeply. But the moment of complete exposure and vulnerability that came with expressing romantic or sexual feelings towards another person seemed like an insurmountable anxiety.

One thing she did inherit from her mother was her natural talent on the tennis court. However, love of the sport was not something they shared--much to her mother's chagrin, Minerva had been trying to convince her daughter to pick up the racket again ever since she left for college to no avail.

Then again, Minerva had done her more favors than she could count during her college years. As she had a few minutes prior, Justine's mother always had her daughter's back, and Justine doubted that she'd ever have made it through the roughest parts of exam season without her. So she tried not to make too big of a stink about the mild subterfuge used to get her here. Just a couple of games? She could do that. Besides, there was no arguing with her mother anyway, as many an unprepared prosecutor had figured out the hard way.

Minerva closed the door behind them as Justine sat the bag on the bench facing a row of lockers and started to undress.

"Oh, that reminds me--when was the last time you masturbated, dear?"

Justine was caught so off guard by the question that she nearly fell over while stepping out of her shorts.

"Mom!" Justine hissed, instinctively looking around the empty room to make sure no one heard.

"You have a condition, sweetie," Minerva explained with a patience seen only by her daughter, "Asakura Syndrome isn't a joke, and I know we've been stuck in the car for the past couple of days. Maybe you should consider... loosening your strings... before we hit the court?"

Asakura Syndrome, for the unaware, is a genetic disorder that affects girls with dicks. In short, the condition is caused by a chronic hormonal imbalance, which can itself have a wide range of potential causes. Common symptoms include hyperspermia, hypergonadism, and aggressive sexual urges--each of which will steadily increase in severity without treatment. In extreme cases, this can result in a compulsive pursuit of sexual release. Thankfully, patients with this condition usually respond well to simple medication and manual stimulation therapy, so such cases are extremely rare.

"I'll be fine," Justine assured her, "I can handle it."

"I know you can, Justine. You can do anything. Whether or not you will is more my concern," Minerva crossed her arms, eyebrow raised.

"My new meds keep it under control, Mom. So just let me do my own thing, please?" Justine scoffed.

"You do your own thing ten to fifteen times a day, Justine. I'm just asking you to do it once before we head out to the court. You know you embarrass easily, so..."

"Mom, I'm not jacking off in a country club locker room. E--... end of discussion!" Justine's voice got a little shaky at the end, but she stuck to it nonetheless.

"Sweetie, there's nothing wrong with having a strong sex drive--especially for someone with your condition," Minerva glanced down only briefly, and Justine's gaze followed hers.

Justine's face turned pink as she discovered the very visible tent in her pajama pants. She averted her eyes with an indignant scoff--intent on further protest but found her tongue frozen with embarrassment. Closing her legs a little tighter, she pulled the bag onto her lap to hide it from view.

"Now I'm going to go get us some coffee," Minerva announced, walking toward the door, "I'll be gone for twenty minutes."

Minerva stressed the last couple of words, giving her daughter a pointed stare. The implication was clear.

"Okay..." Justine grumbled.

"I'll knock when I come back, okay?" Minerva told her, already halfway out the door.

"Fine."

"Okay!" Her mother smiled and closed the door behind her.

Justine rolled her eyes with a sigh as she turned the shower on and began to disrobe, neatly folding her PJs into a pile next to the bag. She briefly considered taking her mother's advice. On any other day, she probably would have. But the incident at the door along with her mother's embarrassing (though not necessarily untrue) remarks had left her feeling somewhat obstinate.

She huffed with the kind of frustration that comes with being told what you don't want to hear. Still stewing, she ransacked her bag for her pills and bitterly struggled with the cap. After a few frustrated grunts, both the cap and the bottle popped free of her grasp. Justine could do naught but watch in horror as a half-dozen pills shot across the room and began to dissolve on the damp shower floor.

"Fuck!" Justine cursed in a scramble to pick up at least one, but they had all been reduced to foamy splotches on the tile before she could reach them.

Hesitantly, she looked into the bottle to confirm what she already knew. She cursed again, finding it empty. Taking a deep breath, Justine tried to stay positive. The next week wouldn't be pleasant, but she would survive. She just had to get through today. With a sigh, she stepped into the falling water and turned the knob until the water began to run out cold.

Part Two

"Mom... are you sure about this outfit?"

Justine glanced down at herself, feeling a little self-conscious. The shorts that Minerva had bought barely reached her thighs, and it had left her feeling more than a little exposed. Stuffing her ample endowment into them was quite the task, and she found herself repeatedly checking to make sure nothing had slipped. If she managed to keep it soft, she was sure she would be fine...but that was a very big if.

"You promised not to be a stick in the mud..." Minerva whispered, well out of earshot of the approaching duo. Giving her daughter no time to respond, she waved her old friend over excitedly, "Annie! Over here!"

Justine waved nervously, trying to stifle her embarrassment as her mother hopped up and down like a child in the middle of the court. Her friend for her part waved warmly. Unable to contain her excitement, Minerva ran to meet them halfway, nearly tackling them to the ground.

"Oh hello, Minnie!" Anabel gasped, warmly returning the embrace as soon as she had regained her footing, "It's been far too long, dear."

"Couldn't agree more, girl... couldn't agree more," Minerva laughed.

After a short exchange outside Justine's range of hearing, she threw an arm around each of their shoulders and walked them back toward the court.

"Justine, this is my best friend from college: Anabel Descoteaux..."

Anabel wasn't entirely a stranger; She was a constant presence in Minerva's stories and photo albums, and they maintained almost daily contact via Facebook and text messages. This was the first time that Justine had met her in person, however. She was an active woman in her mid-40s, much like Minerva. However, where Justine's mother was energetic and approachable, Anabel had the presence of royalty. Justine found herself feeling very small and under-dressed in her presence.

Justine extended her hand, only to be pulled into a tight hug instead. The girl's mind briefly left her body as a multitude of sensations hit at once: the softness of her skin, the warmth of her embrace, the sweet smell of her perfume, and the caress of her womanly curves. Justine absentmindedly wrapped her arms around Ms. Descoteaux's back as Anne nuzzled her cheek into her shoulder.

"Sorry, dear," Anabel chuckled as they parted, "I hope your mother warned you. I'm very much a hugger."

Her eyes darted downward for just a split second, and then rose back to meet Justine's. Her expression was unchanged, but Justine instinctively checked herself to make sure that she hadn't fallen out of her shorts. Thankfully, all was well.

"Nah... no worries! I uh... I like hugs!" Justine laughed nervously.

"...And this is her daughter, Elaine!" Minerva concluded, gesturing to the hooded girl with her nose buried in her phone.

As if unsettled by the sound of her name, Elaine raised her head with a start, nearly dropping her phone in the process. She looked from Minerva to Anabel, and finally to Justine. They exchanged an awkward glance. Elaine went for a handshake. Justine went for a hug. Both laughed nervously and stalled, feeling foolish as they tried to correct their incompatible greetings. Justine went for a handshake. Elaine went for a hug.

They silently agreed to cut their losses and settled on an awkward wave in lieu of embarrassing themselves further.

"Nice to meet you," Justine smiled as genuinely as she could manage.

"Y--yes!" Elaine nodded, before adding, "Me uh... me too..."

Justine turned and took her place down the court. She took a few practice swings in hopes that her body would remember the proper motions. Anabel bounced the ball a few times as she prepared to serve from the opposite side of the net.

"Best of three, dear?" Anabel called across the court to Minerva.

"Sounds good!" She responded with a sweet smile, "You just pick how many games you want to lose, Annie!"

The pleasantries quickly faded as Anabel readied up her serve. She cast a final, confident glance at Justine and tossed the ball skyward.

"Haaaaa--UNGH!" With an unrestrained grunt of exertion, she fired the serve from her racket, clearing the net with practiced form. A smile crossed her lips...

The return was a sharp contrast. Justine hit the ball back with a criminally precise slice, giving the ball barely any bounce as it unceremoniously rapped twice against the clay court before Anabel could even begin to approach it. Wide-eyed, her gaze darted to Justine, then to Minerva, and then back.

Minerva burst into laughter.

"I guess it's our serve now--right, Annie?" She yelled to her dumbfounded friend.

Anabel grumbled, retrieved the ball that now rolled lazily across the court, and tossed it back to Justine with a scalding glare. Justine laughed nervously under her breath and attempted to avoid eye contact with her gloating mother.

"The stakes couldn't be lower," she said.

"Just for fun," she said.

Justine did not want any part of her mother's ravenous competitive appetite, but she knew that if she intentionally threw the game, the ride home would be torturous. And Minerva would know--she always knew. Justine took a deep breath and tossed the ball up to serve.

Anabel tensed as Justine's backswing reached its full extension, and she darted forward as soon as the lanky girl's racket made contact, intending to intercept the low bounce as she had failed to do seconds earlier.

Justine tilted her racket at the last second, sending a moonball bouncing fast and high over Anabel's head--far beyond her reach.

The older woman jumped with a growl of equal parts exertion and frustration. She swung her racket high overhead, hitting naught but air as the ball sailed past and lodged itself in the chain link fence. Clearly rattled but unbroken, Anabel straightened her visor and took her place back on the court; a determined look fixed on her face.

"Love-15!" Minerva cackled.

"M--Mom?" Elaine piped up, finally getting her mother's attention.

"What is it, Elaine?" Anabel responded, trying her best to hide her embarrassment.

"W--...would you like me... to um--... Should I return the serve?" Elaine asked somewhat apprehensively--clearly concerned about further bruising her mother's ego, "She's... pretty good..."

"Thank you, dear, but no," Anabel flashed Elaine a smile, "I simply underestimated little Justine, that's all. My mistake. Knowing her mother, I should've been more prepared..."