Dating a single mom and...

I meet her at a coffee shop, of all places. I'm reading, she's struggling with a stack of papers that she drops everywhere. I help her pick them up. She's got dark hair, brown eyes, curves that don't quit, and a smile that makes me forget what I was reading. We talk for an hour. Her name is Sarah.

Three dates in, I've got her on my bed, legs wrapped around my waist, moaning into my shoulder. She's forty-one, divorced seven months, has a fifeteen-year-old daughter named Nike. I am her first boyfriend post divorce. She tells me this while I'm still inside her, catching our breath. That is when I realized she was older than me, which isn't a problem as I have dated women of all ages.

"You okay with that?" she asks, tracing circles on my chest.

"I'm okay with you." I kiss her forehead.

She laughs. "I mean, I am old, I have custody issues. Shared with my ex. So she'll be around sometimes."

"Then I'll be around too."

She smiles, kisses me deeper. We fuck again. I'm already picturing it—a future, a family, something real.

***

Weeks pass. I realize quickly how cock hungry she is. She comes over three, sometimes four times a week. Always after dropping Nike at her dad's. She has a key now. Which is not a problem at all for me as I am a super horny guy at thirty two. She lets herself in, finds me on the couch, and we don't waste time. Clothes hit the floor before she tells me about her day.

Tonight, she's particularly wound up. Work drama, ex-husband being an ass, demanding full custody, Nike's school calling. I let her talk while I undress her, kiss her neck, slide my hands down her back.

"I need this," she whispers.

"You need to relax."

I lay her down, spread her legs, and eat her out until she's gripping my hair, bucking against my face. She comes twice before I even unbutton my pants. Then I fuck her hard, missionary, her dark hair splayed across my white pillowcase, her brown eyes squeezed shut.

"Look at me," I command.

She does. I watch her pupils dilate as I pound into her. She comes again, screaming my name.

Later, she's curled against my chest. "Move in with me," she says.

I'm quiet for a second. "Move in with you? Or you move in here?"

"I don't care. Either. Both. My lease is up in two months. I want us to be a real thing. A family."

A family. The word echoes in my head. I think about it—coming home to her every night, having coffee in the morning, building something.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

She kisses me, happy, and then she starts talking logistics. My place is bigger. She'll move in here. Her stuff, her things, whatever doesn't fit gets stored. Nike will need her own room. We can clear out the spare bedroom.

"When will I meet her?" I ask.

"Soon. She's shy. Quiet. She has never really warmed up to anyone apart from me and her dad. But she's a good kid. I am sure she will warm up to you."

***

Two weeks later, I meet Nike for the first time. Sarah brings her over on a Saturday afternoon. She walks in behind her mom, half-hidden, holding a small backpack.

I almost drop my coffee.

She's blonde. Pale blonde, almost white like a Tagaryen, pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her eyes are blue—sharp, clear blue, like the sky after rain. She's tall for fourteen, lanky, with the start of curves under her oversized hoodie. She looks nothing like her mother.

"Nike, this is Adam," Sarah says, nudging her forward.

"Hi." Her voice is soft. She looks at the floor.

"Hey, Nike. Welcome." I hold out my hand. She takes it, shakes it once, then pulls away. She still won't meet my eyes.

Sarah gives the grand tour. I watch from the kitchen as Nike walks through my space, her fingers trailing along the walls, her blue eyes scanning everything. When she passes my bedroom, she slows down. Looks at the unmade bed. Then keeps walking.

That night, after Sarah puts Nike to bed in the spare room, she comes to me. We fuck quietly, muffling our moans. But I leave the door open a crack. Just a sliver. Enough.

I notice Sarah doesn't close it either.

***

The next morning, I'm making coffee in boxers and a t-shirt. Nike shuffles in, rubbing her eyes. She's wearing pajama shorts and a tank top. Her hair is messy. She looks younger, softer.

"Morning," I say.

"...Morning." She grabs a glass, fills it with water. Drinks. I watch her throat move as she swallows.

"Sleep okay?"

"Yeah." She sets the glass down. Then she looks at me. Really looks. Her eyes drop to my chest, my stomach, lower. Lingers on the outline of my cock in my boxers. Then back up to my face.

I smile. She blushes, just a little, and looks away.

"You want breakfast? I make a mean omelette."

"Sure."

She sits at the counter. I start cracking eggs, feeling her gaze on my back. When I turn, she's looking at my hands. I flex them. She follows the movement.

Sarah comes in twenty minutes later, fresh from a shower. She kisses my cheek, ruffles Nike's hair. I slide a plate in front of each of them.

"Told you he's a keeper," Sarah says, winking.

I watch Nike pick at her omelette, those blue eyes flicking up to me, then away. She's nervous. But she's curious too. I can feel it.

Over the next few weeks, I learn her patterns. She's quiet, but she watches. She sits at the dinner table and observes. When Sarah touches me, she stares. When I come out of the shower in just a towel, she looks away fast—but not fast enough.

One night, Sarah's working late. It's just me and Nike. She's on the couch, reading. I sit in the armchair, scrolling on my phone. The TV's off. It's quiet.

"You want to watch something?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Don't care."

I put on a movie. Some action flick. Halfway through, she's curled up, half-asleep. I grab a blanket, drape it over her. She stirs, looks up at me.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

I linger. Just a second too long. Her eyes meet mine. There's something there—I don't know what. Recognition? Invitation? I can't tell.

"Goodnight, Nike."

"Night, Adam."

I go to my room. I don't close the door all the way.

***

The move-in date comes fast. Sarah's stuff arrives in boxes. We spend the weekend organizing, rearranging. Nike mostly stays in her new room, door closed. But when I pass by, I hear music. Soft. Melancholy.

I knock on her door one evening. She opens it, earphones dangling around her neck.

"Your mom's making dinner. You want to come help set the table?"

She nods, follows me to the kitchen. I hand her plates, she takes them. Her fingers brush mine. Neither of us pull away.

"Sorry," she mutters.

"For what?"

She shrugs, doesn't answer. But she didn't need to say anything. The touch wasn't an accident. And she knows I know. I want what she wants and we are both scared.

Later, Sarah and I are in bed. She's asleep, but I'm not. I stare at the ceiling, thinking about those blue eyes. That accidental touch. The way she lingers when I'm shirtless.

I should stop this. I know I should.

But I don't.

Instead, I keep leaving my door open when Sarah and I fuck. Just a crack. Just enough for sound to travel. I want Nike to hear. I want her to know what her mom sounds like when she comes undone. I want her to picture it. I want her to want it badly too. So badly that she would ask for it.

And one night, when I'm done and Sarah is asleep, I walk to the bathroom. My sweatpants are loose, hanging low. I know the hallway light hits me just right. I pass Nike's door.

It's open an inch.

I pause. Pretend to tie my sweatpants, adjust myself. Make sure the outline is visible. Then I continue to the bathroom.

When I come back, the door is still open. I catch a glimpse of movement inside. Her silhouette against the window. She's standing, facing her door. Watching.

I don't say anything. I go back to bed.

But the game has started. And neither of us intends to lose.

***

This week, Sarah’s shift starts at eleven. She’s gone by ten-thirty, kissing me goodbye, telling me to make sure Nike eats something before bed. Everything is packed for her dad to pick her tommorrow. I stand at the door, watch her car pull out of the driveway. Then I turn around.

The house is quiet. Nike’s door is closed. I pour myself a glass of water, lean against the counter, and wait.

Ten minutes later, her door creaks open. She pads out in those pajama shorts and a loose tank top, no bra. Her blonde hair is messy, falling over her shoulders. Those blue eyes find me immediately.

“Mom left?”

“Yeah.” I set the glass down. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

She shakes her head. But she doesn’t go back to her room. She stands there, shifting her weight, biting her lower lip. Her fingers fidget with the hem of her shorts.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask.

“Not really.”

I pat the couch cushion beside me. She hesitates for half a second, then walks over and sits. Not right next to me, but close enough that I can smell her shampoo—something fruity, sweet. I lean back, stretch my arm along the back of the couch. She looks at my arm, at the muscles tensing, then looks away.

“You want me to tell you a story?”

A small smile. “That was for when I was little. Now I prefer other things to help me sleep.”

“You’re still little.” I shift closer. My hand drops from the back of the couch to her shoulder. Light. Casual. “But I can tell you a different kind of story.”

She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t tense up. She just looks at me, those blue eyes wide and waiting.

I start slow. I talk about the first time I saw her, walking through the door, how I noticed the way she moved. How I noticed everything. How beautiful she is. My hand slides from her shoulder down her arm, tracing her skin. Goosebumps rise. She shivers.

“Adam…” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“Shh.” I cup her cheek, turn her face toward me. “Just let me take care of you.”

I kiss her. Soft. Gentle. Just a brush of lips. She doesn’t kiss back at first, but she doesn’t pull away. I press harder, and her mouth parts. I slide my tongue inside. She tastes like toothpaste and something young. Her hands stay in her lap, frozen.

I deepen the kiss, my other hand moving to her waist, pulling her closer. She lets me. I lay her back on the couch, my body covering hers. She’s so small beneath me, her legs parting automatically. I settle between them, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric of her shorts.

I break the kiss, look down at her. Her eyes are dazed, her lips wet. She’s breathing fast, chest rising and falling. Her nipples are hard, pressing against the tank top.

“Is this okay?” I ask. I already know the answer. I just want to hear her say it.

“Yes,” she breathes.

I kiss down her neck, sucking gently at the hollow of her throat. She arches into me, a small sound escaping her lips. My hand slides down her stomach, under the waistband of her shorts, past the elastic of her panties. She gasps when my fingers find her cunt.

She’s wet. Soaking. I slide one finger through her folds, circling her clit. Her hips buck, and she grabs my wrist, not to stop me, but to hold on. Her nails dig into my skin.

“Oh,” she whimpers.

“You like that?”

“Yes… yes…”

I push a finger inside her. She’s tight, but not virgin-tight. She takes it easily, her walls gripping me. I pump slowly, watching her face contort with pleasure. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her mouth open, small gasps escaping.

“Look at me,” I command.

She opens her eyes. They’re glassy, full of lust and trust. I push a second finger in. She moans, loud, and I cover her mouth with my free hand.

“Quiet,” I whisper. “We don’t want the neighbors to hear.”

She nods, biting her lip. I finger-fuck her slowly, deliberately, until her whole body tenses and she comes on my hand, her cunt clenching and fluttering. I feel every pulse against my fingers.

I pull my hand out, bring my fingers to my mouth, and taste her. Sweet and salty. She watches me, fascinated.

Then I unbutton my jeans. My cock springs out, hard and aching. I kick my pants down to my knees. She looks at it, her eyes wide, she looks licks her lips. She’s seen one before—I can tell. There’s no fear, only anticipation. And raw lust.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says. Quiet. But certain.

I don’t need to be told twice. I line myself up at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her slick folds. I look into her eyes. She nods.

I push inside her in one slow, smooth motion. She’s hot and wet and tight, her walls stretching to accommodate me. As I had guessed, she is not a virgin. As young as she is, she is already a little slut. She lets out a sharp gasp, gripping my shoulders. I pause, letting her adjust.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…” Her voice is breathy. “Don’t stop.”

I start moving. Slow at first, deep thrusts that bottom out inside her. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. Her head falls back, her mouth open in a silent cry. I watch my cock disappear into her, come back glistening.

"Have you been fucked before?" I ask her.

"Yes." She replies in a shaky voice.

I speed up. The couch creaks beneath us.

"How many times?"

"Mmmmmmmmh. Ooooh," She’s moaning into my shoulder, her nails raking down my back. "Maybe a thousand times I don't know. Fuck... Adam."

I fuck her hard, pounding into her, feeling her cunt grip me with each stroke.

"By who?"

She cups my face in her little hands. I stop moving to stare at the blue sea in her eyes.

"By my dad you dumbass." She brings my head down for a kiss. I try to kiss her but her little cunt is something else. I break away from the kiss to focus on fucking her.

“You feel so good,” I grunt. “Such a tight little pussy.”

“Fuck… Adam… please…”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop… fuck me… fuck me harder…fuck me like you are my dad.”

I grab her hips, angle her, and drive deeper. She screams into my shoulder, coming again, her body shuddering under mine.
"You really like cock little slut." I keep going, chasing my own release. She’s so wet, so hot, her juices coating my cock.

I feel the pressure building. I pull out, but she grabs my arm.

“Cum inside me,” she begs. “Please do it like daddy.”

I look at her. That blonde hair spread across the couch cushion, those blue eyes pleading, her body open and willing.

"I am your daddy now." I push back inside, trying to bury myself to the lily but her tight cunt is not able to take a full grown man cock. It's goes about three quarter in. I let go. I cum in hot pulses, filling her, my cock twitching as I empty myself deep inside her cunt.

She holds me close, her breath hot against my neck. We stay like that for a long moment, my cock still inside her, both of us panting.

Her warm cunt makes me hard and I begin thrusting again. She does that thing with her pussy as if a toothless person was chewing it. I don't last I give her a cum refill. Rather we cum together with her each other's names on our tongues. I am a bit disappointed she says Adam and not daddy.

I don't pull out. I stay buried inside her, her tight little cunt clenching around me in aftershocks. Her blonde hair is fanned out on my pillow, those blue eyes half-lidded, a lazy smile on her lips.

"That was... wicked," she whispers, and I can't help but grin.

"You're a wicked little girl, aren't you?"

She giggles. "Mhm. Daddy says I'm his special slut."

The mention of her real father sends a hot spike of jealousy through my chest. I grind my hips against her, making her gasp.

"I told you. I'm your daddy now."

She looks up at me, and there's something calculating in those innocent eyes. "Prove it."

I pull out slowly, watching my cum leak out of her pink slit. She shivers. I get off the bed, walk to my closet, and grab a pair of my boxers. I toss them at her.

"Put these on. Then come to the kitchen."

She pads out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but my boxers, her small tits bouncing slightly with each step. I'm at the counter, pouring myself a whiskey. I don't drink often, but tonight calls for it.

She hops onto a stool, legs swinging. "What now?"

I take a sip, the burn familiar. "Now we talk. How old are you, really? And how long has your dad been fucking you?"

She doesn't flinch. "I am fifteen. I won't tell you everything but daddy said it's how daddies show love to their special girls. That dad's like their daughters pussies. I like his cock too."

I set the glass down. "And your mom? She know?"

She shakes her head. "No. She'd kill him. But she'd kill me too, I think."

I walk over, stand between her legs. I lift her chin with two fingers. "You're mine now. You understand that?"

She bites her lower lip. "He's coming to pick me up tomorrow."

"Yeah, about that." I pull out my phone, text my girlfriend: Hey, babe. Does Nike really need to go to her dad yet I am here? We need to resolve this custody issue."

I show the screen to Nike. She reads it, then looks at me with those big blue eyes. "You're gonna keep me."

"You're gonna keep me," I correct her, unbuttoning my jeans. "Get on your knees."

She slides off the stool, drops to the floor, and looks up at me with a mixture of obedience and hunger. I pull my cock out, still slick with her juices. She doesn't hesitate—she takes me in her mouth, deep, without gagging.

Fuck. This girl has been trained.

I tangle my fingers in her hair, let her work. She's good, knows exactly how to use her tongue, when to take a breath, when to look up at me with those innocent eyes. I let her go for a few minutes, then pull her off.

"Bedroom. I want to see you with my cum dripping down your thighs before mom comes home."

She scrambles up, runs ahead, hops onto my bed and spreads her legs wide, inviting. I climb over her, line up, and sink back in. This time I fuck her slow, deep, watching every expression on her face. She's not pretending—she loves it.

"Tell me what you like," I growl.

"Big cock," she moans. "I like being filled. I like feeling used. I like—" She gasps as I hit a sweet spot. "—I like being a slut for dad."

I kiss her hard, fuck her harder. Why can't she forget that asshole of a father. She wraps her legs around my waist, nails raking down my back. I pound into her, feel that familiar tightness building in my balls. I let go, pump her full, and collapse on top of her. She's trembling, her breath hot against my neck.

"I love you step daddy," she whispers.

I kiss her forehead. "And I love my new little girl."

We lie there, tangled in sweat and cum. Outside, the city hums. Inside, a new family is taking shape. A twisted, filthy, perfect family.

I'll handle her dad tomorrow. Somehow. But tonight, she's mine. Every inch of her. Maybe we (her dad and I) will kill each other eventually... Or share her? Would she like that? Would her dad want to?

Finally, I pull out. Her pussy is red and swollen, my cum leaking out, running down her thigh. She looks at it, then at me, and smiles.

“I liked that,” she says.

I kiss her forehead. “Me too.”

I help her clean up, then lead her to her room. I tuck her into bed, kiss her goodnight. She catches my hand.

“Stay?” she asks.

I shake my head. "I’ll check on you later.”

She pouts, but nods. I close her door, go to my room, lie down. My cock is still wet with her. I smell her on my skin. I like being a step dad.