Third-Wheeling Mama V Shrunken First Semester: (S)Mothered chapter 8 by maximally

Back in 201 Victoria peeled Max out of the shorts and put him on the desk. Izzy did not get bored. Crystal had wound her up. She wanted an audience that would laugh on command.

 

She paced the RA suite and narrated his life at a volume the hall could share. College boy who needed mommy. College boy who spent the night in mommy’s ass. College boy who picked his sister’s shirt like that was a win. College boy whose face-fart was in Crystal West’s camera roll. Victoria let it run a minute longer than he wanted, then put a hand out.

 

“Alright, honey. That’s enough.”

 

“You’re no fun.” Izzy rolled her eyes. “I drove six hours.”

 

“And I love you for it.” Victoria settled him on the desk, not back into anyone’s clothes yet. “The boxes you brought can live in the closet. After that, you’re free. I know you didn’t come down here to unpack my jeans.”

 

A knock saved Izzy from having to pretend she had.

 

Zeke stood in the doorway in yesterday’s Star Wars shirt and a look that went to Izzy first, Victoria second, and Max on the desk third.

 

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. I heard, uh. Voices. Didn’t know you had company.”

 

Izzy lit up like someone had handed her a lighter. “You’re the roommate.”

 

“Zeke.” He put on the grin that had gotten him through Friday. “You’re the stepsister. I was gonna say I can see the family resemblance, but—”

 

“You were gonna say I’m hotter than my mom and then think better of it.” Izzy leaned on the jamb. “Relax. She knows.”

 

Victoria’s laugh said she did. “Zeke helped us move yesterday. He’s been very… available.”

 

Max, naked on the desk in front of his old roommate and his stepsister, considered crawling under a pen cap. Zeke’s eyes kept skipping back to Izzy’s shorts. Izzy’s eyes had already done the math on the sweatpants. Clock C, ticking, in real time.

 

“So,” Zeke said. “You in town for the night, or…?”

 

“Depends.” Izzy glanced at Victoria, then at the desk. “Mom’s got the loser. I need a place to crash that isn’t watching her play campus mommy.”

 

“Old room’s right across the hall,” Zeke said, too fast. “I mean. If you want. I can take the floor. Or not. Whatever.”

 

“Don’t wait up for me,” Izzy told Victoria, already stepping into the hall. Then, to Zeke, lower: “You’re not taking the floor.”

 

The door across the way opened. Closed. A laugh came through the wood, Izzy’s, then his.

 

Victoria looked at the closed door of 201 for a second longer than the joke needed. Then she picked Max up off the desk.

 

“Well,” she said. “That didn’t take long.”

 

“Can we—” He had to get it out before she reached for a flier or a tank strap. “Can we just stay in. Please. I don’t want another party. I don’t want her to come back and borrow me. I did the— yesterday, in the bathroom. You said you owed me.”

 

She held him at eye level. The helicopter look and the proud-mom look fought, and for once the first one blinked.

 

“I’m not taking you to Diana again tonight. Or Fortuna. Or wherever Crystal is streaming.” She glanced at her phone. A text from Bea sat on the lock screen, timestamped twenty minutes ago. Still in the office if you want that drink. “I do have to check in with Bea. That’s paperwork, not a kegger. You come with me because I am not leaving you on this desk with those two across the hall. After that, we’re done for the night. That’s the favor. That’s me making it up to you.”

 

He nodded. It was not a tissue box. It was not a hospital. It was the second thing she had actually granted.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.” She opened the tank and nested him into the familiar heat, not the crack. “Don’t get used to the front row either. I’m only putting you here because I have to talk like an adult for an hour.”

 

From the hall came the muffled thump of someone hitting a mattress that had been his a day ago. Victoria ignored it with an effort he could feel in her chest.

 

“Come on, sweetie.” She took the key. “Let’s go see Mama’s friend before I change my mind and take Zeke up on last night’s offer just to even the score.”

 

*

 

Five minutes across the quad. He stayed buried. Better than the stares. Better than Izzy’s tank. The sexual tension between Victoria and Bea had been sitting in the air since yesterday’s tacos; he could do the math on where an evening “check-in” went. The upside was not spending the night as Izzy and Crystal’s prop. He was not sure how much that upside would be worth once the clothes came off.

 

Flo waved them through without a word. Bea was where they had left her: desk, stacks, same gray suit, same blouse, both of them darker with sweat.

 

“Hey.” Victoria knocked on the open door. “Bad time?”

 

“For you?” Bea looked up and smiled. “Always a good one. Nice outfit.”

 

“Thanks.” Victoria glanced down at the still-damp tank and shorts. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

 

“AC’s acting up. Sorry.” Bea’s eyes did not apologize. They lingered on the tank.

 

“Reminds me of that first apartment in LA. The heat wave.”

 

“Sometimes I wonder if the landlord ever got the smell of us out of there.” Bea licked her lips. “How was the first weekend as a freshman?”

 

“Alright. Party at Diana. Izzy came down to drop boxes.”

 

“How nice.” Another look at the chest. “Brought anyone back to the room yet?”

 

“No.” Victoria leaned on the desk, grin turning wicked. “Though based on the way my daughter was looking at Max’s roommate this morning, someone is going to break that bed in. You?”

 

“Work, work, work.”

 

“Sounds hard.” Victoria parked a hip next to the chair. “Maybe you need a break.”

 

Bea nodded. “Maybe I do.”

 

They did not finish the paperwork conversation.

 

Bea stood first. The chair complained. She went around the desk and Victoria met her at the corner, and the kiss they had put a pin in yesterday happened standing up, with a stack of waivers as a witness. Not polite. Two years of not-doing-it arriving in one mouth. Bea’s hand found the damp tank and the back of Victoria’s neck. Victoria’s hand found the gray lapel and pulled.

 

Max rode it from inside the cotton. The world tipped. Breast on one side, then both, then a grind of hip against the desk that transmitted as an earthquake. He heard a file hit the floor. He heard Bea laugh into Victoria’s mouth.

 

“Office,” Bea said, not meaning it.

 

“Quarters,” Victoria said, meaning it.

 

The door behind the desk. A short hall that smelled like Bea’s perfume and old coffee. Another door. Bea’s apartment on the other side of her job: low lamps, a couch that had seen this before, a bed made like she had hoped someone would mess it up. They did not turn on the overhead. They did not talk about Max.

 

They made it three steps in. Victoria’s back hit the wall. Bea’s thigh went between her legs. The tank rode up. Max slid, caught the underwire with both arms, and hung there while two giantesses used the wall as furniture. Hands under the shorts. A zipper. Bea’s blouse coming open one button at a time against Victoria’s chest, which meant against him — silk, then skin, then the press of a second pair of breasts that were not his stepmother’s and did not care.

 

“God,” Bea said into Victoria’s throat. “You still smell like a party.”

 

“You still taste like you run this place.”

 

They laughed at that and kept going. Shoes. Bea’s pumps kicked off, one then the other. Victoria’s flip-flops. The gray suit jacket. The belt. Victoria’s hands at Bea’s zipper while Bea pulled the tank up —

 

Max fell with it.

 

Open air. A drop that would have been a story. Victoria’s hand closed on instinct, a clench that mashed him against her palm, and she made a noise that was half laugh and half not on the floor. She had him. She kept him. Bea stripped the rest of the way down in front of them, unbothered, six-three of president in nothing but the heat, and Victoria stood there holding a three-inch freshman like a retrieved earring while her own shorts came off under Bea’s hands.

 

They still did not make it to the bed dressed. They made it to the bed after, which was different. Victoria sat. Bea followed. The mattress took the same complaint the office couch had. Only then did Victoria look at what she was holding.

 

“Hello, Matt.” Bea eyed the damp freshman. “Didn’t think you’d bring him.”

 

“It’s Max.” Victoria set him on the nightstand. “Hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Do you? While we’re—”

 

“It’s fine with me. Max? I can have Zeke come get you if you want.”

 

He froze. Zeke was currently occupied with Izzy on his old mattress. “Oh. Uh. It’s fine. I guess.”

 

“Good.” Victoria sat on the bed and tried a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. “Feel free to jerk off if you get too worked up.”

 

They laughed. He went red from hairline to ankles. Every version of this moment he had built in his head in high school — a girl, a dorm, the door locked on purpose — had not included his stepmother and the president of the school. The only question left was whether he would add to it by getting hard in front of them. The shame of that was already so easy to imagine that a stupid part of him wondered if Zeke would have been the better ride home.

 

“Glad that’s settled.” Bea crawled onto the mattress and pressed along Victoria’s side. A hand on the thigh. Higher. Victoria was already slick; the walk and the wall had done half the work. “Now. Speaking of getting worked up. Why don’t you lay back for me.”

 

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Victoria sat up against the headboard and spread her legs like she was clocking in.

 

Bea knelt. Hungry mouth. No warm-up speech. Victoria’s whole body remembered the map — hundreds of other people had tried this and a short list had actually known it, and Bea was at the top of the list. Eyes closed. Toes curling. Thighs starting to shake. Bea’s tongue worked her open like the two years had been a pause in a sentence. One of Bea’s hands stayed between her own legs, furious, matching. They had never been good at waiting. A day or two without getting off was the long version of their patience, and they were both past it.

 

“That’s more like it.” Bea purred it into wet skin, then licked a slow stripe up and set a rhythm meant to take them together. Victoria’s thighs clamped her head. Hips bucked. The headboard knocked the wall.

 

From the nightstand it was sound and smell and slick, two feet away, the thing he had been trying to get near since puberty with the wrong woman in the lead. Disgust and heat arrived in the same breath. They got to touch each other. He got to watch. Even if a cure showed up tomorrow he was not walking into a room like this with a girl his age. High school had proved that. Four weeks of Ventus had proved it again. He looked anyway. The looking did what looking did.

 

BRRRRRRRTTTTT

 

A slip, mid-moan, straight over Bea’s face. Victoria loosened her hold on Bea’s head and laughed, wrecked. “Heh. Sorry. Guess you got me a little too loosened up.”

 

“You think I’m not used to that?” Bea did not take her mouth off her. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

 

He put a hand on himself because the alternative was sitting there throbbing like a joke. He told himself he was just taking the permission. He told himself he would stop. Victoria moaned low and long and he did not stop. He went at it with everything a three-inch body had, which was not much and was still enough.

 

When they came, he did too. Biggest in months. First since the shrink. The weekend left him in a rush and the shame sat down in the same puddle. Bright-side thinking did not survive it. The fact of what he had just done was not only humiliating. It was a reminder with a nightstand view. He slumped into the sticky little mess he had made, sighed loud enough to be a mistake, and two afterglow-wet faces turned.

 

“Well, well, well.” Bea’s mouth was still shining. She smirked at the wood. “Seems like we’re not the only ones enjoying ourselves.”

 

“Hmm?” Victoria followed the look and laughed. “Oh, my.”

 

They could see how hard he had gone. Of course they could. He wanted the crack back. At least in there nobody watched him finish. This was a new low for the semester and it was also exactly the wrong message to send the woman who already thought she knew what he liked.

 

“When you gave him permission,” Bea said, “I thought you were joking.”

 

“I was.” Pride and amusement in the same look. “No judgment, though, sweetie. I know it’s been an eventful couple of days.”

 

“Y-yeah.” His voice was a thread. “V-very eventful.”

 

“Well.” She leaned toward the nightstand. Bare breasts filled the lamp, close enough to be a weather system, and she wiggled them like the question had a physical answer. “Maybe we could get you a little closer to the action.”

 

“H-huh?” He could not get his eyes off her chest. The twinge arrived on schedule. When he covered it, that only made it obvious.

 

“Ooh. That looks like a yes to me.” She scooped him up toward her mouth.

 

“Hang on.” Bea squinted. “You’re not talking about fucking him.”

 

“God. Of course not.” Victoria laughed down at him. “I’m just putting him back up my ass.”

 

“Ah.” Bea watched him on the sheets between them. “That makes more sense. Although I’d be happy to take his virginity for you, if you’d like.”

 

“You. And him.” Victoria gave her a look. “Since when do you like men?”

 

“I don’t.” A wink. “I’m not opposed to using shrunken ones as toys.”

 

The offer hit him like a dare he was not allowed to take. Bea said it the way other people offered to take out the trash. A low-stakes chore. It was still the closest anyone had come to the thing he had wanted since he was fourteen. After the weekend, the idea of being up close to her — heat, wet, a body that was not Victoria’s and was offering — felt like a consolation prize he would have taken and hated himself for taking. He went hard again on the sheet. He opened his mouth.

 

Victoria picked him up first.

 

The crack she fed him into was worse than last night. Sweat and sex on top of taco. Heat like an active volcano, which would have been a joke if his face had not been the thing going in. Unceremonious. A shove. The cheeks took him the way a big animal takes a bite.

 

“That’s alright, really.” She chuckled with Bea over his head. “You’ve done me enough favors lately. Besides. We both know you’re way out of his league.”

 

They found that especially funny. An in-joke he was not worthy of being in on. The harder he tried to prove them wrong, the more they were right. He went limp between the thick, pillowy cheeks and let the joke close over his head.

 

“You’re not wrong,” Bea said, watching her friend’s ass swallow him like something with an appetite. “Suit yourself.”

 

Miasma of sweat and sex. He sighed and stopped fighting the dive. Face to pucker again, a disgusting imitation of a kiss he did not pull away from. Bea’s suggestion had never been meant to be taken seriously. A tease. A reminder of the distance.

 

Victoria pressed her hips into the mattress so the next leak stayed in-house.

 

PRRRRRRTTTTTTTT

 

“Mmm. Now.” She turned her face back to Bea. “Where were we?”

 

Round two started on top of him. Wet sounds. Weight. The ocean closing. He told himself he would not touch himself again and then did, because the dark did not have a nightstand audience. Her hole kissed him when she came. He finished with the smell of it in his mouth and hated how neat the pairing was. His only constant, the only thing that kept resembling relief, was the place she put him when the room was done looking.

 

They lay there a few minutes. Sweat. Afterglow. Fingers on skin that was not his.

 

“So,” Bea murmured against Victoria’s chest. “How would you rate the college experience so far?”

 

“Most satisfactory.” Victoria grinned when she felt him squirm. “Faculty’s been very attentive.”

 

“Glad to hear it. Stay the night? Assuming he doesn’t mind sharing a little longer.”

 

“He better not.” A slap on her own ass, transmitted as an earthquake.

 

“Good. Round two, then.”

 

“I think we’re at nine or ten.”

 

“Let’s make it a dozen.”

 

Victoria kissed her, then sighed, then did the thing she had promised on the desk in 201.

 

“Rain check on the dozen,” she said. “I told him we were done after this. And I try to keep one promise a weekend.”

 

Bea raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “Look at you. Maternal.”

 

“Don’t spread it around.” Victoria sat up. The crack clenched so he would not drop. “I’ll text you.”

 

“Do. And bring him again if you want. I still think he’d make a decent toy.”

 

“He’s not a toy.” Victoria said it lightly enough that Max could not tell whether she believed it. “He’s just small.”

 

She dressed in the damp tank and shorts, tucked him deeper so the walk would not show, and took the long way back to USD with Bea’s taste still on her mouth and Max still working as the seal. The favor, such as it was, had been paid: one pass, not a dozen. The night was over. The crack did not care about the distinction.