A Suburban Moms Secret Need

Copyright 2022 Liza Sharpe. All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note: All characters in this fictional story are over the age of 18, and are products of the author's dirty imagination.

1

Melissa rolled over to glance at the clock on her nightstand. The amber glow read 5:57, three minutes before the alarm was set to go off. Reaching over, she shut off the alarm and slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her husband Richard, who was softly snoring beside her. She stepped into her house slippers and pulled her bathrobe on over her ankle-length white nightgown.

She went into the bathroom, doing the things all humans must, then washed her hands carefully and brushed her hair. Long and sleek, her medium brown hair had auburn highlights that complemented her hazel eyes. She pinched her cheeks to enhance her rosy complexion and rinsed her mouth with mouthwash before she headed to the kitchen.

She efficiently unloaded the dishwasher she'd run just before bed last night. "A place for everything, and everything in its place," she said, one of her mottos for a happy life.

She started a pot of coffee and gathered the items she needed for breakfast. She diced onions, bell peppers and mushrooms, then quickly scrambled a half-dozen eggs, enough for omelets for her husband and their 18-year-old son Tyler. She set the table and stepped back, gazing at it with a critical eye. She adjusted the placement of Richard's coffee mug, checked again, and nodded, satisfied with the result.

Melissa believed in doing her best in every task, no matter how mundane or repetitive. While Richard worked to provide for the family's financial needs, her job, as she saw it, was to ensure her family was well-cared for. Well-prepared, nutritious meals, a clean and tidy house, and a pleasant home environment were all important, as well as ensuring she satisfied Richard's needs as a husband and as a man.

She went outside to retrieve the morning paper; Richard was an old-fashioned kind of guy, and enjoyed having a newspaper to hold while he read at the breakfast table. She set the paper on his chair, pulled out and ready for him. She glanced at the clock and began heating the omelet pan and a second pan to warm the ingredients. She grated cheese and diced some ham, then began cooking.

While she cooked, she mixed some cut fruit for a side dish and poured a glass of orange juice. Tyler would sleep in a bit later; having just finished high school, he was working a mid-shift job to earn spending money before he went off to university.

Richard slipped in quietly behind her at the stove, reached around her waist and pressed himself close to her body as he kissed the side of her neck, his hands straying upward to cup her firm breasts, causing Melissa to coo happily.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmured. Melissa turned in his arms, her own going around his neck as she pressed her mouth to his, nibbling his lower lip the way he liked so much.

"Good morning, stud."

"Did you sleep well?"

"After everything you did to me last night?' Melissa pulled back, smiling as she gazed at the man she loved. "I slept like the dead, lover."

Richard smiled. "So did I." They kissed again; though they'd been together over 20 years, since their senior year in high school, the couple still acted much like they had as newlyweds. It was a rare night that they went to bed without making love, and they still drove each other wild.

Melissa pulled away to check breakfast; Richard stayed close by, his hands moving over her body.

"Hungry?" she asked, a playful note to her voice.

"Famished, but we don't have time," Richard answered, an old joke between them.

"There's always tonight," she promised as, reaching behind her, she slipped her hand between the opening of his own robe and closed her hand around what she found there. She let a happy groan escape her lips as she patted her husband's bulge. Her husband chuckled as he sat at the table.

Melissa added the ham and vegetables to the omelet, then quickly chopped some fresh herbs and sprinkled them and cheese over the eggs and plated the meal.

Richard had the paper flat on the table as he scooped fruit from the cup. "Fresh blackberries," he said with a sigh. "My favorite."

"Don't I know?" Melissa smiled, glad her husband still appreciated the little things. She set his omelet in front of him.

"Any requests for dinner?" she asked as she watched her husband eat.

"Whatever you'd like to make, my love," he answered, poring over the local news. Melissa sipped her coffee; she herself wasn't a breakfast person and wouldn't eat until later in the day, after she'd gotten her workout in. She swore that skipping breakfast was one reason she had maintained her figure through one pregnancy and twenty years. The couple were both 38; she'd conceived and given birth to their son at age 20, while Richard was still in college and she worked in her mother's bakery. The unplanned pregnancy helped them clarify their values in a hurry; both hoped for a family and they were in love, no doubt about that. They'd arranged a quick wedding before Melissa started showing too obviously. Neither gave a thought to how their married life began anymore; they were too compatible and happy to dwell in the past like that.

After eating, Richard went to get ready for work. Melissa cleaned the mess and wiped out the now-cooled omelet pan and set it back on the stove, ready for her son to come out for his meal. She stripped the sheets from their bed and replaced them, then threw the soiled linen into the wash. She hummed as she worked, a woman content with her life.

2

After sending Richard off to work with a kiss, Melissa opened her laptop to check her email and her cloud-based calendar. She found it most helpful to keep track of her schedule this way; though she'd checked her schedule yesterday, she wanted to make sure none of the groups she was active with had made any changes that would affect her.

"Perfect," she said with a smile. She really had nothing that required her attention this afternoon. She woke her son with a knock on the door. "Last call for breakfast, sleepyhead," she said, poking her head in the door. Tyler, laying on his stomach, raised his head off his pillow, looked at his mom, blinked twice, and let his head fall back to the pillow.

"Five minutes," Melissa heard from the bed.

"I'll start your omelet."

"Thanks, mom."

Melissa pulled her son's door closed behind her. Hearing the click, Tyler raised his head again. He turned over onto his back and stretched, yawning. He threw back the sheet; he slept naked and his 18-year-old morning wood stuck skyward, an impressive tool on a toned, muscular body. Tyler scratched his chest; he'd just begun sprouting hair there, though he'd been shaving his face for almost two years now.

He took his erection in hand, gently stroking up and down. He'd been awakened from a particularly erotic sexual dream; he'd been having anonymous sex with a blonde bombshell who was stretched out on a blanket in the woods, face down and ass up, moaning loudly as he thrust roughly into her cunt from behind.

He called the dream to mind as he stroked roughly up and down, wondering what it would actually feel like to have himself buried inside someone, to have a pussy grip his hard cock. His dry, frantic stroking rubbed him harshly; he needed to hurry. Faster and faster, his hand gripped and squeezed as he jerked his way to an early-morning climax.

He groaned as semen exploded from the swollen head of his dick, shooting up into the sky before spattering back down, landing on his chest and stomach. His ball sack contracted over and over, sending jets of fertile cum up, babies never to be born. Gasping, he reached for the tissues on his bedside and quickly wiped himself clean. He then tossed the tissue and poked his head out the door. No mom. He hurried to the bathroom to clean himself more thoroughly. A warm washcloth, wetted from the sink, wiped the residue from his skin; he tossed it in the hamper when he was done, then hurried back to his room to get dressed.

3

Two minutes later, clad in running shorts and a muscle shirt, he wolfed down the omelet, then took his dishes to the sink. Kissing his mom on the cheek, he said "You take such good care of me, mom. Thank you!" Melissa smiled and hugged her son, her head pressing into his chest. Tyler towered over both his parents; at 6' 5", he was a full head taller than his mother. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, his hands rubbing between her shoulder blades. His breath nearly caught in his throat. Lately, when he was close to his mom like this, his body reacted in a way it never had. Her body pressed against his caused a tightening in his groin even though he had just cum minutes earlier.

Her body felt good against his palms; he spread his fingers wide, and his large hands nearly covered the top half of her back. His mom pulled away, patted his chest with one hand, and turned to the sink to rinse his dishes. Tyler stood watching her for a minute; she went about her day as though the hug meant nothing more than it should to a good mom. He sighed; there was no sense chasing phantoms.

Tyler was a pretty simple guy, really. He wasn't a standout in any respect; he was mostly a go-along-to-get-along sort of fellow. He was in decent shape, but not athletic; he did well in his studies but didn't excel academically; and he was good-looking but didn't attract a lot of attention. He didn't really have the desire to apply himself to anything. He knew he'd go to college, but didn't really care much about furthering his education. He'd be just as happy to spend his time gaming with his friends.

Had he been more determined, he could have achieved more in his life. He had a sharp mind; years of gaming had taught him strategic thinking, and he was a natural problem-solver. His tall, lean build would have been great for a swimmer or distance runner. Most notable, though, was that if he'd bothered to talk to girls rather than just look, several of his classmates would have been more than happy to share their beds with him. Sadly, Tyler wasn't even aware of this fact.

He was scrolling through his social media accounts on his phone when it pinged with an incoming text from his friend Chris.

Chris: wyd?

Tyler: Chilling

Chris: l8r 2day??

Tyler: Work.

Chris: Call in sick. U will thank me!

Tyler:???

Chris: come over NOW -- trust me!

Tyler didn't want his mom knowing he was skipping work. She was just so 'do the right thing' about everything. He told her he was going in early and might not have to work a full day, then headed over to Chris' house.

4

"Just look at that fucking body!" Chris exclaimed, turning his laptop so his friend could see it. The picture showed a thigh to neck image of a woman with an incredible figure. Her body was tanned all over, no tan lines, but without the artificial glow one got in a tanning bed. Her waist was trim, her tummy flat. The swell of her hips was the thing of male fantasies; she looked like a good breeder. She had a small triangle of auburn hair on her mound; the rest of her sex was smooth and, in this shot at least, looked ready to be driven into. Her breasts were exquisite, Tyler thought. More than a handful, they sat firm and high on her chest, with no sag.

"She's hot," was Tyler's assessment.

"You think that's hot? Read this!" Chris clicked a link and the pic shrunk to a profile pic next to a user name: Momma Cougar Needs Young Strange Dick.

The post was straight-forward and to the point:

"I'm back," it read. "Sorry for keeping you boys waiting. I'm back and looking for hard meat, age 18-23 to suck and fuck. Will be available today from 1-3." It listed a wilderness area in the next town over as the site where she could be found.

"What the fuck is this?" Tyler asked, looking at the screen. "Dogging Pleasant View? What's that about?"

"She's a dogger, dude. She wants strangers to use her!"

Not believing it, Tyler laughed out loud. "How the fuck do you find this weird shit, Chris?"

"Fuck you, dude! What kind of porn do you watch online?"

"Videos of your mom, mostly." Tyler ducked as Chris took a half-hearted swing at him. Chris knew he'd walked into that one.

"Sick bastard. Mom's like 300 pounds, dude. Now, if it were your mom..."

Without thinking, Tyler replied, "Yeah."

"Dude, she's your mom! That's kind of sick, man. What goes on at your house, anyway?" Chris was laughing now, taking the upper hand in the juvenile banter.

"Shut up. I know my mom's a MILF. You and the rest of the guys tell me that enough." Changing the subject, he went on. "This isn't real, though, is it? I mean, around here? Who'd do this?"

Chris shrugged. "Bored housewives, pissed off girlfriends, nymphos... who cares, man? And yeah, it's real. Clint told me about this woman a couple of months ago. Said she gives it up to any young guy who comes along. He said she's one of the hottest fucks he's ever had. She's a total fuck toy, dude! So, you in?" Clint was Chris' older brother, 21 and still living at home.

"Really?" Chris was hesitant.

"Dude, you want to get your dick wet or not?" Chris knew his friend was still a virgin and really just wanted to help him out.

"Is it safe? I mean, how do I know she doesn't have like HIV or something?"

"Look, it says here condoms are required for intercourse. You fuck her till you're ready to cum, then pull out and shoot all over her."

Tyler looked back. Sure enough, there it was, just as his friend said. Hell, he thought, I already took the day off. The idea of sex, and especially anonymous sex he didn't have to work for, was a turn-on; he remembered his dream from the night before and felt his cock twitch in his pants. "Alright, dude. I'm in!"

"Bet! We've got three then, with Clint. I'll let him know. We'll leave at 12:30 to get there early. I don't want to go in after a bunch of other dudes." The friends then turned their attention to video games while they waited.

5

Just before 11, Melissa, now dressed for the gym, put the last of the freshly-washed laundry in the linen closet, then took a last check around the house. There! Everything was perfect. She finished in her bedroom; pulling her workout bag from the closet, she added two changes of clothing and headed to the gym, where for a solid 45 minutes, she ran on the treadmill at a steady pace of 8 minutes per mile, keeping her heart at its optimum rate. While she ran, she consciously cleared her mind of all responsibilities. Her husband and son, her civic groups, even what to make for dinner -- all became distant, as if they belonged to the life of someone else. She always tried to transcend her sense of self on days like this. It made everything more enjoyable.

She followed the treadmill with fifteen minutes in the sauna, breathing the dry heat deep into her lungs. This, she felt, was spiritually purifying for her. By the time she finished showering after the sauna, she had stepped outside of the life she'd so carefully constructed. She was neither wife nor mother, friend nor volunteer team member. She was, for the only times in her life, her essential self.

She dressed in the handicapped stall of the bathroom, slipping her dark knee-length dress over two much smaller garments. The dress whispered softly as it slid over her head, caressing her soft skin. She smoothed the dress over her hips, then stepped out into the bathroom and checked the mirror. She looked like the image she held of herself in her mind, even with her hair still wet from the shower. She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out, head down, not giving attention to anyone around her. She slid behind the wheel of her sedan, then sent a quick text to her friend Ellen.

Melissa: On my way. And thanks!

Ellen: No prob, hun!

Melissa drove to her friend's house, parking in the empty spot on the driveway. She grabbed her bag and a folded blanket from the car and knocked on the front door of the house as she stepped inside.

"I'm here!" she called cheerily.

"In the kitchen, Mel!"

She walked back to the kitchen quickly, putting a harried look on her face. She hugged her friend, who was busily mixing something in her KitchenAid stand mixer. Melissa had the same mixer, but in red.

"Ellie, thanks again. I can't believe I forgot to have Richard leave his SUV, and the car just doesn't have enough room for this."

"Oh, don't worry about it. Honestly, I don't know why we haven't sold that old van. I have nowhere to be today, anyway."

"Well, I'm leaving you my keys, either way. I should only be a few hours, but I don't want to leave you stranded."

"That's fine," Ellen said, "but I'm really not going anywhere. You can just leave them on the counter." She hadn't turned away from her work, but flapped a hand in the direction of the counter.

Melissa laid the keys down and called back over her shoulder, "Thanks again, Ellie. See you soon!"

6

She loaded the blanket in the side door of her friend's minivan, a well-maintained reminder of the days when the children were still little. She walked around and got in the driver's seat. She pulled out, navigating her way to the highway and the town to the north. She drove with the radio off, staring at the road with a neutral expression, as though on auto-pilot. This was not a time for reflection. Melissa truly loved her life, and particularly her husband and son. She didn't know a single woman she would want to trade places with; she really was proof that a woman can have it all. She lived in a lovely home, and didn't lack for any material items; she spent time doing charitable work she truly felt fulfilled by; and if that weren't enough, she had a picture-perfect family that was actually functional and was filled with genuine love.

But sometimes, even having it all isn't enough.

Melissa and Richard were both freshly 18 when she'd given her innocence to him. He, older by a half-year, had some experience in the act. In Melissa's mind, that was the most erotically charged time of her life; while she believed that the longer she'd been married, the better the sex had become, it never re-captured the freshness, the newness of the early days of exploring her sexuality. She had an unspoken need within her, a craving to experience that same energy; just a few years ago, she had found an outlet for that need.

Sometimes, when she was with her husband, particularly if he were taking her from behind, Melissa would fantasize. She would imagine the cock driving into her was not her husband's, not the same cock she'd felt most nights the past two decades. She fantasized that the cock belonged to an unknown boy who would drive relentlessly into her without regard for emotion or love -- just the way Richard had in those early days, with the unconscious selfishness of a teenaged boy. Over the years, of course, Richard had become a skilled lover, giving and attentive to her needs as well as his own. He fucked her the way a man fucks the woman he loves.

That just wasn't what Melissa, at her very core, craved. No, she needed to feel a cock thrusting into her seeking only its own pleasure; she needed to feel taken, used, in order to recapture the nostalgic feeling of her youth.

So, she'd found dogging. It began innocently enough, at a wine-fueled meeting of the women's gardening club to which she belonged. The conversation, as was usual, grew more sexual as the alcohol reduced the women's inhibitions. They were mostly friends, so it was an even easier transition. Someone asked about fantasies they had that they'd never actually go through with.

It was a pretty innocuous list of fantasies the women had, until Brianne Jenkins, blushing furiously, coughed, "Dogging!"

Melissa, and a number of the other women as well, had never heard the term. As Brianne explained it, looks of horror and of curiosity came to the faces of the women gathered, each to their own temperament. Melissa tried to remain impassive as the thought of cocks (strange cocks) being thrust (rammed) upon and into (fucking the shit out of) her (me) raced through her mind. She crossed her thighs, and could almost hear the squelching of her suddenly-soaked pussy as she moved.