Pizza Dare

Just a quick hitter here. It flew into my mind, and I decided to write it up. Exhibitionism, incest, mom-kids, a bit of BDSM. As usual, this is totally unrealistic. Hopefully you will appreciate my warped sense of humor in this one. Yes, it's stupid. Yes, it rambles.

All characters are 18-years old or older. I self-edit, and that isn't going to change.

'What the hell am I doing?' I thought. 'What are they thinking of me?' Well, it was my fault. I was the one that brought it up. Sure, it sounded fun at the time, but I was just kidding about it. I didn't REALLY think they would goad me into doing this. OK, so my pussy flooded at the thought. Still, that shouldn't have actually gotten me to agree.

[DIIIIINNNNGGG, DOOOOONNNNGGG]

Shit. Too late now. Further introspection on this would have to wait.

Turning the knob, I opened the door. "Hello." I said with a bright smile.

45-minutes earlier:

"I'm home." I called out to my kids as I came through the door. I was an hour late that night. One of the bubble-headed cashiers at work couldn't seem to add up her receipts properly. As manager of the Ladies Clothing department at a multinational department store, I was stuck working with the bimbo until she figured out that half of 8 was 4, not 3 or 0. Think about it. Stereotypical blonde - bless her heart. I was really annoyed and commented on her being a natural blonde. She replied that she would regrow the hair on her shaved pussy to prove it if I needed. Blondes! Bless her heart.

You are wondering about that phrase? It's old school southern charm. It basically means that a woman can say pretty much anything demeaning or insulting and not cause offence as long as they tack on that phrase at the end. 'Oh, he is without a doubt the homeliest boy I have ever seen! Bless his heart.' 'My goodness! She is so ugly that she would make a freight train take a dirt road. Bless her heart.' 'That girl is so stupid that if she weren't reminded to breath, she would suffocate. Bless her heart.' See how that works? A genteel Southern Woman can be the biggest bitch on the planet, but all is forgiven with that little phrase tacked on. Bless my heart.

Typical blonde, always thinking with her pussy. I can see your eyebrows, no need to drop your panties. Yes, I did let her know that from now on it was not a good idea to lift up her dress and show that she was actually not wearing panties - behind the glass counter - with several customers watching. Fucking slut! ------ Bless her heart (quietly mumbled).

OK. So, where was I? Oh yes. I had just gotten home an hour late. First things first -- WINE! I pulled a half full bottle out of the fridge and poured a glass. Fuck it. It had been a long day, so I took the glass and bottle with me into the livingroom. A couple of minutes later, my kids strolled in. Evan is 19 and a freshman at the local college. Sheree is 21 and a senior. Their father is no longer in the picture. He goes by the nickname of Dickless. It's not entirely accurate, since the surgeon did manage to reattach most of it. His last mistake was standing too close when he informed me that he was leaving me for his 22-year-old secretary. I've always had really strong legs, and I was wearing 5-inch pumps at the time. If it had been a football instead of his balls, it would have been an easy 70-yard field goal. Six of them, actually. On the last one, my heel managed to catch on his appendage and cut (tear?) most of it off. Sure, he still has a dick, but it no longer works. Three of the guys that pulled me off of him also suffered some minor injuries. I did feel bad about that later.

I haven't dated since then. Most of it is because I just don't want to go through the hassle, but it may also have something to do with most of the guys I'm attracted to seem to get a look of terror in their eyes whenever I try to flirt with them. Odd. Good thing my dildos and vibrators don't have eyes. Maybe it's time to dig out my old college playbook and start looking at women again.

He had moved to Alaska by the time I got out of lock-up -- 3-months later. After checking the bank balances (or rather lack thereof) I informed his lawyer that I would be going to see him to personally get my money back -- especially since I had just had to borrow money from my parents for a new baseball bat. I had gone to college on a softball scholarship, and I casually mentioned to his lawyer that I was looking to get back into playing. I heard that there were some great opportunities to practice my swing while visiting Alaska. Oh, and tell his new slut that I am VERY anxious to MEAT her as well. Yes, make sure that they know I intentionally spelled it that way. An e-mail the next morning informed me that 70% of the money Dickless withdrew from our joint account had been replaced.

The divorce went through with minor hiccups. He demanded most of the assets because of the injuries I inflicted on him. I countered with me getting most because he was the one at fault by cheating. He finally agreed with most of my terms when he got an anonymous email showing videos of me at the batting cages and then filing my steel cleats to sharp points. He tried to claim intimidation, but he had no proof that I had sent the videos (I hadn't; our kids did), and the email just said that they thought that he would be interested in his wife's renewed interest in softball. It was completely harmless. It's not my fault that he interpreted it as anything other than benign. I still had to attend 6-months of anger management classes, though.

So, what about me? My name is Teagan O'Malley. Yep. Irish through and through. You can probably guess that I also have the famous Irish temper. And, yes, I am a true green-eyed redhead. I'm a bit tall at 5'8". I have very strong, toned legs that go for miles. I work on them a lot. I have a slim waist that flairs out to nice hips that hold my pins well. My ass is round and tight from a gazillion lunges. I have a roundish face with a small nose, plump lips, high cheekbones, dimples when I smile, and a smattering of freckles across my nose. Being Irish, I have very fair skin. I was also blessed by the titty fairy. They are 38DD. I tend to attract attention when I am out and dressed up nice. I used to attract a whole lot of attention in college when I would dress up a bit differently for the frat parties I attended. I even attracted a bit of attention from several of the girls in my dorm -- which was not unwelcome at the time. I will say honestly, though; once I met my husband, I was completely faithful to him.

Alright. Back to where I left off. I tend to ramble a bit as my mind wanders. One day, I'm sure, my mind will wander and not return. Maybe it did already, and I just haven't noticed. Nope. It's back. OK. So, my kids strolled into the livingroom as I was pouring my second glass of wine. They had been studying and had not had a chance to start on dinner. Me, being an hour late getting home, compounded the issue. Options were discussed. The problem was that none of us were in the mood to cook at this time. That meant either carry-out or delivery. By the time that we had waded through the options, I was on my third glass of wine. I hadn't eaten since lunch, so the wine was starting to get to me. Great! I can hear the stereotypes now, Drunk Irish. What's the difference between an Irish wedding and a hockey game? In a hockey game, the refs eventually break up the fights.

Fortunately, I was only getting slightly buzzed, not full on drunk. Unfortunately, I was getting slightly buzzed. That does two things to me. It lowers my inhibitions, and it brings out my warped sense of humor. We decided on pizza, and Evan called it in. When he hung up, he said it would be here in half an hour and the cost. He then said something about me needing to get the door since I was the one with the cash to pay for it. My warped sense of humor decided to kick in at that point. I giggled at a thought I had.

"What's so funny?" Sheree asked.

"Oh, nothing." I replied. "It's just something I heard the other day that popped into my mind."

"Well, tell us. It sounds funny. I could use a laugh." Evan demanded.

"No. You would just think it's stupid. It actually is stupid."

"Now I really need to know." Sheree added.

After a few more minutes of pushing, I finally gave in.

"OK. I was walking by the break room the other days, and two of the cashiers were talking. One of them said something about having to do something called a 'Pizza Dare'. I pause outside the doorway to listen as she talked about it. It just popped into my head just now and I thought it was funny."

"Oh, God." Both my kids groaned.

"You know about it?" I asked.

"Of course, mom. It's kind of a college thing. Basically, a girl is dared to greet the pizza delivery guy while she is completely naked. Sometimes it happens at a party, and sometimes they are dared to do it at their apartment and video it. There's a lot of videos on the internet showing them doing it."

"That's what happened to the girl in the breakroom. It was her roommates that dared her to do it. I thought it was funny as I imagined the face of the guy bringing our pizza if I opened the door naked."

"What? You were actually thinking about doing it?" Evan asked astonished.

"Well, not really. I just thought of what his reaction would be if I did."

"I think it would be funny. You totally should do it." Sheree added. Both Evan and I looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "Come on. It's not that big of a deal. So you show off your titties to some poor schmuck. Who cares?"

"I really don't think it would be appropriate to get naked in front of my children." I argued.

"Come on, mom." Evan insisted. "If you don't want to do it, that's fine, but that's a really weak excuse. Most weekend mornings, you wander around the house in a really skimpy pair of panties and small tee-shirt with no bra. We've already seen pretty much everything already. Besides, we've come home several times to see you nude sunbathing in the back yard."

Well, I couldn't really argue about that. I did have a habit of doing just that. It wasn't like I was trying to have them perving on me. It's just that it was comfortable, and I had always done it. We went back and forth for a bit, then I just decided 'what the hell?' I was bored, and it did sound like fun. Besides, I always did like the attention that I could get from guys lusting after me. Did I mention that I was buzzing from a few glasses of wine?

"Fine. Maybe it will be fun." The kids were ecstatic.

As I mentioned, I had just gotten home from work. Being the manager of the women's clothing section, I was required to look my best. Hair done, makeup perfect, high-end dress that was professional, yet sexy, heels (minimum 3-inch, but I typically wore 4-inch), and higher end hosiery. Personally, I hated pantyhose. They were a pain in the ass when I needed to use the restroom, and they would tend to roll at the top. Instead, I always wore thigh-high stay-ups or stockings with a garter belt. Also, since I could afford it and liked the way they made me feel, my bras and panties were higher end and sexy. I'm not sure why that would be important now, since they would soon be sitting somewhere that I wasn't.

Anyway, with the encouragement of my two heathens, I pulled off my dress, bra, and thong. I mentally noted that I must have accidentally spilled some wine on my lap as my panties appeared to be somewhat moist. Odd that there was no stain on my dress, though. I decided to leave the black seamed stockings and red garter belt on. I also changed from my 4-inch pumps to a pair of strappy red 6-inch open-toe spiked heels.

There is a full-length mirror in the foyer so I can check myself before I leave the house. I looked at my reflection for a moment. My make-up was perfect. Fire-engine red lipstick, mascara enhancing my long lashes, eyeliner highlighting my large green eyes, a touch of blush, and just enough powder to remove any shine on my forehead and nose. My light pink nipples were diamond hard and standing at attention. Note to self, keep nipples away from glass. My copper red landing-strip pointed to my engorged (and wet?) pussy. Silk encased pins on full display. Turning around, I saw my delectable, tight ass framed by the garter straps. The heels I was wearing tightened my calves and ass nicely. Damn! I wanted to fuck that woman in the mirror. I really needed to get laid. Toys are great, but there is nothing like having a hard cock -- or strap-on wielded by a woman that knows what she's doing -- pounding you into the mattress (couch, table, backseat, floor, etc.). After a full check of myself in the mirror, I decided that it was almost perfect. To go from simply shocking and getting a rise out of the delivery man to making him cum in his pants, I needed one more accessory. Besides, since my kids goaded me into this, they deserved to be shook up a bit as well.

"OK. I'll be right back." I said as I scampered to my bedroom. Yeah, I didn't miss their eyes being locked onto my bouncing boobs.

"OK. I'm ready." I announced as I came back into the room a few minutes later.

I saw the question marks in their eyes as they didn't notice any change. They were about to ask what I needed from my room when I turned and bent over to pick up my wine glass.

"Holy shit!" was the stereo reaction. "You have a butt plug?" Sheree cried out.

Looking over my shoulder, I replied. "I have a few different ones. As well as several other toys. Don't look so shocked. I have my urges just like any other woman. I need some stress relief too."

So, here we are. Back at the beginning of this tale -- where I am exposing my tail end. Evan has pulled up our outdoor security camera on his laptop, and Sheree has distributed a couple of hidden video cameras covering the foyer and doorway. My purse and wallet are sitting on a low table near the door. Sheree and Evan were hiding in a bedroom watching the computer monitors. I was alone with my thoughts wondering what the hell I had just gotten myself into.

[DIIIIINNNNGGG, DOOOOONNNNGGG]

Shit. Too late now. Further introspection on this would have to wait.

Turning the knob, I opened the door wide, so I was completely exposed to whomever was right outside the door. "Hello." I said with a bright smile.

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, AND QUADRUPLE FUCK!!!!!!!

His smile froze just as he was about to say something. It was probably something inane like 'Brick Oven Delivery. I have your pizza order.' Or something similar. We had ordered enough food deliveries to pretty much have the gist of their typical greetings.

Nope. He just stood there frozen. Well, most of him was frozen. His eyes were rapidly moving up and down my body, and I could see that there was something rapidly expanding in his pants. Actually, we were both frozen in place. Him from seeing something completely unexpected -- me naked, and me from also seeing something completely unexpected. Somehow, I managed to recover first.

"Uuuummmm. Hello Tommy. Uuuuuuuhhh, when did you start working at Brick Ove Pizza, and uuummm, did Evan happen to know about that?" That little smirk that Evan was wearing earlier was now beginning to make sense.

"Oh. I've been working there for a couple of months now. I'm actually the one that took your order. I told Evan that I would deliver it when he called to place the order." He answered to my tits.

Uh huh. Funny how Evan neglected to mention to me that it would be his best friend delivering the pizza.

He apparently wasn't in a real hurry to deliver the pizza and be on his merry way. Instead of doing something like handing me the box, he just continued to stand there and stare. Not that I really blamed him, but it was getting a bit awkward.

"Uuuuummm, Tommy?" I asked.

Nothing.

"Tommy!"

Nothing.

"TOMMY!!!"

"Huh?" That finally seemed to break him out of his trance. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Here's your pizza." He said, finally handing me the pizza box.

I took the box, tuned around, and walked over to the table to set it down. Well, perhaps walked wasn't the right verb. No matter how hard you try, you can't simply walk in 6-inch heels. You can strut, sashay, and sway, but you can't simply walk. It takes an enormous amount of hip movement to move when you are wearing that type of shoe. I heard a slight whimper as I bent over to set the box down. That coincided with when I figured he got a glimpse of my butt plug. Turning to saunter back, I watched his eyes go wider as my tits bobbled and swayed with every step.

"How much do I owe?" I asked when I was back in front of him.

Silence.

"How much do I owe, Tommy?" I said a little louder.

"TOMMY!"

"Huh?"

"How much?"

"All you want." I didn't really want to ponder on what he meant by that.

"Tommy! How. Much. Money. Do. I. Owe. You. For. The. Pizza?"

"Pizza?" I was getting the impression that something was seriously short circuiting in his brain. "Pizza, Oh. Right. Uuuummm," He took a minute to discover that he had a receipt in his hand and that it actually contained numbers. "$14.89." He finally announced.

With that, I turned and stepped over to the table where my purse was -- and 'accidentally' knocked it off the table onto the floor. "Ooops." I said as I bent over to retrieve it.

As I bent at the waist, giving him a full unobstructed and close-up view of my plugged ass and drenched pussy, I heard a loud groan from behind me. Turning my head to look back, I saw a large and growing wet spot develop on his crotch. Smirking, I pulled two $10 bills out and tucked each one under each of my tits as I stood up.

When I was standing directly in front of him again, I told him, "Using both hands, I will give you one minute to get the money from under my tits. You may use the full minute regardless of how fast you actually get the money."

In a millisecond, his hands were massaging my tits. He lifted one, then the other as he retrieved the bills, then began focusing on my diamond-hard nipples. Each tweak and flick sent jolts of lightning straight to my pussy. Damn, his hands felt good. He changed to using his palms directly over my nipples as he lifted and rotated his hands, moving my tits up and around. As he did this, my nipples were being brushed all over the palms of his hands. Occasionally, his fingers would clench down as he gently squeezed my massive mammarys. I told him one minute, but it felt like half an hour. I finally had to stop him. Later, the video showed that it was actually two minutes. OK, so he got an extra tip. Feeling generous, I turned around and let him squeeze my ass before I finally nudged him out the door.

Goddamn, I was horney. Shit. Couldn't do anything about that now. Any attempt to sneak off to my bedroom might as well come with a neon sign stating MASTURBATION TIME to my kids. That would be humiliating. Shit. That thought just caused another gush from my pussy. Where the fuck did that reaction come from?

"Kids! Pizza's here!" As if the little voyeurs hadn't already known that. Fuck, I was horney. Oh. Said that already.

I had the pizza box on the counter and was getting the dishes out of the cabinet when they got to the kitchen.

"So, mom. You finished the dare; aren't you going to get dressed again?" Sheree asked.

"What's the point? Not anything left to see. Not like it would make any difference at this point." I replied.

"Well, OK then. If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother us. You might want to sit on a towel, though."

I looked down and saw the juice running down my legs. Shit. Fuck, I was horney. I needed to take care of that, but it would be too embarrassing having my kids know what I was doing. I had a hitch in my breathing at that thought.

OK. Pizza on the plate, New bottle of wine opened, and sitting on a towel on the sofa. The kids had something on, but I had no idea what it was. I was robotically eating my pizza as I ran through scenarios where I could sneak off to masturbate without the kids knowing.