My Son's Ripped Classmate

"Please... You Can't Do This..."

Late at night, I lay face down on the bed, my voice trembling as I whimpered. My son's muscular classmate slapped me hard, sending a burning sensation through my entire body.

"Be a good girl and behave," he growled, "or you'll regret it."

My name is Olivia Evans, and I was cursed—or blessed, depending on who you ask—with the face of a temptress. My delicate features always seem flushed with a touch of spring, and my eyes, hazy like autumn mist, hold something deeper than wine. I have a full, curvaceous figure, more womanly than most, and desires that run stronger than I'd like to admit. My ex-husband gave me the ultimate betrayal—he left me because I couldn't bear children. We divorced not long after.

Men, I decided, are scum. I'd rather rely on toys than let another one into my life. But the emptiness in my heart led me to adopt a godson, Liam Anderson. I worked hard to put him through college, but the house still felt hollow, like something was always missing.

"Sigh... I wonder if he'll ever find a girl he likes. He can't keep using my lingerie to... relieve himself, right?"

I still remember one night—I woke up needing to use the bathroom and noticed a sliver of light under Liam's door. His breathing was heavy, almost frantic. What was he doing up so late? Curious, I tiptoed over and gently pushed the door ajar. What I saw made my cheeks burn.

He was eighteen, a college freshman. It's natural for a young man to have urges, but fantasizing about his godmother? That's crossing a line. They say every drop of essence costs ten drops of blood—I didn't want him throwing away his health and future over... that.

The next day, I gathered my courage and gave him "the talk." He was even more embarrassed than I was, keeping his head down, ears bright red. Maybe I came on too strong. It's not like masturbation is a crime. Liam's a good kid—handsome, kind-hearted. If only I'd married someone like him instead of that waste of space.

Lately, though, my own desires have been growing harder to ignore. I dream of men—strong, rough hands taking me... A hot bath usually helps me unwind, so tonight I went back to my old trick.

"Mom, I'm home!"

Liam's voice echoed from the living room. My heart jumped. Why was he back so early? I was still in the tub—he couldn't see me like this. He's a grown man now, and we're not blood-related.

I scrambled out of the water, my wet feet slapping against the cool tiles. Just as I wrapped a towel around myself, a deep, unfamiliar voice called from the other side of the door.

"Liam, where's your bathroom?"

"Right ahead," I heard Liam reply, "on the left."

Before I could react, the door swung open. A tall, muscular guy—someone I'd never seen before—walked in, dropped his pants right in front of me, closed his eyes, and let loose a stream of urine.