Megan and Mitchell - Sex Stories

Megan and Mitchell

... breath, watching his 40 year old mother, Megan, step out of the cab. She was wearing large sunglasses, a short, white, spaghetti strap sundress displaying ample cleavage. Mitchell glanced at her equally ample breasts and sighed once more. Making his way to her cab, she smiled politely at him; he nodded, leaning down for a quick one arm hug. Mitchell patted her upper back a couple times, ending the hug, watching her pay the cab fare. Megan smiled up at her tall son once more. Mitchell looked away to the back of the cab, not meeting her gaze. “Yeah, my bags,” Megan said. Mitchell grabbed them from the open trunk without being asked. The two walked through the courtyard into his condo without speaking. Mitchell placed her luggage in his guest room then entering the living room, finding his mother looking around. Hair dark hair was pushed back by her sunglasses. “What’s that smell?” she asked. “Here we go,” Mitchell thought. “The ocean,” he replied. “I know that, Mitchell. I lived in Miami long enough to recognize it. I’m smelling something else,” She sniffed the air. “I don’t know,” Mitchell moving to the kitchen, opening the fridge seeing a slightly old container of leftovers. “Ah, that’s it. You should probably throw that out,” Megan said, appearing behind her son, placing her hand on his shoulder, slightly startling him, peering into the refrigerator from behind him. “Yeah,” he said. He didn’t want to throw the food out; Mitchell would just nuke it extra long if there ...

... wasn’t mold growing on it. He did as he was told, not looking or speaking to his mother while cleaning the container in the sink. Mitchell glanced at her, just as she turned around from her inspection, their eyes meeting quickly. He thought he saw a smile on her face, but looked away as quickly as he could when their eyes met. “Alright, well let me show you around,” Mitchell said, putting the dishtowel back on the rack. The condo was small so it only took a moment. He showed her the kitchen, living room, small bathroom, and his room. Megan entered it, sitting on the bed, running her hand over the cover. “It’s nice,” she smiled at her son. “Thanks. Your room is across the hall here,” Mitchell, not returning the smile, looked away, motioning her to follow. “Oh my, this is really small,” Megan complained, her arm wrapping around Mitchell’s. He unhooked his arm from hers. “Yeah, well, it’s this or the couch,” he replied, walking away. “Ugh, I guess this then. There’s hardly enough room for my things,” Megan droned on, Mitchell taking the high road and ignoring her whining. Mitchell pretended to work in the kitchen, his mother sitting on the couch, running her hands over her knees, her feet propped up on the coffee table, “So what are we doing tonight?” “Excuse me?” Mitchell asked. “Yes. Tonight. What are we doing? It’s Saturday,” Megan said. “Yeah. Well I have some work I need to catch up on,” Mitchell answered. It was a half truth. Yes there was work he could do for the software ...