tagMatureHer Godson's Secret Job

Her Godson's Secret Job


"You don't think he's selling drugs do you?"

"I don't think he's selling drugs."

"Are you sure? Because you can make a lot of money selling drugs."

"I am fairly certain he's not selling drugs. Andy doesn't seem like the type. He's too nice and too smart a kid."

"That's what I thought, but you never know. Kids are sneaky."

"Andy's not that sneaky. I'm sure he just has some job, and for whatever silly teenage reason, he wants to keep it a secret. I'm absolutely sure there's nothing wrong with it."

"I guess, but I'm still worried."

"I know. You're his godmother. But I have to go. My date's here."

"You going to fuck this one?"

"If he's big enough..."

Janet laughed and closed her cell phone. She sat down at the kitchen table, flipping it open and closed. It was dark out now, and Andy still hadn't come home from work.

If it had been a Friday, she wouldn't have worried so much. But it was Monday. He told her he was working until eight. It was an hour past that. She had called his cell phone three times, but he didn't answer. He also didn't respond to her four text messages, which had been sent at hourly intervals.

Janet tried to relax. She even changed into pajama pants and a nightshirt because her jeans and tight tank top made her feel claustrophobic.

So now, she sat alone in the kitchen, playing with her cell phone and imagining bad things—all of them happening to her godson, who her best friends (Andy's mother and father) had left in her care. They died fifteen years ago.

"Still haven't heard from him?"

Janet turned around. It was her daughter, Rachel.

"No," Janet said. "Have you?"

"Just after school. He texted me and said he had to work."

"He didn't say where, did he?"

"No, he didn't say where he worked, but I'm sure he's okay. He's a smart kid. You know he's got the highest grades in his class?"

"I know. I know. But I don't like this not knowing where he works. He's barely eighteen, and I don't think it's right that he has this kind of secret. My mother would have beat it out of me if I didn't tell her something like this."

"I'm sure you could beat Andy if you wanted."

"I guess."

Janet was too distracted to get the joke.

"It's okay," Rachel said, adjusting her ponytail. "He's fine. Plus, he's making a lot of money. Did you see the new guitar he bought? That's like a fifteen-hundred dollar guitar."

"That's why I'm so worried."

"It's fine. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."


"I have a feeling."

"Why? Did one of his friends say something?"

Rachel hesitated, "No. I just know."

"They did," Janet said, standing up. "What did they say? What do you know? He's selling drugs isn't he? Is it PCP?"

"He's not selling drugs. And second, his friends did say something, but it's not much."

"Tell me."

"This is just from some girls I have in class. I overheard them talking about him one day. It wasn't anything major."

Janet had an impatient look on her square face, as she leaned against the chair, squeezing it nervously with her fingers.

"It's nothing bad, nothing bad at all," Rachel said. "They all like him. He's very popular and talented and just making money using his talent."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that everything is okay. He's a teenager—and a very smart one. It'll be fine, and he'll be home soon."

Rachel's tone had a soothing effect. It was simultaneously nonchalant and authoritative. Rachel, her straight-A-never-in-trouble daughter (now a high school English teacher), wasn't worrying, so why should she.

"Just tell me."

"I can't. It's not my business. Ask him."

"I have. He won't tell me."

Rachel shrugged her small shoulders and disappeared from the kitchen, probably off to study in her upstairs bedroom. Janet, however, paced the kitchen until she heard the front door open and close. She looked at the clock (it was 9:28) and dashed to the living room, where Andy was taking off his shoes.

He looked tired—more so than usual. As a small child, he had been sickly and missed a lot of elementary school. Janet assumed it's what made him so smart, as he generally had to teach the material to himself. The side effect of multiple sicknesses was it left him with some ever-present, intangible malaise.

He was scrawny but had a handsome, if not pretty, face, well-groomed soft brown hair and bright eyes. He was of average height and somewhat lanky but walked with good posture in even, fluid strides.

Andy never played sports. Instead, he taught himself to play the guitar, read thick books and watched classic films, his favorites being campy sci-fi movies from the 1950s—preferably anything with a Martian invasion or robots.

"You said you'd be home by eight," Janet said, her hands resting on her wide, fleshy hips.

"I know. It took longer than I thought," Andy said, slumping toward the stairs.

"What did?"

"Work. I'm tired, though. Can I go to sleep?"

Janet ignored the question.

"Tell me what this job is. I have to know where you are. You're only a boy."

"I told you. I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"That's ridiculous. You just turned eighteen. There's no way you have job that is that important."

"Can't you just trust me? I've never gotten in trouble or had bad grades. It's just something I'm not comfortable talking about."

"Then you shouldn't be doing it."

They stared at each other. Janet, stood, erect like a statue, her arms now crossed over her large chest. Andy slumped against the stairwell banister.

"Did you ask Rachel?" Andy said.

"Yes," his godmother replied. "She seems to think it's okay, and that you're fine."


"I suppose, but we're not done. We're talking about this tomorrow when you get home from school—and stop adjusting yourself. You don't do that in public, do you?"

"No. It's just sometimes it needs—nevermind."


"Nothing, can I go to bed? I'm really tired."

"Fine, but we're talking about it tomorrow."

Andy nodded and slouched up the stairs. Janet, relieved and annoyed, plopped into the couch and fell asleep.


When Andy walked in the door Wednesday afternoon, Janet was waiting for him, still wearing her work clothes and reading a magazine.

She had her pantyhose-clad legs pushed out and crossed, her right foot bouncing over the left. Her knee-length black skirt had ridden up a few inches on her soft thighs, and she had unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. She had her short dark brown hair (which was highlighted) up in a makeshift bun.

Andy was still in his Catholic school uniform.

"No work today?" Janet said, sitting up and tossing her magazine aside.

Andy shook his head and dropped his backpack on the floor by the front door.

"We need to talk," Janet said. She moved over, allowing Andy to sit down next to her. "I, as the responsible and rather awesome person that I am, cannot allow you to have job and not know what it is. I have to have at least some idea of where you disappear to, and what you are doing while you're there.

"Now, I know whatever this job is makes you a lot of money, and that's okay, but I just need to know what it is. It's safer that way. So, will you tell me?"

Andy adjusted himself on the couch, pulling his navy pants from his crotch and straightening the inseam. Janet noticed. He looked pained.

"I can't," Andy said. "I want to, but it's just weird, and you won't get it."

"It's a job," Janet said. "How can I not get it? You're not selling drugs are you?"

"No, I'm not selling drugs. Do I look like I could sell drugs?"

"I'm not sure...."

"Come on."

"Okay, you don't look like you could sell drugs... Seriously, though. If you're not selling drugs, what could you possibly be doing that makes all that money that you can't tell me about?"

"I just can't tell you, okay?"

"That makes no sense, and this is starting to get irritating. Rachel refuses to tell me. You refuse to tell me. Do you want me to ground you? Would that make a difference?"

"No. You don't have to."

"Then you'll tell me?"


"This is ridiculous," Janet said, her voice rising. "Insanely ridiculous."

Andy sunk into the couch and stared off at the blank television. He wanted to tell her. He didn't like lying to his godmother; she was so nice. But he didn't know how to tell her. It was too personal, too unorthodox—too inappropriate.

Still, he hadn't totally ruled it out—just 99.99 percent. He liked to see people's reaction when he told them. He liked to see reactions of people when he showed them, and his godmother's reaction likely would be the best of all. It might even top Carolyn's.

But Janet still was his godmother, which made him hesitate and retreat back to traditional judgment. Either way, the thoughts made him squirm on the couch—and being so close to her didn't help.

"Well, are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to ground you?" Janet said.

"Ground me?"


"You've never done that before."

"You've never lied to me."

She was glaring at him. She was clearly angry. Her warm eyes had narrowed and gone cold. She wore severe look, sculpted around of her crisp features, while the subtle lines in her face seemed deeper.

Andy turned away, sighed and stood up.

"Where are you going?" she said. He didn't stop. He kept walking, climbed the stairs and shut himself in his room.

Once inside, he stripped off his uniform, ripping the white collared shirt, the navy tie and the navy pants from his small body. When he finished, he was wearing only his white boxer briefs and tossed himself in the middle of his bed.

He thought about his "job," which he started by accident a few months ago. At first, it was just for some extra spending money. Then, his original "clients" started talking about him, and his reputation spread quickly. Now, he could work every day if he chose—not that that was possible with his overprotective and zealously curious godmother always snooping for information.

He was on the verge of falling asleep when he heard the sound of an opening door bouncing off his bedroom wall. He opened his eyes and saw his godmother standing in the doorway, the cold stare still imbedded in her face. She stepped in, her pantyhose-covered feet sliding on the beige carpet.

Andy's eyes hadn't been open for five seconds before she started to yell.

"Don't you ever do that again," she said. "Do you realize how rude that is? I swear, for such a smart kid, you have been doing some really dumb shit. It's taking every bit of my control not to smack the..."

But her voice trailed off, and the fierce glare faded from her face. Her body relaxed, and the rigid pose she had held since throwing the door open dissipated into bent knees and limp arms. She cocked her head to one side, her mouth slightly open, while her eyes seemed to focus elsewhere. Half asleep, Andy wasn't sure what was happening. He sat up, leaning against his pillow-covered headboard.

"What. Is. That?" she asked, raising a hand to her elegant lips.

"What is what?" Andy said.


With her other hand, she made a weak gesture toward his spread legs and the white boxer briefs stretched across his crotch.

He had forgotten. He wasn't wearing any clothes. He grabbed a pillow and covered himself.

"What did you do?" she asked, taking a step toward the bed. "Did you put something down there? Are you hurt?"

"No," he said with a tremble. "I'm fine."

"But there's something down there, right?"

"Where?" He tried to play dumb. Maybe she would let it go.

"Your underwear. What's down there?"


"Let me see."

She took another step. Her front knee was now pressed against side of the bed, but she hadn't removed her hand from her mouth.


"Let me see."

"I don't think... Can we just let it go? I promise I won't come in late anymore. I'll quit working..."

Janet wasn't paying attention. She was now side-by-side with her eighteen-year-old godson, who was lying in the bed with a pillow pressed over his crotch. She leaned over him.

"Don't," Andy said, recoiling toward the other side.

Janet didn't say anything. With her right arm, she reached for the pillow.


She squeezed the edge the pillow in her hand and pulled it.

"Janet... don't..."

At first, he resisted, holding on to the pillow, but he let go when she persisted. The pillow came away smoothly, and dropping it on the floor next to her feet, she stared at her godson's underwear.

They were white and stopped a few inches below his flat stomach and two-thirds of the way up his thigh. They stretched tightly around his crotch, outlining every curve, nook and surface underneath—including an enormous lump where a normal adolescent penis should have been.

"What," she said, "is that?"

"It's nothing..." he started. She cut him off.

"What is that? What do you have in there?"

She reached out a hand. Again, Andy recoiled, squeezing his legs together, but she grabbed his knee and pulled it forward, again revealing that unnaturally large bulge underneath his boxer briefs.

"Janet," he said, his voice cracking. "Please don't It's going to be weird. You're my godmother. You don't want to know this."

She didn't listen. With her forefinger, she pushed into the lump.

"That's you," she said. "That is you. Has it always been like that? You know, that size?"

Andy nodded, and she poked it again before gently running her finger over every millimeter of the bulge.

"What are you doing?" Andy asked.

She ignored the question and cupped his crotch, feeling it push against her palm. Even under the cotton, it was warm. She squeezed it.

Andy let out a small moan.

She continued to squeeze, and she felt the bulge expand. It pushed her hand outward, raising it up.

"That is all you," Janet said. Andy nodded and pushed back softly against her hand, which had moved to the waistband.

Andy's heart beat faster as his godmother forced two fingers underneath the elastic band and tugged, folding the material over and slowly pulling it toward his knees.

"Fuck," she said, in breathy whisper. "Fuck... Fuck, Andy. Fuck."

He looked down. His penis had flopped out and dangled over his boxer briefs, pointing toward the foot of the bed. He looked up his godmother, who looked back at him and then down to his exposed penis.

He watched as again she reached for him. This time, she wrapped her hand around his growing member. She squeezed, and within five seconds, Andy the eighteen-year-old kid was fully hard inside his forty-five-year-old godmother's right hand.

"Andy," she said. "You're huge."

She looked at him. He was still in shock and braced against the headboard, shaking. He looked back at her.

"Andy," she said. "Do you know how big you are? I mean, compared to other men?"

He nodded.

"I mean, fuck. You're absolutely enormous. How did this happen?"

She ran her hand up and down his entire length, sending shivers over his skin. At the end, she cupped the head in her palm before slowly sliding her hand back down to the bottom, stopping at the base of his super thick, teenaged cock.

She took her hand off his shaft, wiping her fingers through his soft pubic hair and then down to his equally large balls. Finally, her hand came back to his giant dick. She clutched it and rubbed it up and down.

"What are you doing?" Andy said. "What are you doing? What are you doing?"

Janet just smiled and lifted in her knee onto the bed. She climbed up next to Andy and knelt over him.

Andy watched as she studied his cock, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. Then he looked down. Her skirt had ridden up and was taut across her thighs, and he could see the dark crotch of her pantyhose. With her bent over, he also could see the tops of her large breasts inside her white blouse. They were still pressed inside her lacy bra.

The movement of his godmother's hands broke his stare. She had started to stroke him faster. She was using both her hands, which didn't reach entirely around his oversized cock. There still was almost half an inch between her middle finger and thumb at the fattest part of his pole just below the bulging head.

"And you're so hard," Janet said. "So hard and big."

She was moving slow, savoring each stroke. For better balance, she had spread her legs wider on the bed, forcing her skirt further up her thighs. Andy could see her crotch in the daylight shooting through the window—and Janet noticed.

She let go of his cock and propped herself up on her knees.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This isn't fair. I've seen all of you. You want to see me, don't you?"

Andy didn't know what to say. He made a confused face, but she saw his eyes take a passing look at between her thighs. It answered her question.

Janet stood up from the bed and unbuttoned her blouse. She tossed it on the floor, removed her bra and dropped the skirt to her ankles, so she stood in front of her teenage godson wearing only her pantyhose.

Andy just stared. Her breasts were large and plump with large nipples. She had a soft but flat stomach and a tinge of extra meat on her arms. He scanned down her body, starting at her attractive face before moving down her body. He saw her hands pushing her black pantyhose down her thick thighs.

She didn't waste any time, kicking them off in seconds and giving her godson a full view of her naked, mature body.

Janet had a few extra pounds clumped in her thighs, butt and arms, but it only accented her tan figure. Her flesh was smooth all around—and warm. Andy's eyes immediately went to her hairy vagina, and his hand to his ever-hardening cock.

"Oh, Andy," she said. "You're touching yourself."

He pushed his dick out, forcing it toward his feet to show the full length. He pumped slowly, as he watched his godmother climb back onto the bed. She knelt over his knees, spread her legs and pushed her mound toward his giant cock.

"Touch it," she said, leaning back on her arms.

With one hand on his dick, Andy reached the other toward her vagina and cupped it, feeling the hair press into his palm. She was wet, and his hand slid without effort. He moved it back and forth over her. She let out a soft moan and reached for his cock, gripping it harder than before.

Andy grunted, as she began jack him—faster than the first time so that his fat dick slapped against her hand whenever she came to tip.

Janet jerked her godson's massive cock toward her pussy. It was only an inch away, and he could feel her warmth.

She began to push herself against his fingers. She pushed so hard, two slipped inside, and she moaned. It was guttural.

Andy pushed them in and out of her until his knuckles pounded into her cunt, producing wet slap. He rubbed one of her smooth, tan thighs with the other hand. He felt her leak down the inside of her leg and onto his thigh.

Suddenly, as he slipped a third finger inside his godmother's pussy, he felt his cock collide with her mound. It punched into the dark hair above her hole, leaving a matted spot of his precum. Then, it happened again. And again.

Janet was grunting when it happened, and finally, his cockhead slipped under lips. He felt her wetness slide across his cock, and she left it there, using it to grind her forty-five-year-old cunt.

Andy felt himself get closer to her opening.

"Janet," he whispered. "Janet..."

She ignored him.

"I'm really to close being inside..."

She ignored him again, only rubbing herself against him harder. She was wiping her pussy with the wide tip of his dick.

"You're about me to put me..."

Then, it happened. He felt an intense warmth around his cock, followed by a more intense tightness. He heard her squeal. He looked up and saw his godmother forcing her cunt onto his thick, leaking teenaged dick.

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