I am Jake's Mom Bk. 02 Ch. 01-03

Authors Note

The Second Book in the I Am Jake's Mom Saga

Update from Book 1: Brandon has just had the best sex of his life; the only problem is: it was in Mrs. Moore's exquisitely sexy body - and he had it with his college nemesis Mike. Now he's Mrs. Moore, alone, in her mansion, and to top it off, he has agreed to meet Mike later tonight. The mysterious black stone that changed him waits at the deep end of the palatial swimming pool out back. Will Brandon retrieve it to unlock its secrets, or will he linger in Mrs. Moore's body a bit longer?

***

ONE

She adjusted the lingerie on the bed.

She slipped her hands beneath her breasts and considered the large cups of the bra. Would she really fill them?

And the thong. The thong. The underwear enthralled her. There wasn't much to it. A small triangle to cup her mound, a string that would trace a thin path between her thighs then ascend through the crack between her cheeks; a circle of frilly, black lace to round her hips in support. Lithe. Compact. The bare minimum required to cover her sex. With her cock gone, she knew — the bare minimum would more than suffice.

Would she really put it on?

She reached behind her and took a plump cheek gingerly into each hand.

"Her ass."

Mrs. Moore's butt had always been Brandon's favorite part of her body. Whenever possible, his stolen glances settled onto the two masses of flesh that composed her tight derrière. Their heft. Their curve. Now they were his to touch — and to possess.

Unbeknownst to Brandon, Mrs. Moore's butt was a feat of engineering, chiseled with sweat, care, and love. Clad in tight-fitting lycra, Mrs. Moore climbed stairs, hiked, did yoga, and sweated through squat after squat, until her ass was firm and plump. Recently, over drinks with friends, she had joked that her butt was made to destroy yoga pants. It was true. Countless overstretched, threadbare pants had been left in her ass's wake. She shook her head and sighed. Her friends smiled on, jealous of her charm and age-defying beauty. They would kill to have a body like hers. Had Brandon been in their company, and had he possessed the courage to admit it, he would have agreed with them, albeit in a different way.

Mrs. Moore's ass was an undeniable presence behind her; bouncing with each step, swaying as she walked, and sitting firm when she stood still. She spread her fingers wide, trying in vain to contain its abundance in her small hands. She lifted herself quickly to her tiptoes, then fell, letting it bounce into her hands.

Mmm. . .

She traced her fingers lightly over the curves, savoring the new feeling of her manicured hands clawing at the supple flesh. She dug her nails in and grinned.

"My ass."

TWO

Hot water flowed in the bathroom filling the bathtub in a slow crescendo. She blushed at the thought of walking barefoot across the cold, white tile of the master bath and dipping her body into the warm water. She knew she should be diving into the pool and touching the black stone instead. She gazed at the thin crusted glaze Mike had left behind on her large breasts, and then back to the thong on the bed.

What would it feel like?

She squeezed her hands into the firm flesh of her cheeks. What would it feel like disappearing between them? Would she like it? The abundance of thong underwear in Mrs. Moore's lingerie cabinet provided a hint of an answer.

The deluge continued from the bathtub faucet, breaching the surface of the rising bath water and creating a rush of white oxygen bubbles. The sound made her think of Mike's cock plunging into her depths; the sharp smack of flesh meeting flesh.

Impact.

She bit her bottom lip and winced. How many times had Mike made impact? She moaned forlornly. Hundreds? It felt like thousands. She recalled his first plunge; she had made sure to savor it. The successive thrusts blurred together in her mind. She knew each had been memorable, violating her reality in unfathomable ways, some coupled with a pull of her long hair, others with a rough grope of her breasts or ass. When she wasn't gasping for breath, most were followed by a sound from her lips. A moan. A scream. A desperate demand.

More. Yes. Fuck me. Harder.

The sound, the feel, the impact; all worked together — pummeling her consciousness deep into the alluring extremities of the body she inhabited; making her at home in it.

She turned away from the lingerie in shame and gazed into the inviting colors of Mrs. Moore's well-provisioned closet, allowing the afternoon to linger in her mind. She exhaled a nervous breath. She had tasted the pleasures of a woman. Or had they consumed her?

None of this is my fault. It just happened.

She pressed her thighs together, feeling heat in the tight canal between them, where, once, her balls would have hung, jammed tightly together. But now when her legs touched, a triangle of light shown through a passage at their apex, casting her new sex in a sensuous silhouette. She felt the absence — the nothingness — and, strangely, felt like nothing was missing.

She bent forward, feeling the weight of her bountiful breasts settling beneath her shoulder blades. She held her ass in her hands with a firm grip, spread her cheeks wide, and allowed the air of her bedroom passage to rush in from behind and cool her pussy. She basked in the relief for a moment before sending her middle finger into the valley between her thighs. In the process, her thumb pressed dangerously close to her asshole — which for some reason was an area no longer off limits to being touched. She puckered it expectantly. Mrs. Moore was fastidious groomer, seeking out massages, facials, and the occasional Brazilian wax. She was smooth; her body was elegant, well-maintained, and youthful in its maturity.

Her finger neared her pussy. Closer. Closer.

"No!"

She spun around, threw her hands to the bed, and clutched at the soft cotton duvet, holding on desperately. An assortment of pillows was arranged artfully across the head of the bed. The room was lavish, yet cozy; its furnishings added over time from Mrs. Moore's trips abroad, creating an improvised, colonial feel. Mrs. Moore was clearly an explorer and, thus, there was no solace found in losing oneself in the details of her bedroom. The elements conspired together, composing a room that was beautiful, functional, and inviting — like her body.

She fought the desire to return to her explorations. "Stand up, walk to the pool, and touch it. Do it now before —"

The faucet cut off in the bathroom.

She cocked her head and listened. The waves in the tub coursed back and forth for a few moments before settling into a placid, steaming mirror.

THREE

She eased her body into the hot water and reclined. Her breasts settled into mounds over her chest — two islands in the bath. She looked down through the ripples of water. The last rays of afternoon sun shown in a broad band through the window, over the tub, and across her pelvis, casting a perpendicular light on her thin stripe of pubic hair. Mrs. Moore's landing strip glistened in the sun. She longed to trace it with a polished fingernail, moving slowly toward her waiting pussy. Instead she took the razor from the ledge — something to occupy her fingers — and dipped it in the steaming water.

She held the razor to the edge of her strip and considered shaving herself clean. But, she liked the way it looked. Her pubes were an artful mark of maturity compared to the clean-shaven collegiate girls Brandon was used to bedding. She consulted the area for stray hairs, but found none. She sighed. Mrs. Moore must have shaved before putting on her bikini.

Brandon deliberated for a moment, then lowered the razor anyway, making strokes around the stripe on her mound, pretending for a moment to be Mrs. Moore in the bath, tidying up, landscaping her pubic hair. She stretched forward and stroked her hands down her long legs. Her breasts pressed into her belly, her nipples dipped into the warm water. When she found the tiniest rough patch near her ankles, her heart skipped a beat. She quickly employed the razor and checked again.

Smooth.

Dipping the razor in the water, she tapped it with her long fingernail. Tiny golden hairs sunk into the water at the foot of the bath, ready to be washed down the drain. She lifted each arm, continuing her pantomime with her cleanly shaven armpits, enjoying the odd feeling of moving the razor over places she had never shaved on her male body. It felt so wrong, but she knew this is how she wanted her body. Well-groomed and smooth.

She set the razor on the edge of the tub and stretched her legs, searching for something to think of beside her new form. Her toes wiggled beneath the water as she thought of Mike's secret project, his confidence, his success, and his skill with her pussy. Her body buzzed with jealousy and envy for him. He had done it. Mike had slept with their collective crush. He had plunged into her, spread her wide, and unlocked something deep within her. And Brandon was complicit. She sunk lower into the water.

Still — when everything was said and done— Brandon had one thing Mike didn't have.

Total possession.

She settled her shoulders into the back of the tub and lifted her hips high, watching her pussy appear out of the water like a shadowy figure rising from the deep. Her clitoral hood surfaced first, flushed pink in arousal. Water cascaded down her tummy and through the canals where her thighs met her pelvis. Her large breasts shifted to the sides of her chest. Her labia flowered gingerly from her sex.

When she looked at Mrs. Moore's pussy, she wanted the best things for it. Arousal. Touch. Penetration. To watch it be spread wide by an invading cock.

She cradled her bountiful tits in her arms and imagined what it must have been like to watch breasts bud and grow into melons like these. She could imagine Mrs. Moore watching them expand over the years — her breasts — growing heavier, areolas getting wider, wondering when they would stop, when would be enough. An hour in this body was enough to make her jealous of all the years Mrs. Moore had possessed it. She gazed at her nipples, wishing Mike could take them between his lips again and flick his tongue. . .

She felt Brandon bristle within her.

She knew she shouldn't dwell on such thoughts. She knew she should listen to herself — to the faint voice of Brandon pleading inside of her. He was only trying to help. But it was proving hard to pay attention to him, and the fact she had failed to heed his warnings again and again made it easier to ignore him.

She thought back to the afterglow of her first fuck, when she lay drunk under the cabana in the crook of Mike's arm, her pussy feeling tender and well-loved. She lounged turned away from him, blissfully high from her first female orgasms. Mike played with her hair. The thought of it now made her blush in embarrassment, but by the pool it had felt nice. She had even shifted her position to provide him better reach of her hair, and, in the process, moved her arm behind her, inadvertently laying the back of her hand against his cock. It was still wet with her juices and already recovering. The moment she touched it Brandon's presence awoke within her — just as he was appearing now as she indulged in the bath.

Half an hour earlier, she had snatched the condom from Mike's dick and fell to her hands and knees. Brandon screamed in panic within her. She held onto the daybed, desperately trying to ignore him until she could be mounted. Hurry. She shifted her hips in surrender and to allow Mike an easy entrance. Hurry! When Mike finally pushed into her, Brandon retreated, dissipating like a puff of smoke and abandoning his underdeveloped feminine nature to face the cock alone. No longer regulated, no longer neglected, and in a body twice as experienced, she came to life, growing in power and knowledge with every thrust.

Now, in the aftermath, as Mike stroked her hair, Brandon was back. She eyed him warily.

What have you done?

She kept the back of her hand pressed against Mike's dick. She considered the question and herself, trying to be fair to him while feeling every curve of the voluptuous new body she possessed and realizing he was the one who didn't fit.

'I let Mike fuck me.'

She could feel Brandon's rage kindle in her feminine body.

It was supposed to be prank! You've gone too far.

It was true. Mike's come was glazed across her tits. She had gone too far. She felt slightly ashamed, but preferred to dwell on the implications of going too far. Was going too far always such a bad thing? She bent her wrist back and took Mike's cock into the grip of her slender fingers.

What the fuck are you doing?

Brandon's anger coursed into the tips of her thick nipples. She felt guilty for the escalation, but something in her felt it necessary to test her resolve, to see how far should could go.

Are you crazy?

Maybe she was. She knew touching Mike's cock should repulse her, but now it felt no different from touching her own cock when she was a man. A cock is a cock is a cock — right? Did it matter whose cock it was? She would have never touched it if she were still in Brandon's body, but right now she was Mrs. Moore. Surely a woman could to touch a cock without so much fuss — especially a cock this perfect. She'd be crazy not to touch it.

That doesn't make any sense!

It made her hot to upset him, and her nipples gradually hardened at the apex of her creamy tits. Her body had its own logic, its arguments were quiet and compelling.

Let go of him.

She balked. How could she? 'Can't you feel him growing? He's growing for me. Isn't it nice?' She held on tightly as the long nails of her fingers moved farther and farther away from the freshly painted nail of her thumb. Her hand was filling with cock, its widening girth a subtle encouragement that, sometimes, it felt good to go too far.

Please. . . Please let go of him.

She rolled her eyes, and relented, loosening her hand in obedience to her sniveling conscience.

'Fine.' She sighed. 'Are you happy now?'

Yes. Thank you. . . Thank you.

She wasn't happy She wished Brandon would grow some balls. He was just jealous of how big Mike was. She thought about the dick behind her. Would he stop getting hard or continue growing without her attention? She knew she should check on it, just for a second, to find out. To know. Mike's fingers moved through her long tresses of hair as she slowly took the cock back into her hand.

It had kept growing.

I told you to let go of him!

'And I did.'

She gave Mike's dick a few apologetic pumps. It responded to her encouragement, finally filling to the brim and beyond the confines of her tiny grip. It throbbed with the beat of his heart. He was ready for her, and she noticed, without so much as a touch, that she was ready for him. Her wetness had pushed through her tight slit, coating her lips generously — preparing them. She was wetter than last time, as if her pussy had learned she would need the extra lubrication for a cock like Mike's. 'Cock.' She moaned and let the word slip from her lips in the faintest whisper. "Cock." She knew what cock felt like now — and she craved it.

No. You don't.

She rolled her eyes. Brandon craved it too. How could he not? He felt the emptiness in her pussy as much as she did. Her grip tightened. She hated feeling empty. The cock in her hand was pure power, like wielding a sword. She pumped it threateningly, backing her conscience into a corner. Up and down. Up and down. Each languid jerk a subconscious deliberation. 'Will I? Or won't I?' She taunted Brandon. She taunted herself. Knowing she could stop any time she wanted. She was happy to run out the clock, to build the tension, to test her resolve, knowing she would eventually listen to Brandon and stop. She had full control of the situation.

Suddenly, something warm flowed over her hand, shattering her focus.

She released the cock in surprise and brought her hand to her face, observing the clear fluid rolling over the joints of her fingers. She spread them and a generous strand of Mike's precum stretched between two fingers. She could smell its sweetness. A chill ran through her at the rogue thought that came out of nowhere.

"Ohmygod." she whispered to herself. She bit her bottom lip, trying to contain it. It was so wrong.

She acted before she lost her nerve, stuck her tiny tongue out, she dipped it between Mrs. Moore's fingers, intercepting the thread of sticky fluid. "Mmm!" Salty and sweet. She licked until her fingers were clean, then returned her wet hand to his cock to resume pumping him.

A lone Romanesque column towered from the lush landscaping surrounding the cabana; another relic from Mr. Moore's classical vision. She stared at it — high on Mike's pheromones — imagining a Mrs. Moore standing above the column, straddling it, lowering herself to it. Fucking it.

She smiled and shrugged.

When in Rome. . .

She sat up and rolled over, facing the cock, licking her lips.

No! What are you doing?!

Would she really consider taking it into her mouth? Even for a second?

Don't even think about it!

She balked. 'You're right.' Some lines shouldn't be crossed. 'I won't.' A feeling of relief welled within her. She knew it was Brandon responding to her newfound self-control.

Good. Now stand up and walk away.

She lingered for a moment, admiring the molten precum flowing from the tip of Mike's throbbing penis; knowing it could only erupt under the right circumstances. The cock pulsed hypnotically as she dwelled on what the right circumstances entailed.

She took a breath and languidly threw her thigh over Mike.

Oh fuck. What are you doing?

'I'm straddling him.'

Well get off!

'Don't worry. I will.'

Thin fingers topped with long, painted nails grasped the air between her thighs, searching desperately for something. She could feel its warmth radiating nearby. It was close. She snatched the air behind her, finally catching it, wrapping her slender fingers around it.

No. . .

She adjusted it beneath her, guiding it blindly. She could feel the spot in her shallows where it should go; she was already an expert. Pleased with her aim, she lowered herself, settling her entrance over his swollen cockhead. She smiled sheepishly and exhaled. 'Cock.' She sat in place, keeping a steady pressure on the head in the shallows of her pussy and released his cock, resting her hands over his chiseled stomach.

Every piece was in place.

Please!

She lifted herself slightly from him and addressed her conscience. 'You are right. I shouldn't. . . and I won't.' The tease had gone long enough.

Calm poured over her as Brandon relaxed within her, relieved it had all been a game she was playing on him; a mere test of his will.

'See? You have been panicking over nothing. I have self-control' She could feel her petals of labia gently coating the cockhead nestled in her gateway. 'I could sit like this all day.'

Good. But please don't. Stand up and walk away.

She smiled. 'I will."

The head of his cock lay in her shallows, the place where their bodies met, now slick with her juices. She went to lift her hips, and the cock slid delightfully against her labia; she felt weak in the knees. She moaned and quickly fell back into position.

I'm waiting. . .

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. She tried again; or at least she thought she did. But she barely ascended before thinking better of it. When she dropped back into place, she overcorrected, finding herself spread wider by the head of Mike's cock, and rather than recoil, she dipped further, allowed the entire head to slip inside of her in the process.