Three weeks.
Three weeks of mundane existence, at least by Rose's standards. Work. Being a mom. Time with her lovers, male and female, when her daughter is with Rose's ex. Researching strap-on dildos to use on Violet
Growing more annoyed with the ever-present Mrs. Driscoll, too. Rose sees her on the corner talking with the gossipy bitch Danielle.
Great
.
What must they be sharing?
Then the text.
It's a Thursday evening like any other. Rose has plans with Patrick. Dinner, taking Precious Baby out for a ride along the shore afterwards. Maybe ice cream. Back to Rose's to fuck.
Rose is leaving work, halfway to her car when it arrives. She checks her phone.
It's from Patrick, one word only.
"Tonight."
Tonight?
Rose stops in her tracks, staring at it.
Her mind races as she gets in her car. She glances at the text again. It has to mean what she thinks it does.
What else?
She starts to text back "tonight?" but stops.
Patrick's thought this through. One word saying it all. Clear and concise. But how to respond? Something straightforward and suitably witty. She decides, typing it in.
"Finally."
***
Rose doesn't recall driving home. No memory of stopping at traffic lights or using turn signals. She presumes she did, but her mind is a million miles away. Contemplating the evening ahead.
So many possibilities.
Rose blowing both of them? That's a given. Spit-roasting her? Seems probable. Lots of foreplay, where they're both feeling her big tits and kissing her? She hopes.
She's told it all to Patrick. He knows what she wants. He'll deliver.
Rose's hands are trembling as she gets out her key and opens her front door. She kicks it closed behind her, dropping her keys and purse onto the marble tiles.
She hikes up her skirt and shoves her hand into her panties, playing with her clit. Rubbing it back and forth as she slides down the door onto the floor.
The images in her brain come at her fast, one after another. A vivid tableaux. Two cocks pounding her in every possible combination. Channeling all their lust and masculine passion into her.
To be the center of all that sexual energy. The focus of the storm's fury, and the storm itself.
Rose rubs her clit, moaning. "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit."
She sticks a finger inside her, then a second one. Fucking herself with them.
Rose writhes, laying on the floor shoving her fingers into her pussy. Fucking herself hard. She squeezes in a third finger, stretching her pussy out. Fucking herself on her entryway floor.
Her cries fill the air. "Oh, fuck. That's it, that's it. Fuck me hard, boys. Fuck me hard."
Her mind races through more scenarios. Riding one, sucking off the other. Sucking on a cock while the other guy eats her pussy. They switch places. They take turns eating her out, fingering her, bringing her to orgasm after orgasm. Orgasms without end.
Rose cums hard, shrieking and squirting all over the white marble tiles. Joy mixed with relief washes over her.
She lays on the floor catching her breath. Staring at the ceiling, more images drifting through her mind.
She should be satisfied, at least for now, but she's not. She's hornier than before. So horny a dozen hard cocks aren't going to be enough for her. Not tonight.
She gets up, shaking her head
.
In any other era, I'd be burned as a witch.
***
Shower. Hair. Makeup.
Rose glances at the time. Fifteen minutes to spare.
Nice.
She even had time to shave her legs and pussy extra smooth.
She pauses to glance at the picture of the stained glass hummingbird taped to the mirror. She's been certain for weeks it'll be her next tattoo. It draws her in with its multiple colors.
Rose shakes her head.
Focus on the present.
The choice of an outfit remains. Rose picks a dress with a plunging neckline and half sleeves showing off most of her arm tattoos. It also highlights her size-26 figure.
The best part, though, is its whimsical nature. It's light purple and covered in a pattern of tiny blue, yellow, and pink cartoon ponies.
She adds bright purple horn-rimmed frames from her collection and her black rose pendant. Lately, she feels naked without it. She gives her reflection a final look.
Yup. Hot as fuck.
Rose sets the table in the dining room. Seventies light rock plays in the background as she arranges napkins and candles.
Rose glances at the clock. If they're on timeβand Patrick tends to be punctual, doesn't he?βthey'll be there in ten minutes. No time to waste.
Preheat the oven, get out the salad. Put the Rigatoni Bolognese from Occhiobello into a large casserole dish. Stick it in the oven. Gourmet dinner ready to go.
Who says I don't cook?
Rose opens two bottles of wine. One red, one white. She places the glasses on the table when she hears cars pulling into her driveway. A tingle goes down her spine.
This is it.
Rose looks out the front window. Patrick's Pathfinder is first, followed by a black Volkswagen.
She waits, staring at the VW. Waiting for her first look at Antonio. Mrs. Driscoll is sitting on her front porch watching the grand arrival.
Because of course she is.
Rose's focus goes back to the Golf. The door opens and a man gets out.
Rose breathes in sharply, her face feeling flush.
Oh, my. Patrick has picked a good one, hasn't he?
Antonio looks around forty, fit and handsome. On the slim side, even more than Patrick. His hair is light brown and worn tight. He sports a few day's stubble, which looks right on him. He carries a bottle of wine.
Rose waits for them to ring the doorbell. She saunters over and opens the door. Her eyes fall upon her new guest. "Hello, gentlemen. And you must be Antonio."
Antonio's eyes light up when he sees her, his face breaking into a boy-next-door smile.
Oh my.
Rose is held captive by his bright blue eyes and his well-formed features. She hopes they get along, because he already passes the hotness test.
"Hello, Rose," he says.
They hug in Rose's entryway. She feels his solid muscles under his shirt. Their hug is short but pleasant and Rose follows it up with a quick, casual kiss on his lips.
Why not?
"So nice to meet you." She takes Antonio by the hand and leads him inside.
She turns to Patrick and kisses him. "Come on in, boys. Make yourselves at home."
Rose takes each of their hands and walks them to the living room. Patrick smiles at her and she casts a licentious glance back his way.
"You gentlemen can have a seat," she says as Antonio hands her the bottle of wine. "Thank you so much. Why don't I open this right up? We can enjoy a glass before dinner if you like or we can eat right away."
Antonio gives her a warm smile. "I'm in no rush."
Smooth operator.
"Right answer."