Sexy Fun Times/Strange/Bad Boy/Mom

"Mom's home." It's Rita's voice from the sitting room.

You hurriedly wrap the towel around you and glare at Ricky who seems to think it's funny. "You all right in there," a female voice calls.

Although you've had a fair amount of sexual experience for a seventeen year old, this situation is way beyond anything you ever imagined. Wearing nothing but the rather inadequate towel, you follow the boy to the kitchen. You do have a vague memory of the attractive young (surely too young to be the mother of these kids) girl/woman who is sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee. "Hi! Are the kids looking after you all right," she says.

"Err, Hi," you stammer and sit down. Of course you have no idea what her name is and you curse yourself for not asking one of the children earlier.

She smiles sweetly at your confusion. Attractive doesn't adequately describe her. About 150cms and slim. Her hair is glossy black, long and straight, framing a heart-shaped face with big brown eyes and a snub nose. Her smile reveals some slightly crooked teeth. She is wearing a crisp, white shirt with a scarf arranged a bit like a tie. A short navy skirt and dark stockings. You know they are not tights because you get a glimpse of stocking top as she uncrosses her long legs.

"Angela," she says. "Angie to my friends. I'm guessing that you don't remember much about last night."

The kids are watching TV and she gets up to top up her coffee and give you one. The washing machine pings and she transfers the contents to a dryer and sets that going. Seeing her bend over in that short skirt does nothing to relieve the pressure.

"I, err, had a shower." What the fuck is wrong with me, I can't even say something sensible.

"I guessed, she says, flicking her eyes over your bare chest and down to where the towel just about covers you. "You must find us pretty unconventional with the children running around naked. You nod. "They call me Mom, but they are not actually mine. Well Baby is, but Rita and Ricky are my late brother's kids. He and their Mom died in a plane crash four years ago and I took them in.

You don't know what to say so just mumble something about being sorry.

"You're a bit different to most of the men I bring home," she says.

You are sitting on her kitchen chair, wearing nothing but a small towel. You would get up, but that would reveal the state of your stiff cock. You look desperately at the dryer which seems to have some time to go yet.

"I work as a hostess in the mornings," she says, undoing her scarf. "It doesn't pay all that well though. Not enough to cover the rent on this place and keep these three fed and clothed, so we entertain the occasional gentleman guest."

"I, I don't have any money," you say.

"Ah! Well! you were fun not business." she pauses. "The trouble with our (You notice that she says 'our' not 'my') business is that most men who can afford our services are knocking on a bit. A virile, good-looking boy like you is a welcome change." She stands up. "I should get changed. You can give me a hand if you feel up to it," she says with a grin as she walks out of the kitchen.

• You follow her into the bedroom
• You follow her into the sitting room