My Mom, the High End Escort Ch. 01

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Note to the readers This series is intended to be a story of intense romance (with lots of humiliations, granted), so there will be lots of content for the plot and settings, and consequently sex scenes won’t be all over the place. But the story is of a highly sexual nature, so please bear with me with the “vanilla parts” and you are in for a treat!

This is also my first attempt at writing, so please be kind with voting!

Special thanks to u/silkstockingslover. I couldn’t possibly have the courage and inspiration to write my own smut if not for your great works!

Chapter 01: Discovery

My name is Joey Kim, a mixed teen with Korean-American heritage. I just graduated Collier High, the best private school in town, with excellent grades, and I have an Ivy League offer awaiting me in the Fall. I am 5’10”, a bit scrawny but with broad shoulders and long legs. That, combined with my exotic-looking face and the hair I wear to ear length, means there has never been a lack of girls falling for me. And by the way, I just turned 18.

If by this point you think I’m having the summer of my life, you are terribly mistaken. In fact, my whole world will be shattered by an untimely discovery. It will bring so much shame, betrayal and humiliation that my life will never be the same again.

My dad, a Korean-born software engineer, passed away when I was 5. It was not long after the dot-com bubble of 1999. While working hard trying to salvage the company he had just co-founded, a heart attack took his life at the young age of 35. My mom and I were devastated. At the time she had been a stay-at-home mom for years, with no college degree. But with great determination and a bit of luck, my mom entered the real-estate business and quickly became successful. She is a natural born persuader, and with tons of hardwork, she was able to sell more homes than any of her competitors. (Of course, the housing boom before 2008 also helped.) She also got her bachelor’s degree in English alongside working and taking care of me. The degree wasn’t directly useful for her real-estate business, but certainly gave her greater confidence and eloquence. She made enough money to not only maintain our upper middle class kind of life, but to put me in Collier high, traditionally a high school attended by the richest kids of our city.

High school wasn’t always easy for me. My single-parent household, lack of an illustrious last name, and my mixed heritage, were all topics for bully brought up once in a while. Have good grades certainly didn’t help. But I wasn’t intimidated. My mom had always taught me to be stand up for myself, to never bow my head no matter the odds against me. I took on wrestling and very soon gained the reputation of a tough nut to crack. I was quickly “promoted” from the outcasts to the cool crowd, making friends with popular guys like Brandon – a jock who’s also the provost’s nephew. Now, having finished high school, I look back with a certain bliss, satisfied with my achievements and personal growth. And all these, I owe to my mother.

My mom Michelle Kim (nee Christensen) is a 36 year old woman with great elegance. She has golden-brown hair trimmed to neck length, always so perfectly straightened and never seen messy for as long as I remember. Her eyes are of the deepest green I have ever seen. When she’s in a good mood, they look like green marbles under the sun, and when she is tense – she often is – they look like the ocean on a gloomy day. Her nose is straight like a Greek goddess’, and her lips are thin but shapely. Her face is a beautiful heart shape, with a slightly square jaw that gives off a strong personality which perfectly complements her otherwise gentle and feminine face.

She stands 5’9″ tall, always with great posture no matter wearing heels or sneakers. Her gait is elegant, but always with a certain resolute, reminds you to make no mistake that this is a strong businesswoman. As a frequent goer of tanning salons, her skin is nicely tanned all over – a dreamy color that reminds me of honey or wheat. Her body is very shapely, with muscle tone showing up on her arms and legs from underneath her curvy silhouette. Her stomach is flat like a washboard, with tones of abs showing when she’s wearing swimsuit. This is something I’m always jealous for – since she hardly ever got time to work out yet has great muscle, while I struggle to put a pound on me despite how hard I train.

Her breast and bottom – well, as her son I never watched them closely out of respect – but I can tell you Brandon and the other guys more than once commented that “her breasts beat any porn star’s”, and “her ass is thicker and rounder than any girl’s in school”. I always tell them to shut up when then comment on my mom that way, but secretly I can’t help but feel proud – their moms are all like old ladies, while my mom is the youngest (since she had me when she was 18) and most beautiful of the entire class.

Throughout my childhood, she always educated Lefkoşa Escort me the best way she could. She tried her hardest to make me a strong, independent gentleman. I was made to clean up my own room, pack my own bags, and manage my own finance since a very young age. We also have this tradition of “dinner dates”, where I would take her to nice restaurants to celebrate her birthday. I would always be the one to open the doors, talk to the waiters, and to drive her since I was 16, some times in her Porsche Cayenne, other times in my Ford Mustang – a gift I earned from helping her with website design. My friends were always envious of me – rich kids as they are, they didn’t get to be the man of the house and drive the lady around at the age of 16.

Despite what they say about single parents, I felt like I grew up in paradise – until all these began to fall apart, starting from my 18th birthday. It was the beginning of June this year, when I already graduated high school with an Ivy League offer at hand. I wanted to make it really special for us – for me, to celebrate my achievements, and for her, to thank her hard work all these years. I had saved up a few hundred bucks from taking on programming gigs on Freelancer and Upwork, and although it’s supposed to be her turn to invite me since it’s my birthday, I decided to take her to the nicest restaurant in town.


The day came and we both looked as ready as I could be. I put on my navy dress shirt with a K-pop style silver tie, with white dress pants and brown leather shoes. I even put on some cologne Brandon gave me earlier (stole from his uncle’s lake house). I was trying the hardest to look handsome and serious as an 18 year old could. My mom wore a tight-fit purple dress, which revealed her beautiful shoulders and back, as well as the top of her buxom. The dress is nicely fitted in the middle, emphasizing her perfect tight waist. The bottom of the dress went right above her knees, with a creased opening revealing part of her very full thigh. She stood half a head taller than me, as she was wearing a pair of 4-inches red heels. She was also wearing a strong perfume that filled the room with peachy feminine scent.

I was so mesmerized by her beauty that I couldn’t help but held my arms out, cupped her deltoids in my hands, looked into her eyes and teased “who is this hot stuff here”

She teased back, “be careful, handsome. I might be more than you can handle.”

With me laughing and her giggling, we walked into my car and started driving. We drove out of our neighborhood and entered the highway leading to Downtown. She asked me a few times where we are going to, but I just said “you’ll see” since I wanted to keep it a surprise for her. When I finally pulled in at Camille’s – an upscale French restaurant known for its seafood, particularly oysters – she looked a bit taken aback and lost, rather than pleasantly surprised. I asked “Is everything alright?” and it took a few seconds for her to come back to the moment, and she said “Yes. It’s a nice place. Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

I didn’t think too much of it. We stopped in front of the valet desk, got out of the car, and I handed the key to the valet.

The valet guy – a tall handsome black man in his 20s – looked at my mom with a broad smile and said “Welcome! Who’s the lucky guy this time?”

My mom answered back curtly “It’s my son. He’s turning 18 today.”

The guy immediately looked apologetic, turned to me and gave me the ticket “You guys enjoy the evening.”

I was a bit weirded out, but still didn’t think too much of it. We went in the restaurant to the table, with my mom’s arm placed on mine. I got a minor ego-boost from all the surprised looks people threw us along the way, some mixed with jealousy.

We got seated, and an older gentleman, presumably the owner of the establishment, walked to our table. He started speaking to my mom (in a thick French accent that confirmed my guess that he’s the owner) “Good to see you, Madame. You look ravishing tonight. This beautiful dress, paired with your skin, may I say, very chic. And I would like to bring to your attention our fresh caught Oysters today – in six assorted flavors. As the Ancient Romans say, they are very good for – perdon – get the juice flowing.”

I was still in shock of his tone of familiarity when speaking to my mom, when she threw him a stern look “This is my son, and today is his 18th birthday. We will take whatever he orders.” But even with the serious look, she could not hide a smirk of pride from being flattered.

The owner turned to me and switched to a professional tone right away, as if nothing had happened. “What drinks would you like to start tonight with, young man?”

Since I was underage, I ordered mineral water for myself. My mom ordered a bottle of champagne, poured herself a glass (and let me take a few sips) to celebrate “everything about this awesome young man”, as she said. We did get the oysters Kıbrıs Escort for starters, then entrees of the day for both of us.

The dinner went well and I could see the pride and happiness on mom’s face. But gradually I couldn’t help to notice that she became a bit absent-minded. She started checking her phone more often, sometimes pausing our conversation to reply to a text. She was also drinking a lot, downing one glass of champagne after another. It was an peculiar sight, especially considering she usually doesn’t drink in front of me.

“What’s going on, mom?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just work.” She answered, without lifting her face from the phone.

“C’mon, I know it’s not your work phone.” I said.

I knew well she had two phones. Her personal phone – a Samsung, and her work phone – an iPhone, both the newest version and in flawless conditions. But this phone she was texting with was nothing like the other two – it was an old Nokia, much like the throwaway phones you see in the movies and TV shows. As a Gen Z guy, I’ve never seen anyone using one in real life, least of all mom who’s always after the newest nice things. Her slender fingers with shinny purple nail polish running across the rough grey case of the old phone was a picture of such contrast.

“Well, I just got this one as a back up.” She said dryly, before finally putting the phone down and talking to me again, “What’s your plan for the rest of the night, young man?”

“I was thinking, would you like to try cowboy dance? There’s this dance hall cousin Jeremy really likes, and obviously I couldn’t get in before today.” I answered, not able to hide my enthusiasm.

“Sounds good. Let’s go home to get ready now.” She said, already putting her phone back into the bag.

“Sure, but isn’t this still early?” I said, a bit confused.

Mom was already standing up and walking out “Don’t forget the champagne.”

“Whatever.” I shrugged. There’s no stopping this woman, once she gets her mind in something. “Check please!” I gestured to a waiter nearby.

The drive on the way home was quiet. Even though we had a good dinner, there was much tension in the air, and neither of us could say anything to break it. We got home in silence, I got out of the car, walked to her side, and opened the door for her (just as she always taught me to). And she just walked out to the house with much hurry.

Even more perplexed, I followed her into the house, champagne bottle in my hand. “Hi mom, what are you wearing to the dance?” I asked, desperately trying to bring some good humor back into the atmosphere.

She paused for a second, turned around, and said “Listen, I have this deal to close. It’s gonna be the biggest deal I’ve had for a while. I’m sorry for not being able to go to the dance with you. Let’s do it some other time.”

I was dazzled “What kind of deal at this hour?”

She just kept walking, car key (the one to the Porsche) in her hand. Before exiting the house, she turned to me once more “Happy Birthday Joey, I’m so proud of you!” Then she drove off.

I was left completely alone in the house. After standing frozen for a little while, I decided I’d just retreat to my room and play some video games for the rest of the night. Truth be told, I didn’t feel as hurt as worried. Ever since I was a child, she told me being clingy is a sign of weakness, so I have always tried my best to be independent. Mom cutting my birthday night short was certainly bad, but there’s nothing I couldn’t adjust with some positive thinking, and some video games. No, I was more worried about her. She had always been a workaholic since I remembered anything, and as much as I owe our good life to that, I couldn’t help worrying for her. What kind of real-estate deal happens at this time of the night? What if it’s a scam? Would she be safe?

I played for two hours when it turned midnight, and mom was still not back. I tried calling her to both her work phone and personal phone, but no answer. I thought about calling the police, but decided it would be an overaction. Eventually I decided to go to sleep. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time she comes back at odd hours.


The next morning I woke up to the fragrance of coffee and toast bread. A tray was placed over my thighs, with nicely made avocado toast, a fruit cup, yogurt, and a cup of coffee on top of it. I heard mom’s giggly voice “Breakfast is ready, Mr Adult Man!”

I yawned and stretched “This is so nice, mom! I thought I was in heaven.”

Truth be told, I was always asked to fix my own breakfast, and hers, since she’s always so busy. I didn’t mind it because it made me feel useful. But it was really nice to have this as a change. Also I didn’t mind having it in bed – normally I was never allowed to eat in bed, or in the couch, since it was “bad manners”.

“Sorry for last night. I was being short with you. I shouldn’t have.” Mom added.

For half a second I almost didn’t get what she Lefkoşa Escort was referring to, then I remembered. But all my anger and confusion from last night was gone – how could you ever be angry with her, when you see her in her flawlessly white linen summer dress, walking on bare feet, serving you breakfast, while the morning sunshine glows off her green eyes and honey-toned skin? When I said I thought I was in heaven, I wasn’t exaggerating.

“You know, there are a few clients from China. They have an office here but they do trading with China. They still keep the Chinese time zone, that’s why I got to sign the contract with them in the evening…” She explained, but I didn’t care to listen. This was such a terrible lie, and even I could see through it. But I didn’t care about find out the truth, because I noticed she looked tired, beneath all the cheerfulness she was trying to put up. I love her and that’s all that matters.

I finished my breakfast, jumped out of the bed, put a hand on her mouth to stop her talking, and hugged her “No worries. You are my mom and I will always trust you. You don’t ever have to say sorry to me.”

I was walking in the house thinking about what to do for the rest of the day – or the rest of the week, when I got a call from my friend Brandon.

“Hey dude! How was your birthday date with mom? – I don’t need to hear it, you weirdo! Listen – why don’t you come to my uncle’s lake house this weekend? I got bunch of booze and blunt, you know, the usual shit. Or we can go boating and hiking since you are, well, such a square. And the girls are coming too. Lizzy and Carol, maybe Megan…” He went on and on.

So Brandon’s uncle is the provost of our high school. Despite the title, he’s never really running any of the academic or administrative businesses. Actually we hardly ever see him in school. The few times he appears, he always shows up like a douche bag straight from a 70s movie – a full-body loose beige suit, flamboyant shirt, a set of hair and sideburns like Al Pacino – but there’s no saving that balding back of the head. There’s nothing professional looking about this man, and least of all what you would expect from a school official. But he has a special charm – he is good at handling “clients”, and for whatever reason, donations just poured in after he became the provost. That single merit gave him a lot of power in our school, and it was perhaps the only reason a student with poor grades such as Brandon could get in.

I had been with Brandon to his uncle’s lake house a few times. His uncle is almost never there, and the few time he was, he didn’t seem to mind us – he just went in and out again without so much as saying hello to us. Brandon said he got the keys to the house once when his family was invited to stay there, and he managed to make a copy by going to a workshop in the front of a Mexican mart. I thought it was an overkill to steal the keys that way, since he saw us there and didn’t mind. Anyways, it was a nice place to be, especially during the summer days to get away from all the heat and crowd of the city.

Saturday quickly came, I kissed my mom goodbye, grabbed my bag, and hopped on my Mustang. It was a nice 45 mins drive to the lake house, and I was in a jolly mood – after all, a high-achiever high school graduate, with the longest summer holiday in his life, what is not to be happy about?

Brandon was waiting for me at the lake house. He showed me my room, and I put down my bag next to the bed. We changed into trunks, went down to the lake for some swim, then came back wrapped in towels, wet trunks in hands.

We went into the living room and passed by the gigantic 70′ panoramic TV, when Brandon said “Have you ever watched porn with a TV like this? It’ll blow your mind – and nut!”

I was like, “I don’t think I have, but I can’t see why not.” You know, I was a boy that just turned 18, and my libido was as strong as the guy next to me. And I had been eyeing the stack of DVDs in the TV stand with erotic-looking covers since I came in.

Brandon said “No man those are lame, let me show you something… special”, he led me upstairs, down the corridor, to the room at the end of it with the door locked.

“Hey, that’s your uncle’s room.” I said, hesitantly.

“Exactly.” Brandon said, pulling out a plastic key – obviously a copy. “Something to know about this bastard – he likes to fuck, and he fucks a different chick each week, and he secretly records them. Trust me, these are like, top of the notch stuff.” He opened the door and gestured me in. “That guy’s sick as fuck, and he does these stuff that makes the dirtiest porn look boring”

I walked in the room. It was a rather plain-looking bedroom, with a file cabinet in the corner across the room from the bed. Brandon opened the top drawer of the cabinet, reviewing an array of DVD disks, seemingly all nicely labeled by the dates.

“DVDs, really…?” I wondered.

“You know, it’s discreet. He doesn’t want his stuff to get on, like, the Internet” Brandon said.

It was amusing to me how much he enjoyed feeling smart about himself, but I didn’t say anything. Brandon pulled one disk from the stack and handed to me “Look, this one says 06/07. It’s freshly in. It was like… Tuesday. The bastard never takes a break!”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir yanıt yazın