Mother's Reflection

Amara stood naked in front of her bedroom mirror, fresh from a shower, towel crumpled on the floor. "I don't look too bad for a 34-year-old mom," she said to herself. Steam fogged the edges of the glass, but her reflection was clear. She was beautiful, and young, she thought.

Her shoulder-length blond hair hung damp, framing her face, strands sticking to her fair skin. Blue eyes stared back, bright against the faint freckles dusting her nose and cheeks.

She used to hate those freckles as a kid, ugly little spots, she'd called them but now they were cute, shaving years off her look. She could pass for her early twenties, easy. Bartenders still carded her, and while that pissed her off a decade ago, now she flashed her ID with a smug grin.

One day, she mused, she'd play twenty something in a bar, snag some young guy, and see how far it went.

Her eyes trailed down her body, taking it all in. Her medium-sized breasts sat firm on her chest, round and perky, with big brown nipples poking out, still stiff from the hot water. She cupped them, thumbs brushing the nipples, feeling their weight soft but solid, the fair skin smooth under her fingers.

Her waist curved in gentle, a little thicker than her teen years but tight enough, flaring out to wide hips. Her arms were slim, toned from carrying files and stress at work, pale skin glowing in the dim light. Long legs stretched down, strong and shapely, thighs thick but smooth, leading to her full, round, and firm ass, cheeks jiggling slightly as she shifted. Between her legs, her pussy peeked out, shaved bare, lips puffy and pink, a faint sheen of dampness clinging to them from the shower or maybe something else.

However, even though she was beautiful and attracted attention, she was sad.

On the outside, she was a badass senior at a marketing firm, 40 people under her, raking in cash. But inside, she felt like shit.

The divorce left her lonely, rejected, depressed some days. Her friends said it'd pass, that she just needed a good man. She agreed. A guy to fuck her senseless, then hold her tight when she woke up. Wild, nasty sex and sweet love all in one. Could she even have both?

Marriage didn't tempt her now, but she was young maybe a rich stud would sweep in, give her more kids. She'd always wanted a big family, but Josh shot that down. Zesai was an accident, a surprise at 16 that forced them into a wedding.

Back then, Josh was everything. A hot college athlete, charming as hell, fucking her in his car that first time. She'd been crazy for him, but pregnancy flipped the script.

Both families lost it abortion or adoption? No way. She didn't judge other girls for choosing that, but it wasn't her.

So, at three months, before her belly showed, they tied the knot. It lasted 17 years, but they were oil and water. Josh chasing parties and power, her craving kids and a cozy home. She'd known early she'd be screwed if it fell apart, so she clawed her way through night school, got a degree, and climbed the ladder at work. Now she had money, a career but she'd trade it all for a house full of screaming brats and a man who cared.

Then there was Zesai. Tall, handsome like Josh, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes that cut right through her. His smile melted her every time, softer and kinder than his dad's ever was. He'd been her rock since the divorce, hugging her when work crushed her, bringing flowers for no reason. Mother's Day, her birthday, or just a shitty day, he'd show up with roses and that grin. Why couldn't she find a guy like him?

Lately, though, she worried. Work kept her away too much, and moving twice in a year had yanked him from his friends. He never bitched, but he was quieter now, pulling into himself.

He hated her dates, and she could see the jealousy in his scowl. Cute at first, but now it nagged at her. He stayed home too much, didn't hang out, didn't bring anyone over. No buddies, no girls just him and that big, empty house.

Then there were the panties. Last week, she'd found a stash in his drawer, her silky ones, folded neat under his gym clothes.

She'd wondered where they'd gone, suspected something funky. Normal for a horny teen, maybe?

She didn't confront him, didn't want to mess him up more but walking out, her pussy got wet, a hot ache spreading between her legs. She'd even added a pair, still warm from her body, to his pile. Sick, she knew, but it made her drip.

Now, staring at herself, that ache came back. Her pussy tingled, lips swelling as she thought of Zesai, of her fantasy where Zesai's face popped up between her thighs.

"Fuck," she muttered, hands sliding down her body. She squeezed her breasts, pinching her nipples hard, watching them redden in the mirror. Her fair skin flushed pink, arms trembling as her fingers trailed over her waist, down to her hips.

She turned, eyeing her full cheeks bouncing as she flexed. She smacked one, the sting sharp, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. Her legs spread a little, thighs parting, and she reached between them. Her pussy was soaked now, lips puffy and slick, clit poking out, begging for it. She rubbed slow, feeling the heat.

Amara stumbled to the bed, falling back, legs wide. Her ass hit the sheets, cheeks spreading, and she shoved her fingers into her pussy.