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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Erotic Flash  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Featured Review on this writing by willnorman



My mother, Jan, was an excellent seamstress.  She had a head for business as well. She used the money she’d earned through selling real estate to open a custom clothing shop in the heart of Niantic, Connecticut, a nearly quaint resort town on the Atlantic coast. The business went great guns until the summer trade dropped off. Never one to linger about the decks of a sinking ship, she moved her shop uptown.

New London had many more forms of trade. A nearby naval base put sailors on the streets, which translated as cash. Everything followed: restaurants, military clothing outlets, new stands, pimps, whores, and fashionistas. One could spit and hit a player.

 Jan’s new boutique sat on the corner of Bank Street and State Street. She’d had her doors open for a week when a handsome young black man came in for a jumpsuit fitting. He wanted sequins for the drag contest he would be entering. As Jan ran pins up his inseams, she gently shifted his very big cock out of her line of fire.

“We wouldn’t want any accidents,” said Jan.

“Oh, hell, no, girl. I didn’t ask for it, but God went ahead an’ gave me a big ole’ penis, and I’m just stuck with it, honey.”

Soon afterward, Jan’s popularity in the gay community tripled.  And then, moderately famous rock stars started showing up for custom leather pants.

The workload forced Jan to hire other seamstresses, two of them full-time.

Sherry was the twenty-year-old younger sister to Jan’s lead seamstress, a hang about, and a complete stoner. She had large, brown puppy eyes and prettily shaped lips. Her hair fell to her waist. When she turned around, people’s eyes dropped to her ass.

And that was the first place my fourteen-year-old eyes went when Jan brought Sherry, and her suitcases, to our beachfront home on a Saturday afternoon in June. Jan explained that she’d hired Sherry as a housemaid and some other stuff that I didn’t catch while scoping out her tits. Hmmm, too much woman for a fourteen-year-old to think about. Besides, Jim, her guitar-playing boyfriend, started showing up often. In between bouts of cleaning, Sherry would slip on her two pieces and lay on the beach in front of our house. If I was around—and I always was, she’d ask me to do tanning lotion on her back.  I’d go to my room directly following and jerk off with my hand, all slippery and fragrant with the coconut oil. I felt like a pervert, but that wasn’t enough to slow me down.

That went on for weeks, and then Sherry upped the game.  She started taking naps in the middle of the afternoon and leaving her bedroom door open enough to see through the inch-wide crack.  She always wore this floppy tunic-looking thing that would get hiked up as she changed her positions. Of course, I’d check her every ten minutes, and that always ended with the jerking off. Then one afternoon, she was in there faking the nap. I went to look, and it was a full-on pussy show. She lay on her back with her head turned sideways and the tunic gathered up around her waist. Her fine, luxurious, Italian cunt was a thing to behold. My heart raced. The blood rushed to my ears. Everything else fell away. There was only her gorgeous twat.  And then a voice cut through the fog. It said,

 “Hey, Danny, would you like a blow job?”



Submitted: May 21, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Laird. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



The reader has to wonder if that voice was only in his head or had he been played all along?

Tue, May 31st, 2022 1:36pm


Very good point! I remember a creative writing class where the Prof was always stressing what he called "The oblique factor" I might have been listening too closely, lol.


Tue, May 31st, 2022 7:54am

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