I've been tidying all morning but the house still doesn't feel ready. My son is coming home from college today for spring break and bringing half the rugby team with him. We have a big home so I'm not too worried, but it's going to be stressful without my husband around.
DING DONG
Oh crap! They're already here! I straighten my skirt and fix my hair before scurrying downstairs to meet them.
"Oh, Ethan, it's so good to see you! And wow! You grew!"
"Hey, mom, thanks for letting us all stay here. And of course I grew, you should see how much we eat!"
My son gives me a warm hug then introduces me to the parade of boys filing in. I really shouldn't call them boys though, as these are full grown men! Soon my foyer is bustling with burly athletes towering over me in my bare feet.
"Thanks for having us, Mrs. S," one says with a friendly smile.
"Yeah, thanks Mrs. Schwartz, your house is sweet!!"
A WASP by breed I'm shy about his compliment, but really he's just pointing out the obvious. My husband, Jared, is a very wealthy man and we live in what Architectural Digest describes as, "a modern masterpiece." After greeting a few more boys I tell them there's beer in the kitchen and they quickly stampede away. As I turn to follow, I bump into a sturdy figure whom I haven't yet met.
"Oh, s-sorr..." I start, but by the time I've looked up I'm speechless.
Standing in front of me is a wall of man, so tall I have to look straight up to see him. He steps back and greets me with a cheeky smile, the kind I haven't gotten from a guy in a minute. At 48 I'm noticed less by the day, but even though I still think I'm hot I don't seek out male attention. I'd be lying though if I said this particular friend didn't spark something in me. He's exactly my type: tall, muscled, tan, with a mustache like Tom Selleck. He looks fresh out of a different era, more rugged and masculine than his age would suggest. In truth, he's everything my husband isn't....
Now that's not to say I don't love my husband, I do dearly. I'm just not the most.... attracted to him. Jared's a sweet, genuine, caring man, but he's only a few inches taller than my 5'7" and probably weighs less than 150 lbs. This specimen in front of me though, hnggg, he's a beefcake.
"Name's Bruce," he says curtly, in an accent I clock as Australian. Fuckkk! You've gotta be kidding me! Could he get any hotter?? I realize the answer is yes when he sticks out his hairy bear paw to shake my hand.
I daintily place mine in his and say, "I-I'm Bethany... Or, well- you can call me Mrs-"
"Beth," he cuts in. "I like that." My pale cheeks burn red but I'm too flustered to correct him. "Thanks for inviting me into your home, Beth. Now why don't you be a doll and grab me one of those beers you were talkin' about. I'm gonna go find a room and unpack."
He finally lets go of my hand then turns and heads upstairs. I'm left utterly dumbfounded in the hall, unsure if all that sexual tension is just in my head. No, he was definitely flirting! Ugh, gross!! I can't lust over my son's friend, I'm twice his fucking age! Well, I guess it's not that weird... I mean he is an adult and DEFINITELY looks like one! Unnnnhh... And the way he told me to "be a doll," just like....
"MOM!"
"Coming!"
The kitchen is a jungle full of swaggering apes, swiping up snacks and beverages. Obviously excluding my son, I feel naturally attracted to these strong, virile creatures. My moistening pussy lips glide together as I step towards the fridge to grab Bruce a beer. I still can't really believe what I'm doing but pretend it's just part of being a good host.
"Did you meet Bruce?" my son asks, and I have to pretend I wasn't just fantasizing.
"Oh! Yes! He seems very.... Uh, nice!"
"Yeah, he's the coolest. He's a senior and the captain of our team."
"Who, Bruce? Yeah, he's the fuckin' man!"
"Yeah he is! And all the girls love him!"
"Ha, of course they do. But didn't he just break up with Annabelle?"
"Yeah, I heard it's because he was fucking Mrs. McNally!"
"WHAT?! Mrs. McNally??? The economics professor???"
"Shhhh..." my son urges, embarrassed to have me hear the hot gossip, but the damage is already done. I know what Bruce did with his teacher and it has me fucking soaked.
"You all talkin' about me?" Bruce asks with a smug grin when he steps in the room. The boys all laugh then return to their conversations.
Bruce maneuvers his broad shoulders through the crowd towards me, his head above the rest, the obvious Alpha. He's calm and cocky as he reaches out for his cold beer. I hand it to him.
"Thank you, Beth," he says casually.
"O-of course...!" I whisper nervously, hoping the other boys don't hear him call me that.
"And when you see I'm done with this one you'll bring me another, right?"
"Uhh... y-yes!" I reply without thinking. It just slips out!
"Good girl," he says, then turns to talk to his friends.
"Oh my...."
I rush out of the kitchen and sprint to the master bathroom.
"Oh my...! Oh my god...!"
I can barely breathe! It's been decades since I've been called that, "good girl," though never by a man half my age! It was my old professor who first said it, more than 20 years ago now when I went in for help on a biology assignment. Dr. Wagner was a very big, very serious man, the type who believed he deserved things because of his size and strength. He was also extremely misogynistic, taking an old school approach to the genders.
"Girls are submissive and receptive," he would tell our anatomy class. "Their bodies were made to accommodate men, and thus their minds."
One day I went into his office for help but was told not to worry about my grades. He said I'd be better off with a husband taking care of me, and though I didn't want to believe him Dr. Wagner wouldn't listen. He put his massive hand on mine, then the other behind my neck as he pulled me in for a kiss. I'd only smooched a few boys but none were as mature and confident as my professor. His prickly mustache tickled my cherry lips while his tongue slid between them.
When he reached under my skirt I tried to squirm away, but Dr. Wagner ripped off my panties and began stroking my puffy lips! I cried into his mouth but couldn't move as his long finger slid past my wet slit into my untapped well. Being a virgin before marriage was paramount in my conservative community and I was terrified of being deflowered. At the same time though I'd never felt hotter than kissing this bear of a man! Spreading my legs for his hairy paw and eventually face. He propped me up on the desk and held out my thighs before feasting on my virgin pussy. I clamped around his jaw and rode instinctively while trying my best to keep quiet.
"Unh! MMM! Ohhh! S-stop!"
"I'm not stopping, girl, you oughta know that. A man like me doesn't stop til he's done."
With that he stood up, dropped his pants, and pushed his angry cock head into my dripping hole. I screamed at first, begged him not to take my innocence, but by the time he was halfway in I was begging for something else..... My professor gave me my first orgasm that day, then my second and third, and when it was all over he pulled out his drained dick and said, "good girl."
Over the next two years, through hundreds of earth-shattering orgasms, Dr. Wagner trained me to be his "good girl." By the end I was totally hooked, but graduation was looming and reality began to set in. I didn't want to be stuck in that town forever with a man 30 years my senior. Sure, the sex was mindblowing but we weren't compatible outside of it. And then I met Jared..... Sweet, sweet Jared. The love of my life for whom I've sacrificed so much, the father of my child who I will love for eternity, but.... Who has never given me an orgasm.............
Yes, it's true, he's never actually made me cum. But I'm a loyal wife and haven't cheated, though I've certainly had the chance.... My long brown hair, perky tits and slim waist have always attracted men, but not once have I acted on the countless opportunities that have arisen. Sure I've flirted here and there, but that's how you make a 20 year marriage last! But with Bruce, hnggg...! My pussy is throbbing like it used to for my professor. That deep heat that only a true Alpha can send me into.
"Oooohhh..."
I'm naked in the floor length mirror of the gorgeous home my husband bought for us, dreaming of other men. My hand is between my thighs and I'm close to a quick release, but when I remember how many guests are here I decide to hold off. Whew! What's gotten into me!
I redress and head back into the kitchen, where a mess is forming. Sitting at the head of the table is Bruce, clinking his empty bottle. Empty bottle.... shit! He shoots me a stern look and I scamper to grab him a fresh one.
"Here you go," I tell him quietly. It's hectic but I really don't want anyone to notice my strange behavior.
"Good girl," he says, "but next time be quick about it."
I whimper like a chastised dog then slink away to begin cleaning. A strange euphoria washes over me once I'm settled into my element, quietly tending to my son and his friends. There's a calming presence emanating from Bruce, one I've sorely missed. It reminds me of my Father growing up, puffing his cigar while my mother and I kept house. I secretly yearn for this masculine energy and in Bruce it's palpable.
While replacing his beer again, I swear Bruce gropes my ass. There are so many hands I can't be certain, but a fresh flood drenches my panties. This strange game -- at least I think it's one -- continues throughout the day while the boys play drinking games. When dinner's ready there's an ice cold beer waiting at the head of the table. Bruce nods at me then I serve him first.
"Your mom's the best, Ethan!"
"Yeah, she rocks!"
Hearing them speak about me as if I'm not there is strangely erotic, like I'm a servant, an ornament, here to please. The whole thing is turning me on so much, especially whenever I pass Bruce. He always nods commandingly, affirming this is where I belong.
"Why don't you boys go watch a movie, I'll clean up."
"Thanks, Mrs. S!" they shout in unison, though Bruce comments separately.
"Great dinner, Beth, and I'm sure breakfast will be good too. You should know I like my coffee black."
I'm lost staring at the veiny biceps bulging out of his red rugby polo.
"W-what? Oh! Sorry! Black, yes, black," I mutter. Of course, just like Dr. Wagner and my Father...
