I'll Take Care of You for Life!
I moved out the moment I turned twenty. Living alone with Grandfather felt suffocating, and a house with just the two of us was too vast, devoid of any human warmth.
I'd originally planned to get a place near the university, but getting dragged to this school changed that. So I set up a solo apartment nearby.
It was spacious. And that was all it had going for it.
I parked in the underground lot. The engine cut off, plunging the car into silence.
Ayoung didn't open her door first. She glanced up at me as I released the wheel, then dropped her gaze to her lap. She was waiting for something—maybe permission to get out, or perhaps just savoring the thrill, drawing it out.
"Get out."
I popped my door, and she followed suit.
In the elevator, Ayoung stood against the wall, clutching her bag straps with both hands. I could see the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
It's not a hotel—it's my place. Bringing her here must carry some weight for her. From her perspective, anyway.
To me, women were good for one thing: sex. Hold 'em, fuck 'em, send 'em home. I'd never invested more than that. Never brought one back here, either.
She's just my friend's mom. I hadn't thought much of it.
I punched in the door code and swung it open.
"Come in."
Ayoung stepped inside, then froze. Her eyes slowly swept the living room visible from the entryway.
A single sofa on the vast floor. No TV, no shelves, no pictures. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, curtains drawn back, the predawn sky was just lightening—but it illuminated nothing but empty floor.
This wasn't a home. Just a bare room to crash in.
"Uh... you live alone?"
"Who else would I be living with?"
"Your family..."
"You know I don't have any."
Ayoung's mouth snapped shut. She'd started to say something, then swallowed it. Her eyes held an apology she bit back, knowing I'd hate it.
"Want something to drink?"
I opened the fridge. A few canned beers, some bottled water. That was it.
Ayoung peered in beside me, then went quiet. It wasn't just the fridge that was empty—the whole place screamed it. Her face finally registered the truth.
I turned to the kitchen. Sink and stove sat unused. Spotless, pristine as new. She'd spot that in a heartbeat.
I hated those eyes. Pitying eyes. This auntie was looking at me like I was some poor kid.
I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind. Her back pressed into my chest. I leaned to her ear and whispered.
"What? You feel sorry for me?"
"...No, it's not that."
She ducked her head sheepishly. I traced my tongue along her earlobe, up the curve. Her shoulders twitched.
"Then why don't you come over and take care of it?"
"......"
A beat of silence. I felt her heart pounding against my chest.
"...Sh-should I?"
Hesitant, but not refusing. That simple reply hooked into me oddly. I'd tossed it out to tease.
But the moment she took it seriously, something unfamiliar zinged through me.
I let her go, stepping back casually.
"I'm gonna shower."
"Mm......"
As I turned, her gaze clung to my back. Heavy. I quickened my pace, ignoring it, and shut the bathroom door.
That stare was getting burdensome. She's just a good fuck. Why attach meaning to it?
I cranked the cold water. The icy stream poured over my head, cooling the heat from dawn. My mind cleared as the night's haze faded.
The feel of holding her by the lakeside lingered in my hands, but it was her voice echoing now.
Should I?
Just a throwaway line. Why was it sticking in my ear?
I toweled my hair roughly and stepped out. Passing the living room, I heard noise from the kitchen. Water boiling. A pot lid rattling.
Ayoung stood at the stove, sleeves rolled to her elbows, stirring a pot.
"What're you doing?"
"Oh... I found some seaweed, so I made seaweed soup."
Seaweed. Grandfather had sent some over days ago; it must've been shoved in the pantry corner. She'd dug it out.
"Why seaweed soup?"
She didn't look at me, eyes fixed on the pot like she couldn't tear away.
"I checked... your birthday was two days ago. So..."
Her voice trailed off. Shoulders curling inward slightly. Body language screaming she'd overstepped, gauging my reaction.
Oh, right. No memory of parents. Never celebrated birthdays. Grandfather once said, "It's your birthday today," but no cake, no soup. Just awareness of the date passing.
On the table: microwaved rice and seaweed soup. Limited ingredients, no seasonings—yet the broth looked decently dark.
I sat. Spooned up some broth. Bland. No surprise without salt or anything.
Ayoung sat opposite, hands folded in her lap, watching me. Her eyes tracked every spoonful to my mouth.
"Tastes good."
"Good."
Her lips curved up. Eyes crinkling into crescents. Pride radiated from her face without a word.
Bland seaweed soup. Should've tasted like nothing.
Yet my spoon kept going. That smile unnerved me. I wanted to cut off whatever else it stirred before it took root.
"I'm eating, so go shower."
I said it gruffly on purpose.
She rose. "Okay."
With her gone, the table fell quiet. Another spoonful. Still bland, but edible now. I finished, dumped the dishes in the sink, and headed to the bedroom.
Full-length windows opposite the bed. No curtains drawn; dawn was retreating, morning spreading. The sky below glowed faint orange, sun not yet up.
The shower door opened. Ayoung emerged wrapped in a single towel. Wet hair clung to her neck and shoulders. Droplets trailed her exposed collarbone.
Flushed post-shower skin showed my marks: red below her neck, smeared spots inside her breasts, even inner thighs. My teeth and lips imprinted everywhere.
No "fresh" vibe. A thirty-seven-year-old's ripened body. Heavy breasts, curve from waist to hips, thick thighs. Still beautiful lines despite childbirth.
"All done eating?"
"Yeah."
"I'll do the dishes."
I grabbed her wrist as she pattered toward the living room. Pulled her to the bed's edge and sat her down.
"Ah."
A surprised gasp, but no pull away. Her back leaned into my chest, warmth spreading. Post-shower skin gave off a subtly sweet scent.
"Later."
"B-but..."
"You're staying all day, right?"
Her ear tips flushed deeper. She ducked her head, fingers on my arm.
I turned her chin, lips meeting. She closed her eyes, tongue out. Soft. I wrapped mine around it, sucked, released, repeat. Wet breaths mingled between kisses. Smack, slurp.
Undid her towel knot. Fabric fell, body bared. No need to look down at the floor.
Touch was enough. Shoulder to arm, arm to side, side to waist. Goosebumps rose with each slide. Fluffy yet sticky-elastic under palm.
"Haa..."
She sighed, leaning in. Eyes gazing up, focus half-lost.
"Auntie."
"...Yeah."
"You really don't regret this?"
Her eyes wavered. Gaze flicked eye-to-lips-to-eye. Then nodded.
"No regrets."
"What if I up and leave someday?"
Tossed like a joke.
She pressed her forehead to my chest. Damp hair soaked my shirt.
"I'd resent you. Forever..."
Voice thin but steady.
"...But you made me a woman. I'll remember you forever."
Resentment and memory from the same mouth, both sincere. Already assuming abandonment.
Being chosen was beyond her imagination.
I brushed her wet hair behind her ear.
"Joking."
Her eyes lifted to mine.
"I'll take care of you for life."
Empty promise from a twenty-year-old. What weight could it hold?
But her face changed. Lips parted, eyes welled but held back tears. Then she smiled. Cheeks pink, shoulders small.
"...Thank you."
Lips met again. This time I thrust deep. Sucked her tongue; rough breaths escaped her nose.
Kissing on, I pulled her waist, seating her on my lap. Straddling me at bed's edge. Bare skin contact widened.
Undid my towel. Hard cock sprang free; her eyes dropped there.
Her pussy settled atop. Glans caught in the slit. Love juices already slicked it.
She gripped my shoulders, slowly lowering. Slurp. Glans sucked inward. Entrance kissed and gripped tight.
Her breath hitched. "Hoo..."
Deeper. Cock pushed through, bottoming out. Her weight settled fully on my thighs, seamless lock.
Deep. This pussy had memorized my shape. Walls parted, then hugged warmly.
She started moving. Lift hips, drop. Clumsy, stiff. Uneven rhythm, varying angles.
Reminded me of our first hotel try at this. Awkward then too—shoulders tense, eyes glaring fear and dislike.
Now different. Still clumsy, rhythm messy. But no fear on her face.
No forced pleasure high. Instead, a woman in love.
Eyes that'd accept any demand. A mom who'd hidden herself, now fully exposed.
Irresistibly lovable.
Hands on her waist, I guided up-down rhythm. Chap, chap.
She synced to my hands. Flesh slapped, wet sounds filling the room.
Cupped her breasts. Soft, lush flesh yielded in palms. Thumb rolled nipple; short cry escaped.
"Ha-ut...!"
Kissed, thrust up as I lifted her waist. Pook.
"Haat...!"
Her back arched. Hands clutched my shoulders. Chap, chap, chap.
Panting, straining to watch me. Head thrown back each thrust, pulled forward to seek my eyes.
Face twisting in pleasure per pound, but gaze clung.
Kissing, fondled breasts. Gripped waist, drove deeper. Ravaged her body relentlessly. Chap-chap-chap.
Rhythm quickened; moans broke. Inner walls clenched, sucking harder.
"Haaat...! H-ut...!"
She hugged my neck. Forehead to shoulder, hot breaths on skin.
Climax neared. Her depths writhed, milking me.
Lifted hips harder. Plunged deep, unleashed. Spurt, spurt.
"Eup...!"
Her body stiffened. Bit my shoulder. Pain of teeth plus inner squeeze hit together.
Each pulse made her back quiver faintly.
We stayed like that long. Her in my arms, catching breath. Bite throbbed. Sweat-mingled skin pressed tight.
Then vibration from the living room. Brrr. Brrr.
Ayoung's bag on the sofa. Phone buzzing inside.
I scooped her up. Cock slipped free; short breath escaped her.
Holding her, went to sofa, opened bag. Screen lit.
Who calls like this? Not a stalker...
But Ayoung's face paled. Eyes locked on screen, unmoving. Naked in my arms, cum leaking from her, staring at her son's name.
Her hand reached for the phone. Finger hovered over screen. Between answer and silence.
Short time. But those seconds laid her bare.
She silenced it. Flipped screen-down, shoved in bag.
Trembling voice in my ear. "Right now, I just want to focus on you."
Eyes looking up, wavering. Duty to son clashing with desire to stay.
Stay won.
I lifted her again, back to bed. Laid her on sheets. Legs parted, pulling me in.
Room filled anew with her moans. Flesh slapping. Arms clinging my neck mid-kiss. Clinging, craving, refusing release.
"I... I'm yours!"
Panting whisper in my ear.
"Thank you. For showing me I'm a woman too..."
I filled her depths again, claiming them.
"Haaaah...!"
Her ecstatic body lifted off the bed, then slowly sank.
