Second Parents

Sarah cruises through the neighborhood to grab Karen for their last July 4th blowout before college. Karen’s already waiting, tote slung on her shoulder, and hops in like always. They’re both eighteen, tight since diapers, and this weekend at Sarah’s place is tradition—Karen’s parents never threw bashes like the ones Sarah’s dad puts on. The guy’s just dumb about holidays, always loaded with stupid fun. Karen idolizes it; her own house feels lame by comparison. Sarah pulls into the drive and there’s Dad on the porch in a gag BBQ apron, waving like a goon. “Kill me,” Sarah snorts. Karen giggles—it could’ve been worse, last year’s had penis-shaped burgers printed on it. They bolt up the steps, quick hugs, then disappear inside. By late afternoon the whole crew’s out back. Dad’s babysitting the grill; Mom lounges with the girls. She starts grilling Karen about boyfriends—won’t quit. Karen’s cheeks burn; she’s never been comfortable airing that stuff. Sarah bails her out with a new topic. Meanwhile, Dad’s stare keeps dropping to Karen’s chest every two seconds, hard-on threatening the seam of his shorts. At dinner he lifts his beer and goes full Hallmark, thanking his girls, praising Karen for growing into such a “smoking piece of ass.” He jokes that if he were single again he’d steal her away. Mom laughs; Karen squeezes the napkin under the table until her knuckles go white. Sarah changes the subject, fast. Come dusk they’re out front twirling sparklers, Dad watching every bounce of thigh and flash of tit. Mom sneaks over, whispers it’s bedtime. The girls protest—Sarah gets shut down. Later, lights out, Karen climbs into Sarah’s bed. Sarah’s already cold-shouldering her. Karen tries small talk; Sarah shuts it down, rolls away. Karen sighs, asks if something’s up with the parents. Sarah mutters that Mom and Dad like Karen better anyway and goes silent. Middle of the night the bedside lamp snaps on. Karen blinks awake to find Mom straddling her hips, Dad looming barefoot in nothing but boxers, dick already half-hard behind the fabric. He hands her water, says they heard her tossing. Then Mom strokes Dad’s cock right in front of Karen’s face, tells her to look all she wants—they know she’s crushing on him since she turned legal. Karen stammers she’s never done it; Mom promises they’ll make it sweet, their special secret. Dad peels off Karen’s PJ bottoms, buries his tongue between her legs while Mom pets her hair and holds her open. They fuck her together—Dad buried balls-deep in Karen’s virgin cunt while Mom props her legs, whispers nasty encouragement, keeps her pinned. Dad never takes his eyes off the tight teenage body under him. Karen whimpers, overwhelmed but slick and yielding. At the end Dad pulls out and splashes thick ropes across Karen’s open mouth and flushed cheeks; Mom watches like a proud coach. Afterward they sandwich Karen, tuck her in, click off the light. “We always pile in when somebody gets scared,” Mom lies softly. Karen mumbles another question about Sarah, but Dad just kisses her temple and promises Sarah sleeps like the dead. The camera lingers on Sarah’s face: tears sliding down in the dark, because she set her best friend up for the weekend ritual she’s known about all along.