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Under His Spell by Pan When I felt the hand of my daughter's boyfriend on my ass, I didn't say anything. How would you have reacted? We'd been asking Georgia to invite her boyfriend around for weeks now—we didn't know anything about him, except that the two of them seemed to be getting along. My husband and I had literally no idea what to expect—and yet, Ash still managed to surprise us. He was eighteen, the same age as Georgia, but he held himself with the confidence of a much older man.

He walked with…well, with a swagger. He was wearing ripped jeans and a black jacket, made of faux leather, which he refused to take off all through dinner. Georgia couldn't keep her eyes off him—she was clearly besotted…and, honestly, I could see why. He was exactly the kind of "bad boy" I would have been keen on when I was her age. He never broke eye-contact—in fact, he spent most of the meal staring straight at me. I'm well into my forties now, but I have to admit, I felt myself blushing slightly in response.

It's just so rare to get that kind of direct attention from a young man, at my age…and especially such direct attention. I don't think my husband noticed anything odd in either Ash's behavior or mine, but Georgia surely must have noticed the inordinate amount of attention her suitor was paying me.

She didn't say anything, and neither did I. And later, when Ash came into the kitchen and put his hand directly on my ass, I didn't say anything then, either. We were alone—I was washing up, and my husband had offered to show Georgia and Ash the latest modifications he was making to his car. I have no idea how Ash managed to sneak away, and I didn't ask. I just stood there, doing the dishes, while Ash's hand firmly grasped my rear end.

Neither of us said a word—I suppose a part of me was just hoping if I didn't acknowledge it, he would stop. But he didn't. In fact, when it was obvious that I wasn't going to offer up even a token resistance, he took it a step further. His hand started caressing me, and he stood directly behind me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck—he was tall, taller than my husband—and his other hand came around and started groping my left breast.

I didn't say anything. But I did shiver—a shiver of fear, I suppose, or possibly arousal.

I didn't know what this young man was doing, or how I felt about it…but my body was responding. I could feel myself getting wet, as the teenager dating my daughter openly groped me in the kitchen. He used his feet to spread my legs, gently pushing first one leg and then the other. The dishwater was starting to get cold, but I continued the illusion of housework, even though all I was doing was polishing one wet dish over and over again.

Ash moved his hand from my ass to my thigh—I was wearing a floral dress that went down past my knees, and as his left hand found my hard nipple and started tweaking it, his other hand slowly started inching my dress higher and higher, until my inner thigh was within reach. My breathing was heavy as his hand made contact with my skin for the first time since we'd shaken hands at the door earlier that evening.

I couldn't help but wonder: even then, had he been wondering what it would be like to touch me? Had he known how easy I would make it for him, how I was somehow unable to resist his advances?

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What we were doing was wrong for so many reasons, but I put the final dish on the drying board, and moved my hands to the edge of the sink, gripping tightly.

I didn't know what was going to happen, but I wanted to be able to support myself when it did. His mouth moved from near my neck to my ear, so close that I couldn't hear anything but his slow, controlled breathing.

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I tried to slow my own breath down as well—I'd involuntarily begun panting as his hand slowly moved higher on my thigh, so close that I'm sure he could feel the heat of my pussy. I'd had no reason to suspect that anyone would see my underthings that night (my husband and I only ever make love on Saturday nights, when Georgia is at netball) and so the pair I was wearing were large, and hardly flattering.

I don't think Ash cared—he moved them to the side with ease, and I involuntarily shuddered as his fingers brushed against my tangled pubic hair. Before long, I was biting my lip to prevent myself from crying out—despite his youth, Ash seemed to be far from inexperienced.

His fingers found my wetness immediately, and soon he was plunging them deep within me. I don't even know when exactly he undid the top few buttons of my dress, and slipped his hand inside, reaching inside my bra and tweaking my nipple directly.

My head was so foggy—all I could think about was how wrong it was, what we were doing, and the unexpected amount of pleasure that Ash was able to provide with his roaming fingers. Ash's fingers went deep, and I arched my back, pressing my ass against his pants and feeling his hard cock within.

I didn't allow myself to question what was happening—a part of me knew that if I did, it would have to stop, and I didn't want it to stop. Not yet. Grinding my ass against his erection, my eyes shut and my mouth struggling not to make any more noise than the huffing I already was, Ash's talented young fingers brought me to orgasm. Right there, in my kitchen, my husband and daughter not two rooms away, I came—something I hadn't done with anyone but my husband for more than twenty years.

As I came down, reality came crashing back. What had I done?? I'd not only betrayed my husband's trust, I'd betrayed Georgia as well—this boy was nothing to me, but she was my daughter.

I'd stabbed my only daughter in the back. My breathing grew steady, and I turned to tell Ash that it could never happen again, but he was gone. I was alone in the kitchen with my washing up, my partially-unbuttoned dress and a pair of soaking wet panties.

* * * When Georgia and my husband returned a few minutes later, I was composed once again—on the outside, at least. On the inside, my mind was whirring, going over what I'd done.

I'd let a boy—a boy, less than half my age—feel me up, touch me, and…get me off. What had I done? Ash returned a few minutes later, and though I avoided looking at him, I could feel his eyes on my face, on my body. I could feel his scorching gaze—was he remembering how wet I'd been for him, how easily I'd let him past my defenses—and how much I'd enjoyed it.

He didn't stay long after that—he was taking Georgia to see a movie, so less than five minutes later, he was out of my house. But in those five minutes, I could tell he was undressing me with his eyes. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between us—it was so obvious to me that I felt sure my husband would notice, or Georgia would say something…but they just smiled and made polite conversation as if nothing had ever happened.

Those five minutes were hell. At any moment, I was sure that Georgia was going to smell me on her boyfriend, or my husband was going to notice my odd behavior. I couldn't relax—I tried not to give anything away, but I can't ever remember being that tense before. And worse, I was turned on. Knowing that the kid who had just finger-fucked me was making polite conversation with the love of my life—it was strangely thrilling.

Combined with the fact that Ash wouldn't stop blatantly checking me out, and the memory of what we'd just done…by the time Ash and my daughter left, I was practically dripping, and if I didn't know that it would have raised suspicion, I would have thrown my husband down right there on the couch, and ridden him to orgasm. Instead, knowing that he'd be up for a few more hours, I claimed tiredness, and went to bed early. For the next few hours, I just lay in bed and masturbated, roughly thrusting two fingers into myself, trying to mimic the exact way that Ash had done it.

I managed to get myself off twice before my husband came to bed, and I had to pretend to be asleep. * * * The next time Georgia brought her boyfriend home, I was alone in the house. It was a Tuesday night, and my husband was out with his bowling buddies.

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Since Ash's last visit, I'd been insatiable—as soon as Georgia had left for netball practice on Saturday, I'd practically jumped my husband, but even several hours of love-making hadn't been enough to satisfy me.

There had been no warning that Ash was coming around again, and his appearance startled me so much that even my daughter noticed.

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I assured her that I was all right, and her attention quickly went back to her beau. I could certainly see why she was so fascinated by him—Ash was quite classically handsome. He had cheekbones to rival Bowie's, and his piercing stare managed to make you feel like you were the only woman in the world. At least, that's how it made me feel. Georgia had lost something in her room, and as soon as she left to fetch it, Ash's hands were all over me. He didn't ask permission, he didn't wait to see how I'd react—he just stepped forward, planted one hand on my ass and pulled me toward him, while the fingers of his other hand ran up and down my neck.

I knew that what we'd done last time was wrong. And even as I masturbated to the memory, I told myself that it could never happen again, that it wasn't fair to Georgia, and that it certainly wasn't fair to my husband. I'm not good at lying, or keeping secrets, and it was eating me up inside.

But the gentleness, the soft way he touched me…I immediately melted. I was putty in his hands—even with my daughter due to return at any second, Ash could do anything he wanted to me—and he knew it.

Again, not expecting company, I wasn't wearing anything remarkable—a pair of black pants with a high waist, and a simple, striped shirt. As Ash leaned down to smell my throat, everything went blurry for a few seconds, and when I realized what was happening, my pants were unbuttoned, and Ash had discovered that—just like last time—I was sopping wet. He took half a step backward, and without saying a word, took my hand in his, and led it to his pants.

My eyes widened in shock as, for the first time, I felt his hardness with my hand. Through his dirty blue jeans, true, but there it was—in my hand.

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My mouth fell open—even in my fantasies, I hadn't predicted this. I thought that he just wanted to touch an older woman—maybe as a power thing. I thought he was just interested in getting me off, but it was clear that he wanted something in return.

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As he stared deeply into my eyes, his fingers began playing with the front of my panties. It was the lightest of touches, but it was all I needed to roll my eyes back in pleasure. I couldn't believe how much power he had over me—I wanted to beg and plead for him to play with me like he had the previous week, but he just stood there, one hand brushing against the front of my panties while the other continued lightly playing with my neck.

Ash leaned forward, and planted his mouth upon my neck. My eyes rolled back into my head with pleasure, and before I knew what was happening, I'd unbuttoned his jeans, and was holding his plump cock in my hand.

There was so much wrong with the situation as we stood there: me, a middle-aged housewife, and him, an unemployed teenager dating my daughter, his cock in my hands, and his hands down my panties. But I couldn't bring myself to care—all I could focus on was the pleasure that his slim digits were bringing me, and the hard-on I had in my grasp. As his fingers slipped between my folds, I began stroking his cock—I couldn't even remember the last time I'd given a hand-job, but it's one of those things you never forget, and by the soft moans coming from Ash's mouth, I could tell he was enjoying it.

His hand stopped toying with my neck, and instead gripped the back of my head. Aside from a slight moan as his hand pulled out of my underwear, I didn't even try to resist as he guided my head down—soon, I was on my knees in front of him, staring at his beautiful cock, my mouth open wide.

In tandem, we groaned in pleasure. His hard-on slipped between my lips, and soon I had one hand wrapped around the base as I gave the most enthusiastic blow-job I can ever remember giving. A part of if was gratitude—he'd given me such pleasure last week, I wanted to return the favor—but a large part was simple enjoyment. I've always loved giving head, and in that moment, I was so turned on that I don't think I would have stopped had my husband walked in.

I gagged slightly as I took Ash's cock deep into my throat (he was slightly larger than my husband) but soon I was taking the entirety of his erection, coating it in my saliva as I blew the teen boy with gusto. There was a brief pause as he reached down to guide my other hand, but it didn't take me long to work out what he wanted, and soon I was fervently rubbing myself, as I swallowed as much of the unfamiliar cock as I could.

Even as I blew Ash, he never took the hand off my neck. He showed me the rhythm he wanted, guided my head as it bobbed up and down. I could feel his orgasm approaching with mine, but just as he was about to cum, there was a noise behind me.

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My eyes opened in panic, but Ash's hand continued to grip my neck, preventing me from turning around, and forcing me to continue blowing him.

I didn't resist—I knew I was fucked no matter what I did. There was no talking my way out of the situation, and so with nothing to lose, I continued to fellate Ash, using every trick I knew. A pair of legs entered my peripheral vision, and I was shocked as I realized that it was Georgia.

She was wearing nothing but a black pair of panties and a matching bra, and she didn't say a word, just leaned against the side-board next to Ash, and spread her legs as he reached down and slipped a finger inside her panties.

Perhaps due to overload, perhaps due to the orgasm that was approaching, my brain simply switched off at that point. I couldn't comprehend what was happening, and so it became irrelevant.

My daughter's presence, her unusual dress, and her complete lack of reaction to finding her mother giving her boyfriend oral sex—none of it mattered. All I cared about was the feeling between my legs, and the cock in my mouth. Ash's finger slipping in and out of my daughter's pussy was right next to my ear, and the sound quickly mixed with the other sexual noises in the room—Ash's moans of pleasure, my own masturbation, and of course, the sound of fellatio.

Soon, the three of us got into a rhythm—each time my lips reached Ash's pubic hair, he would thrust two fingers inside Georgia—she'd gasp with pleasure, and I'd force my own fingers deep inside my wet cunt, pretending that they were Ash's. He was the first to cum—I could feel it approaching, and sped up accordingly.

He didn't say a word as he came, and I looked up to see his lips were locked with my daughter's, their tongues intermingling. He's never kissed me, I noted, but the thought was immediately swept out of my head as I tasted Ash's cum spurting into my mouth, and felt my own orgasm begin.

As I came, perverse thoughts burst into my head, and I couldn't stop them. As my pelvic muscles spasmed around my finger, I wondered if Georgia actually found this hot—if the sight of her boyfriend filling her mother's mouth with seed was actually something she enjoyed. The orgasm washed over me, and I did all I could not to think about it, but I was unable to look away as my little girl started cumming, her body twitching and writhing in orgasm as Ash's fingers plunged deep inside her, and his thumb ran over her clit.

We all sat there in silence for a few seconds, panting, coming down from our orgasms. I could feel my daughter's eyes burning through the top of my head as I took Ash's cock out of my mouth and pulled my pants up. Without saying a word, I began to leave the room, turning around at the doorway to find Ash's eyes still on mine, and Georgia still staring adoringly at him.

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