Groupie Mom

"Any hot cuties out there?" the drummer asked Dylan.

The teenager, like the rest of them in his first year of college, took another glance out of the wings at the audience in front of the stage. Dylan Kemp had come together with the band less because he wanted to make music, (though it could be fun if sometimes practising felt too much like work) than because being a guitarist in a rock group was second only to being its lead singer for picking up pussy. Certainly in the last few months, he hadn't gone short and didn't regret that he and his High School sweetheart had decided to part, on friendly terms, the weekend before they both went away to study. Normally, he'd have been reckoning his chances for fucking some hottie before the end of the night as good -- not only were there plenty of bangable girls crowded on the front of the stage but there were at least twice as many as there were guys, telling him a lot had come without a boyfriend in tow to complicate matters.

However, tonight was an exception, after a quick glance at the potential groupies in the front row he cast his eyes upwards, looking towards the back of the club. If the cock-hungry congregated at the front, those who wanted to see and hear the band without someone elbowing them in the face tended to be further back, near the bar or even sitting at the tables. It was where his Mom would be he was sure. He hadn't told any of his band-mates that she was going to be in the audience, he wasn't sure whether they'd rib him mercilessly or instead become ultra-polite and sensitive and insist that they didn't play the songs with the most suggestive lyrics. He continued to scan the audience, looking for her, ignoring the drummer and now bassist's demands for a temperature check on how hot the audience, or at least its female portion, was.

There was no sign of her either at the bar or at a table, which was slightly worrying, as his Mom was usually punctual and they were on any moment. Still, it was an hour from where she lived and she'd not been to his college before, so she could have easily underestimated the time it'd take to find the bar. It was too late to look anymore as the MC was on stage, introducing the band and so with a quick "It's plenty hot," Dylan came on stage, brandishing his guitar, as the drummer quickly followed twirling his sticks and heading for his kit, followed by the bassist and vocalist.

There was plenty of noise from the crowd as they began to warm up, they'd played here and a number of other local venues before and were pretty popular with the college crowd. Dylan glanced down at his guitar as he plucked a few chords and the singer strutted back and forth, waiting for the right moment for the crowd to quieten down and for him to begin his patter. Behind them, the drummer was starting to snap a quick repeatable rhythm across his kit and Dylan quickly joined in, a low backdrop to the singer as he started his well-practised opening spiel, all about beer and broads. The crowd loved it and cheered even louder. Dylan grinned and looked up again, the lights were beaming onto the stage and all those beyond the front row were just silhouettes; he'd have to look for his Mom after the show. He hoped she'd made it, she'd never seen him play before.

"Let's go crazy!" screamed the vocalist, the signal for the rest of the band to break into the intro of their first song.

For a few moments, Dylan needed to concentrate, ignoring the shrieks from the crowd and just concentrating on his fingers as he angled them across the tight strings of his guitar. But then, as it always did, his body seemed to take over and the fingers seemed to move of their own accord without him having to even think, the music taking over. He grinned, leaning back and blasting out the tune, totally in sync with his buddies, the crowd rocking and screaming in fevered appreciation. His eyes scanned the front row as his fingers sped across the guitar; even if he couldn't fuck a hottie tonight with his Mom here, he could at least take a look at what would have been available.

There was plenty around, the front row packed with hot and sexy rock chicks; blondes and brunettes and redheads, short-haired, permed, long-pony tails, in T-shirts and cropped tops and leather jackets, some so young they'd obviously used false ID and more than a couple of Milfs who'd been round the block more than once. They were all screaming and yelling in fevered adulation, their heads banging back and forth, their tits bouncing in tight tops, their eyes raised upwards trying to catch the gaze of any one of the band and say they were available. Sure, there were plenty of guys there as well, all having a good time, but Dylan didn't concentrate on them, his energy was all with the hotties.

Then he saw her.

All his life Abigail Kemp had been a staid and conventional Mom, her clothes smart and well-turned out, but boring and bland, her hair neatly kept but unstyled and straight, her lipstick and make-up so understated that it was barely noticeable. She organised PTA events and drove him and his high school buddies to football games and the mall and each other's houses and the wildest she got was inviting the neighbours round for a couple of sherries on Christmas Eve.

But not tonight, she was so different Dylan had hardly recognised her, he had to look again to be sure it was not some rock doppelganger. Her hair was cut shorter, to just beyond her collar, but dyed ash blonde rather than her normal mousy brown, her eye shadow was dark around her eyes and the make-up on her cheeks made her look paler and younger at the same time; it accentuated her lips, brightly painted a deep red, almost blood-like, making them seem plump and perfect. Instead of the shapeless blouses or dresses she normally wore she was in a vest, which clung to her large breasts so closely, it was like it was moulded to her and as she danced enthusiastically to the beat they jiggled and pressed out against the material, the nipples evident like two pebbles under the tight top.

Damn, his Mom was hot.

She saw he'd noticed her, giving him an extra big grin and a wave, and probably in his imagination, bounced her bosoms at him. He nodded back at her, did she wink? His fingers automatically strummed at the strings, trying not to look at her. Had she always been this good-looking? He'd banged a few Milfs since he'd started college, older women went for guys with rock star looks as much as their teenage daughters did. None had been as sexy looking as his Mom. He pushed the thought back and tried to concentrate on the music, aware that he was slightly out of tune with the rest of the guys. He got himself back into the rhythm, luckily none of the crowd seemed to have noticed, or if they had, cared. He forced himself not to look at his Mom, but at other members of the audience, stepping forward to play a short solo a few feet from a busty brunette who was shaking her bosoms eagerly under her dark T-shirt. He moved to her next-door neighbour, a redhead whose lipstick was even rosier than her hair and then onto a long-haired blonde who licked her lips seductively and gave him a come hither smile. But even as he was playing he found himself being drawn back to his Mom, looking at her as she bopped and danced, her tits pressing at her top like they wanted out, her red lips pursed in a sexy half-smile as she waved her hands high above her head.

The song they were playing finished and Dylan took a step back from the edge of the stage, wiping a bead of sweat from his head. The singer was ranting into the microphone and most of the crowd were lapping it up, screaming and cheering at his half-formed political opinions. Not all though, his Mom was leaning forward, her eyes on him, her tongue sliding sensually around her lips. He felt his prick hardening of its own accord; damn, he thought, how could his own Mom be having such an effect on him? especially when there were so many other women around. Could she tell? Probably not, that'd be weird, as she was continuing to smile at him. He was reading too much into her dressing for a gig, even if that was more sexy than what she normally wore. He gave her a grin and a thumbs up.

"Yeah, that one is hot," the bassist sidled up to him and mistook his attention, "Reckon she's old enough to have popped a kid. I'd fucking bang her no prob, divorcees are the fucking sluttiest."

"Um yeah," Dylan didn't feel now was the moment to mention that Abigail was his Mom. Instead, he moved a couple of feet away and tried to gaze at some teen who was giving all her attention to the singer's views on the situation in a South American country he couldn't even spell.

"Fuck 'em, fuck the fucking system," the singer shrieked, which was the cue for the band to go into their next song. Dylan made sure he concentrated on it and not the audience and especially not his Mom. The problem was she was right in front of him and unless he went and hid behind the drummer (which would have raised questions from the rest of the band) it was hard to avoid being drawn to her, especially her bouncing, braless tits straining against the top.

They cranked out another song and then another and soon they were halfway through their set. His Mom was dancing and bopping enthusiastically, shrieking her adulation with the college kids on either side of her and raising her hands in a power salute as the band turned up the volume and speed for the next song. Her bosoms continued to jiggle so vigorously that Dylan wondered if they were going to pop out. He pushed that impure thought away and moved into a quick solo, rocking and leaning back and letting rip with the guitar. He could hear his Mom's shrieks above the music and as he looked down he could see she was half-leaning on the stage, punching into the air as if she was being swept away with the Rock.

The set thundered on. They played a couple of covers and then one of Dylan's compositions and one that the drummer and bassist had written together (which was crap, but playing it was important for band harmony). Suddenly he realised what song was next on their list, "Bounce them" a crowd pleaser that everyone loved, not least because it was about women baring their tits and it wasn't unusual for them to be flashed during the chorus by groupie wannabees. He glanced at his Mom, wondering if she was going to do it as well - it would be weird if she did, though he was half-hoping she would.

The intro started, the crowd jumping wildly with excitement. Dylan turned half toward his Mom and half at her neighbour so he had plausible deniability if she did lift her top up. "Bounce them, bounce them, bounce them" the band sang the chorus together.

His Mom's top stayed down, though the twentysomething beside her enthusiastically lifted her and bounced her titties. They were nice, but he was sure his Mom's would have been nicer -- still, it was too much to hope, no matter how much she was getting into the music, that she'd raise her top and bounce them. They'd moved into the second verse, all about walking down a beach as girls in bikinis played volleyball. Then it was the chorus again, "Bounce them, bounce them, bounce them," Dylan sang looking at his Mom and her neighbour as he said it. The college student raised her top and jiggled her tits eagerly. His Mom looked on either side of her as if she was checking that it wasn't just the girl next to her who was doing it. "Bounce them, bounce them, bounce them," he sang again and the student and others across the front row bounced them in response.

Onto the final verse, about girls dancing whilst drunk at a frat party, the singer making the lines sound even more suggestive and sexual than they already were. Half a minute and they were onto the final chorus, "Bounce them, bounce them, bounce them," Dylan's voice joined with the others. His gaze turned to his Mom and the girl beside her. The twentysomething, as expected, had her tits out, more surprisingly so his Mom, her hands holding up her top so her exposed bosom was bouncing as she jumped and rocked. He stared at them for a moment, almost forgetting the words of the song. Sure, he had seen them before, but not since he was little and then accidentally, but now he was looking at them as if he'd never known his Mom had breasts before -- they were large and round and still defying gravity as they jumped up and down, swinging wildly. Then the chorus faded and his Mom pulled her top down again, giving him a grin once she did so -- she'd obviously caught him looking. He blushed, he'd have to quickly think up an excuse -- probably claim he was taken by surprise and was so stunned that for a moment his neck muscles hadn't failed to recognise the signals from his brain.

They were onto the last song now, Dylan playing it automatically as he tried not to think about his Mom's breasts. He was failing, as his dick hardening under his jeans could attest. His Mom was still rocking at the front, not seeming at all embarrassed that she had flashed her tits in public, in fact from the way she was smiling she seemed to be having a great time.

And then it was over, the four band members upping the power in a last burst of Rock, before the singer shouted out the normal platitudes about the audience being great and wishing them a good night. Dylan was already heading to the tiny cloakroom which was acting as their dressing room (and which they shared with both the other bands playing that night). The management had thoughtfully left some cold beers in a chiller for them and Dylan quickly grabbed a can and chugged it down. The rest of the band came in chattering away, feeling that the gig had gone great and the audience had loved it.

"Did you see that blonde Milf in the front row?" asked the singer as he drained his beer.

"Yeah, the really hot one in front of Dylan?" the bassist asked, confirming to Dylan it was his Mom they were referring to and not one on the other side of the stage he'd not noticed.

"That's the one, the one undressing him with her eyes," the singer grinned, not realising that he was talking about his buddy's mother and surely, thought Dylan, she hadn't been looking at him in that way; she'd just been having a good time time at a gig.

"Did you see the rack on her? My eyes nearly popped when she lifted her top," the bassist grinned.

"Fuck, yeah. I definitely feast on them pair of puppies," the singer continued.

"You guys get all the fun," the drummer complained, "So what was she like Dylan? As hot as that?"

"Can't say I really noticed her," lied Dylan to hoots of derision from the singer and bassist, who correctly noted she'd been just feet in front of him all night and was stunningly hot, it was like not seeing an ice cream van parked in front of you as you hiked through a desert.

They grabbed a couple more beers as they packed up their kit and took it to the van, the other's talking about the mysterious Milf for it bit, despite Dylan's attempt to steer them off it, until they got bored and started talking about the rest of the audience, who to the others were equally hot, even if Dylan felt his Mom was the most attractive woman there by far. After packing there was plenty of time to head back into the bar and watch the other bands and see if there were any groupies up for a hard fucking. Dylan followed his band-mates into the bar, his eyes darting around to make sure he saw his Mom first before any of the others decided they'd make a move and she told them who she was. Luckily either they didn't see her, decided to try for younger models or thought that it was only fair Dylan had a crack at her and so when he saw her sitting at a table none of the others followed him. As he approached she gave him a cheery wave and indicated there was a seat with a drink beside it, orange juice he noted, but she was driving and she never liked him drinking that much.

"How did you like the gig?" he asked as he sat down, deciding not to mention the flashing instance.

"You were terrific," she gushed enthusiastically, "Seriously I had the time of my life, it's so long since I've been to a great gig like that."

"I didn't know you used to go to gigs?" he said, though of course, he thought, his Mom would have had a life before she had him.

"All the time," she grinned, "I used to be a bit of a wild child where musicians were concerned. Did I ever tell you I met your Dad at a gig?"

"No," Dylan was intrigued. She very seldom mentioned his Dad who'd barely waited until his Mom had given birth to him before vanishing from their lives and making sure he kept out of contact.

"He was a guitarist as well, must be where you get your talent from, luckily it's all you get from him. Anyway, I was at the club he was playing at one night and he was on stage, he was good-looking with a great body, okay you do get some other things from him," she smiled and touched Dylan's arm lightly. "Anyway so after the gig I saw him in the bar, so I went over, took his hand and led him to the toilets where I sucked him off."

"What?" Dylan coughed on his orange juice. He hadn't known how his parents had met but he hadn't expected his Mom to be quiet so graphic in her description, or come to that, so slutty. If he had thought about it he would have assumed his staid, conservative Mom would need to be romanced, not that she'd be the one taking the lead and sucking off a guy she'd just met.

She was grinning at him over the table, her smile suggesting she was delighting in shocking him. "I was quite the groupie when I was at college," she said, "I used to go to gigs all the time and it was a poor show if I didn't get fucked by one of the band or at least a roadie or two." She sipped at her orange as if she was talking about her past experience of being late for lectures not that she'd been a semi-pro groupie. "You know..." she named a band who'd been big twenty years before and whose CDs he'd seen in her collection, "I fucked both the drummer and bassist or rather they fucked me together, that was a fun after-show party, though I lost my purse on the way home."

"Um, sure," Dylan said, seeing his Mom in a new, and not totally unattractive, light. For a second he could see her getting fucked by the two rock stars and the thought made his own cock stiffen under his pants.

His Mom seemed to sense his reaction and did nothing to stop it, giving a wiggle in her top and running her tongue around her top lip sensually, "So, I'm guessing a hot stud like you has had a few groupies. Don't worry, I won't be jealous, college is about sewing oats."

Dylan had sewed a lot of oats in the last few months, girls from his classes, local kids, even a Milf who had been as old as his Mom (though, he now realised, not nearly as fuckably sexy). "Yeah, some," he said a little reluctantly, not quite in the same sharing mood as his Mom was, but then she'd had more time to think about it, he'd been expecting her to turn up in a baggy jumper and loose slacks not in tight jeans and even tighter top and he'd not expect she'd be telling him about blowing his Dad at first sight nor having a threesome with a couple of rock stars.

His Mom laughed and shook her hair, the dyed blonde look really suited her, and made her look more sexy and less motherly. She saw him looking at her and leaned forward, giving a sexy pout, "What do you think? I decided I'd go for a new look, or more a return to an old one."

"Yeah nice," said Dylan trying to keep his tone neutral, so that she couldn't tell that he had a hard-on and was finding it hard to keep his eyes level with hers and not down at her chest.

"Nice?" she smiled broadly, showing she wasn't offended and was taking it as a joke, "Not what I was going for. How about slutty? Hot? Wanton?"

"Those as well," admitted Dylan.

"Tell the truth," his Mom gave a seductive smile and slid her fingers slowly down his arm, "If I wasn't your Mom would you lean me over the trunk of a car and fuck my pussy hard in the parking lot."