More More More

Author's Note: The following is a work of fiction. All characters are enthusiastic consenters well over the age of eighteen. Although this is a stand-alone story, Erika will appear as a minor character in a forthcoming series. Enjoy!

__________

MORE, MORE, MORE

by Eosphorus

"Yield to temptation. It may not pass your way again." - Robert A. Heinlein.

"Fuck me harder."

I clutch Christopher's shoulders, pressing his burning flesh against me. Kissing him deep, our tongues twirling. He's like a machine the way he fucks me. Penetrating deep, deep, deep. Bringing me to places nearly forgotten.

I wrap my legs around his waist. He speeds up, burying his head in my shoulder. Kissing the side of my neck. Just like I've taught him I like.

Such a good learner!

A familiar warmth awakens deep within. Rising inexorably. How is this possible? I never used to come from missionary until Christopher. Now? Every fucking time.

"I'm gonna come again," I moan. "Keep at it!"

The hard fucking continues. Such stamina! Then again, he's only twenty-two. He could go all night, couldn't he?

Every thrust of his cock brings me closer, ever closer. Until successive waves of pure joy wash over me. Reminding me of the wonders of womanhood. Receding all too soon into memory.

"Fuck me," I whisper. "Fuck me!"

He moans louder, speeding up. Dirty talk never fails to send him over the edge.

"Fuck my hot MILF pussy," I cry. "Fuck my hot MILF pussy."

A little over the top, yeah, but it works. He fucks me in short, quick strokes. groaning steadily.

He's close. No doubt about it. Time for a little more encouragement. "Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!"

He gasps, thrusting his cock deep inside me. Holding it in place as it throbs rapidly. His body untenses and he lifts his head.

"Feel better, babe?" I cradle the side of his face. What a beautiful young man. Soft green eyes and sensual lips.

"You're incredible," he says. "Incredible."

We kiss, deep yet tender. Tongues slowly sliding against each other. He pulls out and lays next to me. I stare at the ceiling fan turning, catching my breath. He falls asleep after a few minutes. I watch him. He looks so young when he sleeps.

I sigh. How has

this

come to be? How'd I become the kind of woman who sleeps with a man half my age? One who's also my son's friend?

____________

It's late but I'm not tired.

I sip wine and contemplate the stars from my lounge chair. It's quiet out.

Quiet sucks.

No, that's not true. It's not the quiet, it's the solitude. Yeah. The entire house, all to myself. What's it been, a month since Andrew left?

Exactly

a month, actually.

Hard to grasp. Andrew, three thousand miles away at grad school. My baby boy.

Baby boy? Yeah, right.

He's the same age as the man I just fucked.

Still. He must be freezing his ass off in New Jersey. Especially after living his entire life here. I open my phone and check the temperature there.

Twenty degrees. Fuck.

I put the phone aside, closing my eyes. Replaying the evening in my mind. Slipping a hand inside the waistband of my pajamas.

How long after Andrew left was it when I ran into Christopher? Not even a week. I was on the checkout line at Staples buying a router.

"Mrs. Werriman?" he asked.

There he was, in line behind me, Andrew's friend from school. It took a moment to recall his name. He and Andrew were never close.

We struck up a conversation which continued into the parking lot. He asked about the router.

I admitted I'd no idea how to set it up. Looking back, maybe it sounded like a come on. "If I can't manage, I guess I just won't have the Internet until he's back this summer."

"I can set it up for you."

"I don't want to bother you," I said.

"Are you heading home now? I can follow you."

It seemed innocent. It was, at first. I rub myself, thinking about it now. He looked so cute the way his eyes scrunched up when he concentrated. What a gorgeous young man he'd become. And so sweet. He could've been doing anything else with his time.

I offered him a snack. He shook his head. He'd imposed enough, he said. Yeah, but his eyes told a different story.

"Maybe a beer?" I ventured.

"Sure. That'd be great."

We sat out here nursing double IPAs. Laughing and flirting. Thinking the same thing.

Wanting

the same thing. Both of us holding back.

He drained the last of his beer.

"Don't move," I said. "Have another."

I retrieved two more bottles from the fridge and sat closer to him when I got back. I leaned towards him, laughing extra-hard at his jokes.

The song on the radio changed. I knew it well.

Ooh, how do you like your love?

Ooh, how do you like your love?

Kind of spot-on, huh?

My heart was pounding, my face flush. Was I really considering this? I'm forty-five, for fuck's sake! And Christopher went to high school with Andrew. It would be wrong, wrong, wrong.

The song continued, the refrain beginning.

More, more, more

How do you like it?

How do you like it?

He kissed me. Just like that. It was forward of him, but I didn't push him back. The opposite, in fact. I responded, returning his kiss. Sticking my tongue in his mouth. Pulling him towards me.

More, more, more

How do you like it?

How do you like it?

I know exactly how I like it.

Raw, raw, raw

That's how I like it!

That's how I like it!

I put down my wine, and push my pajama bottoms down. Rubbing my clit.

"I'm not interested in loving, tender sex," I told him. "If we're gonna do this, it's going to be on

my

terms. Fuck me like an animal. Otherwise, go home."

Where did those words even come from? They had an unreal quality to them. It was my voice, but someone else was speaking.

I finger myself, running through what came next. Sucking Christopher's dick, Christopher eating my pussy. Him fucking me from behind, bringing me to orgasm after orgasm. He needed coaching--what guy his age doesn't?--but he was a quick learner.

He's learned so much these last few weeks, hasn't he? Such a bright pupil.

I fingerfuck myself harder, the first signs of relief appearing. I picture Christopher behind me again, pounding the crap out of me. How about another dude his age with us? Yeah, there's the scenario I want. Guy number two is in front of me, his hard dick in my mouth.

Fuck, yeah.

They switch places. Treating me like the insatiable MILF I yearn to be.

Yes!

Pleasing two men half my age. More than just pleasing them, too. Driving them wild. Until they're out of their minds with lust for me.

My orgasm overtakes me. I come hard on the back porch, stifling my cries as best as I can. Can't have the neighbors hear me, after all. What would they think?

I've become a woman of secrets. So many secrets. Long-standing ones, like that fling with Christine. Or that time in college with Graceanne.

My habit of reading erotica on my phone during lunch is another secret. Or how I'll lock the door to my office afterwards if a story has really gotten to me. Like that one the other day about the mature lady who takes in a couple of college guys as borders. Before long they're her lovers. Fucking her both separately and together.

Hell, yeah!

I sip wine and wonder. Could I really go through with something like that?

_________

I text Christopher.

"I finished boxing up those papers. They're a little heavy for me to get up into the attic, though."

I have to smile. Every word of the text is true. The boxes

are

heavy. But they wouldn't be for him.

He's coming over anyhow. Might as well oblige him and let him help me out. I'm not sure

why

he gets off doing odd jobs for me, but who am I to question my good fortune? The only issue is I'm running out of things for him to do.

It's our little game. I find a task for him. He comes over, does it, and an offer of a drink follows. Beer or lemonade, depending on the time of day. Then passionate fucking.

We joked about it the other night. Laying in bed inventing ever more improbable excuses I could come up with to invite him over.

"How about a midnight text?" I said. "Maybe I'm worried there's someone outside."

"And you want me to come over to reassure you. Instead of, you know, calling the police."

I swatted his arm playfully. "Wiseass. That's not how the logic of this works. You rush over, you comfort me. We wind up in bed. We

always

wind up in bed."

"I like it."

"Maybe I have a leaky faucet that needs fixing," I said. "Or I need you to lift some heavy object that happens to be in my bedroom. Perhaps you bring a friend because the job is more than one man can handle."

What?

Why'd I say that? But the moment I did, there was no taking it back.

He grinned. "I like that last one."

I hoped you would.

"Do you?"

He smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah. And you?"

"It always sounded fun. Lately, even more so. You know, satisfying two young guys at once. Showing them I've still got what it takes."

He rolled over to face me. "You definitely still have what it takes."

"You think so?"

He gathered me in, his cock rock-hard again.

That idea really turns him on, doesn't it?

Fucking ensued. I imagined a second dude in bed with us the entire time. I bet he did too.

"You didn't bring a friend?" I joked the next time I saw him.

"Without telling you first? That'd be okay?"

I kissed him. "Maybe. I think I'd be more likely to go through with it if you brought some hot friend of yours over unannounced."

"Yeah?"

"You know," I said. "If you dangled the temptation in front of me. No time for me to overthink it."

He nodded thoughtfully. I sensed the wheels turning. Was he thinking of a candidate? Or maybe imagining what I'd look like sucking one of his friend's dicks?

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

See that you do.

_____________

I re-read Christopher's response to my text about the boxes.

"Hanging out with Anthony P right now," it says. "We'll be right over."

What?

Anthony Pomeline?

I hope not! Christopher's got to be joking. He wouldn't dare bring over that moron who almost got Andrew suspended with the stunt

he

pulled. He's the last one I want to see, let alone fuck!

Christopher, Christopher. You think you're being your usual funny self, don't you? Most of your jokes land, but not this one.

Whatever.

I shake my head, checking my hair and makeup. The stereotype of the California MILF stares back at me from the mirror. Right down to the blonde hair and big tits.

Yeah. Except these boobs ain't silicon and I'm wearing bifocals.

I go through some work emails at my kitchen table. There's a knock at the door.

Christopher!

I answer it, starting in surprise.

Standing besides Christopher is a stranger his age. Christopher is broad-shouldered and has wavy blonde hair. But his friend is built like a competitive swimmer, compact and all lean muscle. He's got a buzz cut and dark, smoldering eyes.

"Hello," I say.

Christopher's friend steps forward and we shake hands. He looks me in the eye, and I feel like I might faint. "Hi, Mrs. Werriman. It's nice to see you again."

I know that voice. It can't be!

"Anthony? I didn't recognize you. What happened?"

He shrugs. "Four years in the Marine Corps."

What a change! Gone is the unkempt boy with scraggly hair, pasty skin, and a peach fuzz mustache. Gone, too, is the paunchiness and sneering attitude. The shifty posture, as well.

I'd no idea he enlisted. Andrew must've known the last person I wanted to hear about was that snivelling snot.

They follow me inside. I glance at Christopher and he casts me a devilish smirk.

He can't be serious. Not Anthony Pomeline, of all people. He's hot now, but that's besides the point.

I show them the boxes in the garage and point to the fold-away attic stairs in the ceiling. "I need all these up there."

"We'll take care of it," Christopher says.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you have any questions." I go back into the house shaking my head. How did such a repulsive boy grow into such an attractive young man?

I catch my hands trembling.

Damn it.

I'm frantic with activity. Slicing apples, humming along to the radio. Then pruning the potted tuberose on the windowsill. They're coming along nicely aren't they? Their white bulbs contrast well with the pink azaleas.

I make lemonade. I tidy up the kitchen. I glance in the direction of the garage about three hundred times.

Those

are

a lot of boxes, aren't they? Christopher knew so beforehand. Of

course

he needed help. He'd have to know Anthony was unacceptable as a candidate for that other thing.

Yeah, that's all this is. Helping me out. Except what if it's not?

Whoa.

My nipples snap erect.

No, no, no. Not with Anthony.

Another glance towards the garage. They should've finished by now. Better check on them.

The boxes are gone, the attic stairs pulled down. I hear them up there and call out to them. I climb the steps, poking my head into the attic. They're shirtless and drenched in sweat.

Fuck.

I'm dumbfounded, staring at them. Two beautiful young men clad in nothing but shorts.

The disorganized chaos of my attic is gone. Replaced by neat stacks and rows.

"What's all this?" I ask.

Anthony turns my way. "Just organizing a few things, ma'am. We didn't want to just pile everything right on the landing."

"But it's sweltering up here," I say. "You two must be dying."

"We'll be done in a few minutes," Christopher says.

"Fine. Then you two need to cool down with a lemonade."

Christopher gives me that impish smirk of his. "Yeah, sure. Lemonade sounds great."

I go back inside. My pulse races. I had to make that remark to Christopher the other day about dangling one of his hot friends in front of me.

Maybe

if it was someone else he brought over, but not

Anthony

. Then again, he sure

seems

to have changed. So mature in the way he carries himself. So manly, too.

Wait. Am I actually considering this? No. Tempting as it may be, I couldn't.

I put the pitcher of lemonade on a tray with three glasses filled with ice. I place it on the table out on the deck.

I could have this, couldn't I? With a word, my fantasy could come true. My stomach flutters. With impeccable timing, Christopher and Anthony come in from the garage. They step out onto the deck, fully dressed again. Too bad about that.

"You didn't have to put your shirts back on," I say.

"It felt disrespectful walking into your house without a shirt," Anthony says.

I study him. "You really have changed."

Anthony stares at his feet.

"What is it?" I ask.

He looks back up. His eyes are moist. "This is tough. I, um, I'm sorry for any grief I caused you."

My heart breaks. This poor, sweet boy! I place a hand on his shoulder and meet his gaze. "I really appreciate you saying that. Looking back, maybe I overreacted."

He sighs. "You really screamed at me."

"I shouldn't have," I say.

Anthony shakes his head. "I deserved it."

I look back-and-forth at them. Nobody utters a word.

Dammit. I didn't expect such a range of emotions today. "You know what? Have a seat. I think this lemonade needs a little extra kick."

Christopher and Anthony sit. I retrieve a bottle of vodka from the kitchen. I pour a generous amount into the lemonade and stir. "Much better."

I fill three glasses and sit. I take a sip and look at Anthony.

Maybe he's changed, maybe not

.

Let's learn more.

I pepper him with questions about his life since I last saw him. He's out of the Marines now, in college full-time and working nights. Straight A's after one semester.

I brush his arm, our eyes meeting. "Good for you. You really turned things around."

I sip my drink, glancing at Christopher. If he

is

trying to facilitate my threesome fantasy, maybe he's brought me a good candidate after all.

Anthony asks about my work. Not everyone loves hearing me geek-out about green engineering. They seem interested, though, asking thoughtful questions. Hanging on my every word. It's intoxicating. Two beautiful young men all to myself. The sole focus of their attention.

I finish my glass, already less tense than before. Yeah.

Nothing like liquid courage.

Sweat pools in the small of my back and I pour myself another. It's warm for February, in the high eighties. Unusual for San Diego, but not unheard of.

I smile at them. "You boys should take a swim."

What the fuck? Why'd I say that? I didn't even think, just spoke. What's gotten into me lately?

"We didn't bring bathing suits," Christopher says.

I ought to tell them to go

au naturale

. Picture it! Me sipping spiked lemonade as they disrobe and hop in the pool. Watching them for a spell, then standing. Stripping down. Sliding sensuously into the water, their eyes glued to me.

I'm sure they'd be surprised. Caught off guard, unable to move. But only for a moment. They'd kiss me, their hands wandering over my nude body. Grabbing my breasts. A cock in each of my hands.

Yes!

And I'd lead them inside to my bedroom, where I'll have them do whatever comes to mind.

"You can borrow Andrew's swimming trunks," I say instead.

Chicken!

At least my suggestion moves things in the right direction. The boys will be shirtless and splashing around my pool. Not completely naked, but I can work with that. It's a starting point.

Baby steps. Baby steps.

"Only if you promise to join us," Christopher says.

That feels more like a big girl step.

Our eyes meet. Nudging me along, is he? Alright. "Sure. Why not?"

_________

I fetch a pair of Andrew's bathing trunks for them. Anthony heads towards the hall bathroom to change.

The moment the door closes, I turn to Christopher. "Are you serious about this?"

He grins. "If you are. You said you'd rather I bring over a friend unannounced. Something about not giving you time to overthink things."

"I did say that, huh? It's tempting.

He's

tempting. He really has changed, hasn't he?"

"He used to be a real douchebag," Christopher says. "But he's done a complete one-eighty."

"It seems so."

"How about you take some time to process this," he says. "I kinda sprang it on you."

"Maybe. Let me go change." I walk towards my room. Anthony emerges from the bathroom clad only in red swim trunks. We pass close by. He smiles shyly and I get a good look at his torso from up close.

Damn!

There's that distinct stirring between my legs again.

I'm not going to be able to resist, am I?

__________

Going with a bright red bikini feels bold. After all, I'm not in my twenties anymore. Whatever. I know my effect on men. If anything, the lustful gazes cast my way have ticked up in recent years. From guys of all ages, too.

I throw on a coverup and go outside. Christopher and Anthony are already in the pool. I drain the last of my drink and take a deep breath.

You can do this. You can do this.

It's like I'm watching myself from the outside. A complete picture. Me standing there staring at Christopher and Anthony swimming. The sun is bright, a cool breeze blowing out of the northwest. "Pink Cadillac" by Bruce Springsteen is on the radio.