tagIllustratedGraham Parker's Mother

Graham Parker's Mother


OK, a quick disclaimer before you get to the scene proper. In a previous story I submitted to Illustrated - MILF Model Melody I was accused of filching photos off the internet; that is not true, I know the model depicted in the piece, as difficult as that may be to believe, and I have her permission to use the images here.

Seriously, believe it, I know her. If you're interested she has a website, etc.

Right, now that's out of the way I can explain why there are no explicit pictures of 'Melody' using the vibrator. When I submitted the other story the Literotica site owner sent me a PM regarding graphic photos, even censoring open leg images -- hence the pics here are relatively tame. Sorry, but that's the way it is.

I hope you enjoy the scene all the same. If you want to send feedback then do so by PM on Lit, Public Comment below, or by email. If you want a reply or response to feedback then email is best.

There may be errors or typos in the text. I check my own stuff and no matter how closely I scrutinise, I always seem to miss something. If there are fuck-ups remaining, please forgive me.

Here it is, a quick piece about a MILF -- Graham Parker's mother. Oh, I have no idea who Graham Parker is; I just made up the name for the submission. There's nothing sinister in the choice at all.

GA -- Langkawi, Malaysia -- 20th of January 1023.

Taking the key had scared me. First of all I'd been shit-scared of being caught; anyone could have seen me loitering around the front of the house, one of the neighbours might have watched me lift the plant pot next the front step and take the key from its hiding place, but I was relying on the fact that I was well known on that street, since I was a regular visitor, not to arouse suspicion. Another reason for my worry was that even while I knew I was doing wrong, I still did it anyway. This thing had ballooned out of control -- my obsession for Graham Parker's mother had crossed the border into stalker country and I feared for my own sanity.

But I couldn't help myself, everything about Graham Parker's mother turned me on. I liked her blonde hair and the way she looked at me. I thought she had a pretty face and I loved her scent that wafted along in her wake as she moved around the ground floor of the house. I wondered what her bedroom smelled like ... and her sheets. Whenever I saw a hint of cleavage in the sometimes revealing tops she wore my dick got so stiff it could cut glass. I'd seen her in her bikini once while she sunbathed on the patio at the back of the house. I think that's when I really started to get the hots for Graham Parker's mother, when Graham and I arrived unexpectedly one hot afternoon and I'd seen the woman's big tits in her bikini bra.

That evening I'd wanked myself off three times while I fantasised about Melody Parker's jugs. I conjured up scenarios where I could spy on Melody as she undressed at night, when she got dressed in the morning, or when she lay on the terrace behind her house and sunbathed in the nude.

After that it got to the stage where I'd mooch around the house, snooping into rooms I had no business being in, my heart hammering in my chest, the heady cocktail of sexual arousal and anxiety at being discovered out of bounds hot in my veins.

I loitered in the supermarket when I knew she'd be there, following her along the aisles for ten minutes or so before engineering a meeting. Then Melody Parker would smile at me politely and enquire about my mum and how my job was going, and all the while I'd be angling closer to her to catch a whiff of her scent or to catch a glimpse down her vertiginous cleavage.

At her house, whenever Graham was in, I'd call around on the pretext of wanting to see Graham but then contrive to spend a few minutes in her presence as she watched the television or made a cup of tea in the kitchen. I could watch her for hours if she'd let me; just doing normal, mundane things like the shopping or sitting in front of the box or boiling the kettle were enough.

Then the idea came to me, and at first I'd pushed the dark thought back into its box and sealed the lid and sat on it to make sure the insidious scheme couldn't escape.

But I still went ahead and did it anyway. I took the key to the front door of Melody's house and had a copy made, returning the original to its hiding place with nobody the wiser.

I had no real plan in mind, but just possessing that key gave me such a delicious, wicked thrill.

My big chance came when Graham told me he'd be away at the weekend.

"We're going up to see my grandparents," he said one Thursday evening. "Tomorrow night," he lamented, "a fucking Friday." Graham turned a dejected face towards me as we sat in his bedroom. "She wants to drive up there on a Friday evening. Fucking mental idea if you ask me." Graham rolled his eyes to emphasise his disgust for his mother's plan, but all I could think of at hearing his news was that I could roam around the house at will. Hell, I could even sleep in Melody's bed if I fancied it -- have a wank in there if I chose!

I sauntered up to the front door as if I had every right to be there. The key slid into the mortise with a gentle snicker and turned in the lock like a wet dream. I knew the spare would have been moved from beneath the plant pot since it was only there when there was potential for Graham to lose or forget his own key, and I gave a mutter of thanks that I'd had the foresight to have a copy cut. The front door closed behind me and I immediately punched in the four digit code that Graham had naively supplied me with when I'd asked about the alarm.

The chirruping ended with a double beep to signal that the alarm was successfully disabled.

I was in! And I had a whole weekend to investigate Melody Parker's boudoir.

Where to begin? Upstairs in her bedroom was the obvious choice, and I almost tripped up the stairs in my indecent haste to get a good long look through Melody's most personal things.

At her bedroom door I forced myself to calm down, realising that I had to leave everything exactly as I'd found it. Anything out of place would arouse suspicion and might lead to the police being called.

"Be cool," I muttered over and over, my mantra for the weekend.

Starting at Melody's dressing table I sifted through piles of neatly folded clothes, some of them were items that I'd seen her wearing. Her underwear drawer was packed with lacy, febrile delicates, and I could barely resist the urge to touch my cock when I imagined the places that those garments had covered, the soft cotton of a diaphanous thong nestled tight against Melody's vulva for example.

In a drawer in a bedside table I discovered gold, a pornographic magazine and a small-sized vibrator, red and shaped like a penis.

"Melody," I breathed when I pictured the woman herself, naked and wide-legged and rubbing the buzzing vibe through her labia before fucking it into her opening. "You dirty fucking bitch," I breathed, my cock stiff inside my jeans. Unable to resist the temptation I unzipped my jeans and hauled them to my knees. Then I lay on Melody's bed and pumped at my cock while I flicked through the lurid pages featuring good-looking models in hard-core porn poses.

When I came, with the vibrator under my nose in an attempt to smell the woman's musk on it, I had no choice but to take the entire deluge of my ejaculate against my tee-shirt. I jerked at my cock and aimed the spitting eye at myself so there were no tell-tale semen stains on Melody's bed. With some reluctance I returned the dirty magazine and the vibrator to the drawer, wondering what other secrets I might uncover. I hoped to find a diary so I could delve into Melody's day-to-day life and find out what she got up to. I was curious about men, and even though a dark slide of jealousy curdled in my guts whenever I imagined Melody with a man, I realised that she had to get sex from somewhere. Melody Parker was somewhere around forty years old I estimated, and it stood to reason that, as a single woman, she'd need cock from time to time. If I could locate a diary or something akin to a journal I hoped I'd be able to fathom out a strategy whereby I could get into Melody's knickers.

A wild fantasy to be sure, but maybe she had a penchant for young blokes around her own son's age. She wouldn't be the only woman with those tastes.

However, as much as I searched I failed to come across anything that would give me a deeper insight into what made Graham Parker's mother tick.

I snuck out of the house at past midnight, and was back again the following afternoon. Even though I'd found nothing beyond the magazine and vibrator, which upon analysis wasn't such a shocking discovery, I still hoped to uncover something darker about the subject of my obsession.

In the end I had to satisfy myself with taking a pair of Melody's used knickers out of the laundry hamper. That alone was a risk, but one that was worth taking -- I mean what kind of thief breaks into a house and takes away nothing other than a single item of underwear? OK, yes, a pervy one, but since the flat-screen television and the laptop computers were left behind, I thought Melody would put the missing underwear down to a case of absent-mindedness and dismiss the oddity -- if she even noticed in the first place.

As it happened, on Monday evening when, unable to bear such an extended separation, I went to the house supposedly in search of Graham, Melody gave me such a cold look of disdain I felt my guts turn to water.

"Just the person I wanted to see," she said, contempt twisting her face. "You get your arse inside this house, Patrick. You and I are going to have a talk."

"Uh ... is Graham in, Mrs Parker?" I asked in an attempt to appear calm and unworried, even though my sphincter clenched and unclenched, fluttering so fast I thought I might actually shit myself.

"No," the woman snapped. "And you want to think yourself lucky. If he knew what you'd been up to he'd be kicking the living daylights out of you."

Now all of that didn't sound too promising. Melody must know something, somebody must have seen me coming and going, but that in itself wouldn't explain the woman's demeanour, she was properly angry about something, disgusted even, and I wracked my brains trying to think up any reason other than the obvious for Melody's ire. How could she know anything?

"What is it, Mrs Parker?" I asked, the tremor in my voice belying my innocent attitude. "What's wrong? You seem upset."

"You just get in here and sit down," Melody ordered as she led the way along the short hallway to the living room. She gestured to a wide leather armchair while she arranged her skirt around her legs after settling onto the black leather sofa that matched my own seat.

I couldn't help noticing Melody's pink shoes and the white blouse that moulded to her generous bosom.

"What is it, Mrs Parker?" I warbled, my fingers picking at a loose thread in the seam of my jeans.

Her tone was acid. "Have a good weekend sniffing through my underwear drawer did you, Patrick?"

I stared at her, too numbed with shock to respond. How the fuck did she know? My mouth opened and closed a few time but no sound emerged.

"So you found a magazine and a vibrator in my bedside cabinet ... and decided to have a little play with yourself on my bed as well."

"Mrs Parker ..." I managed to babble, panic swelling in my throat. She knew! She knew all of it, and I couldn't deny it when she accused me outright.

"You got into the house and cancelled the alarm, that's all logged, Patrick -- date and time, all recorded."

"Oh, shit, Mrs Parker, I'm ... I'm so sorry ..."

I was beginning to gabble nonsense when the woman told me to shut up. "You don't know about the cameras in the house, do you? As well as disabling the alarm you have to switch off the surveillance envelope as well, Patrick. The whole place is covered by CCTV that's linked to a laptop computer. I've seen it all, watched you snooping around and seen you playing with yourself. And I want my underwear back, Patrick, before I take all the evidence to the police and have you charged."

Oh Jesus! I saw it all in a split second. The humiliation of knowing that the police would see me stroking my cock on Melody's bed, the court case and possible outcomes; even if I got away with a fine, I'd still have a criminal record. What about my job? And what would my parents say?

I started to cry. At nineteen years old I sat there in front of Melody Parker and began to heave great sobs of self-pity and self-loathing.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Parker," I blubbed. "It was a mad thing to do. I didn't mean any harm, it's just ... It's just that you ... That I ..."

I couldn't bring myself to tell her how much I fancied her, about the obsession I'd nurtured for the past few weeks and months. How could I tell her? I couldn't heap more mortification upon myself by telling the woman just what had motivated me to defile her personal space and to stick my nose into the private corners of her life.

"if I could go back and undo it, Mrs Parker," I said, sniffing and cuffing at my eyes. "I'd go back and make sure I never did anything so ... so ..."

"Dishonest?" Melody offered, her eyebrows arching. "Sneaky, devious, downright bloody nasty? Is that what you're trying to say, Patrick?"

"Yes," I sighed. "All of that. I've been so stupid, Mrs Parker. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

"Why did you do it, Patrick?" Melody asked, her tone softening.

I looked up from where I'd been studying the rug and saw the woman's eyes regarding me with some compassion.

"I ... Oh, Mrs Parker ... I can't tell you." I shrugged and my eyes slid away from her face.

"Do you fancy me, Patrick?" she asked softly. "Is that it?"

I nodded and mumbled, "Yes."

"You think I don't know, Patrick? Don't you realise that I've been aware of you mooning around after me for all this time?" The heat rose in my face as her words sunk in. "I'm forty-one years old, I know when a man has the hots for me, and you popping up in the supermarket those times ... after following me around the aisles ... Come on, Patrick, you made it so obvious I couldn't help but notice."

Mortified I could only stare at her and mumble an apology. "I'm sorry, Mrs Parker," I said for what seemed the hundredth time in five minutes.

Melody heaved a big sigh. "You don't have to be sorry about that, Patrick. I'm quite flattered if you must know. It was just the other things were so shocking. I didn't expect that from you, you seem such a nice young man."

"I wasn't thinking straight, Mrs Parker. I ... I think I love you," I blurted.

Melody laughed at that. Then she gave me a contrite look and said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed like that, but I don't think what you're feeling is love." Melody sat upright on the sofa, one hand on her knee while the other rested on her thigh. She looked at me, head tilted slightly. "What you feel is hot-blooded lust, Patrick. That's all. You just want to fuck me."

She had that right. That's exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to push her into the sofa and lift her legs so I could haul her underwear to one side. Then, after slurping at her pussy until she pissed juice, I'd stab my cock into her cunt and fuck her.

"Don't look so shocked, Patrick," Melody grinned. "I use the word from time to time. In fact I've even done it a few times as well." She looked at me, teasing me with her eyes as she breathed, "I've let men fuck me in the past, Patrick. And as I recall, I sometimes enjoyed it."

"Mrs Parker," I groaned. "Please, don't ..."

Melody fixed me with a challenging stare.

"You want to see my tits, don't you?" I didn't reply, I couldn't respond. "You can see them if you want." The woman shrugged. "After all, they're only breasts; about fifty percent of the population have them." I gulped, swallowing heavily and staring at Melody as she shifted slightly, the skirt falling away to expose her leg all the way to the top of her thigh as she began to lift the white blouse.

"Come on, Patrick, don't you tell me you don't want to see my breasts. You did want to look at my tits, didn't you? Isn't that why you broke into my home, to satisfy some carnal urge?"

Melody swivelled to face me square on. Her skirt lifted as she opened her legs and flashed her underwear at me while, at the same time, she lifted the blouse above her head and I saw her big jugs squeezed together in her black bra.

"Oh my God," I sighed.

Melody sat there and watched my reaction. She smiled and eased one strap of her bra over her shoulder. I swallowed heavily, my eyes on her body as the woman, with agonising, tantalising slowness, eased the other strap down and then cupped her boobs, still hidden inside the cups of the black bra, with her hands.

She teased me with her eyes, her blonde hair feathered around her face, Melody's cheeks pronounced as she offered a sly smirk.

Melody stayed in that position for several seconds before she spoke. All I could do was boggle at her as my cock, of its own volition, thickened in my jeans. I felt a catch in my throat and a gnawing hunger deep in my core. Every instinct screamed at me to lunge at the woman. The primordial urge to take her rushed scalding through my veins, and it was only the fear of getting myself into even more trouble with the law that kept me in my chair.

"I know what young men are like, Patrick," Melody murmured, her voice so low I could barely make out what she said. "I've always had a certain ... something that men see and that turns them on. You're not the first sexy young bloke to fancy me," she revealed. Then, giving a little laugh she added, "And it hasn't just been young men; I've had a few randy old goats at me over the years."

"Mrs Parker ..." I managed to groan. "Why are you doing this? You don't have to do this to me. Just call the police and have them arrest me." I gulped, torn with desire for Melody Parker. I didn't understand why she was tormenting me this way. OK, I'd done wrong by invading her privacy as I had, but I'd owned up to my crime and was even willing to pay the penalty -- she didn't have to flaunt her tits at me like that. As much as I'd wanted to see them, I didn't think it was right or kind of her to torture me that way.

"But I thought this was what you wanted, Patrick. Don't you want to see my boobs?"

Melody grinned and let the cups of her bra slide down to reveal her breasts. She held the globes in her fingers, with her thumbs curved along the flanks of her boobs while I stared at Melody's tight nipples and tanned areola.

When I saw Melody's tits bared for the first time I wondered, somewhere at the back of my mind because most of my attention was focussed on making sense of just what my eyes were actually seeing, how the woman had managed to get such an even tan all over her body. I'd seen her sunbathing in her bikini, but where had she been with her breasts completely uncovered?

I'm not sure but I think I might have whined a little as I imagined being on some beach holiday with Melody Parker. The thought of lying next to her all day as we sunbathed before going back to our air-conditioned hotel for drinks and rampant sex made me squirm in my chair.

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