I made an angelhair pasta dish for dinner, giving everyone very generous portions of fresh parmesan cheese, which I was usually somewhat frugal about, because it was so expensive. And I had made a roasted bell pepper and eggplant sauce, which is quite spicy and a favorite of Ethan's.
The atmosphere at dinner was quite interesting: Harold was boisterous and happy, asking about everyone's lives, suddenly a more involved and attentive father than he had been of late. He prodded the boys about their girlfriends, and asked Nancy if there were any special guys she was bringing to her birthday party tomorrow. I knew he was thinking about screwing her, and he looked at me a bit apologetically. I reached beneath the table and gave him a lingering pat on the thigh, letting my hand slide suggestively upwards. I decided to do some flirting of my own.
"Ethan, did you sleep alright last night?" I thought I heard some noises from your room.
He didn't look up at me, he just shrugged. "I dunno, I had some weird dreams."
"Oh really?" I asked with my sexy-innocent voice. I seemed to be using that voice a lot lately. "What sort of dreams?"
"I was... this mathematician, and everything was in black-and-white..."
I slipped my foot across and stroked his leg gently. His eyes bulged, still not looking at me, trying to continue describing this dream.
"And there was some equation I was trying to figure out, and I had this big old-fashioned computer, and when my computer figured out the equation, it became self-aware and crashed."
"Fascinating," I said, still stroking his leg. Of course, he had no such dream; it was from a movie called Pi, which he assumed nobody else at the table would have seen. Well, he couldn't very well have said that the dream was about his mother sucking his cock and drinking his cum.
After dinner, Nancy declared that she was going over to Tanya's place.
"I forgot some papers at the office tonight, so I'm going to head back in to work." Harold gave me a knowing look, then turned to Peter and Ethan. "You boys be sure and help your mother clean up in the kitchen, eh?" I couldn't believe it: Harold was really getting into this idea that I was fucking the boys. "You need a ride to Tanya's?" he asked Nancy. The two of them left, and I began clearing the table. Peter and Ethan began helping, loading the dishwasher, but they were eyeing each other suspiciously--as though each wanted the other to leave, so that he was alone with me.
"Ethan, can you dry? Peter, you can put things away." I rolled up my sleeves and began filling the sink with water, adding huge amounts of soap, working up a nice lather of bubbles, and began washing the grease from the dishes. As Ethan dried, he stayed close against me, letting his arm brush against my own. I could tell that for him, even something so subtle was a daring gesture. Peter was a little more forthright, letting his hand graze my ass--occasionally even giving it a little squeeze--every time he walked past me. I pushed back gently into his hand. Peter was ready to go--he'd have me right here and now if I let him. But Ethan needed a little more loosening up.
I reached a hand down into the water, then gently flicked it at him. He seemed not to notice, so I did it again, but with more water this time.
"Hey!" he objected in mock anger, and I flicked him a third time. He took a step away from me, then took his towel, wet from drying the dishes, and snapped it at me. The towel caught me sharply on the hip, and I yelped, then splashed more water.
"You two, you're making a mess. I just washed that counter!" Peter said from across the kitchen. I turned to him and dipped my hand into the sink one more time, expertly sending water all the way across the kitchen, covering his shirt in soap and water.
"Oh, that's it, I'm gonna get you." He opened the fridge, found the pitcher of water, and poured out a glass, and made gestures as though he was going to throw it at me. I wasn't sure he was, but I ducked down, anyway. But as I did so, Ethan grabbed my arm tightly, pulling me back up, and a blast of icy cold water hit me full in the chest and face. I screamed out, dumped a bowl full of sink water on Ethan, and twisted out of his grasp.
He ran to the far side of the counter, to where Peter was. Peter threatened to hit me with another dose of ice-water, so I ducked down below the counter. Looking down, I realized my t-shirt was soaked, and either from arousal or from the cold water--likely a combination of both--by nipples looked as though they were going to burst through both by bra and my white t-shirt. I ducked my head into the cupboard. There had to be something... and then I found a bottle of champagne. Perfect. I could hear Peter and Ethan whispering to each other, no doubt planning some way to assault me with more water. I began shaking the bottle of champagne. I debated sticking my head up to see where they were--they had fallen suddenly silent. But they might be waiting for me to stick my head up... I loosened the wire restraint, and gently twisted at the cork. I could feel the tension behind it, feel how it was about to burst out. I'd have to be careful not to shoot one of the boys in the face with it!
I decided to crawl around the side of the counter, trying to catch them off-guard. Then suddenly, a hand caught my foot from behind.
"Got her!" I heard Ethan yell, and a half second later, Peter came around the corner the other way, a jug of orange juice in his hand. I pressed the cork with my thumb and it shot out, followed by a thick spray of champagne foam. I stuck my thumb over the end, increasing the tension and shooting Peter's face full of it.
"Fuck!" Peter yelled out. With one hand, he tried to block the stream of champagne. With the other hand, he splashed out the carton of orange juice, soaking me in wave after wave. I turned the champagne bottle to Ethan, who had now gripped both my ankles, and shot his face full of it. He swore, but didn't let go; he held to my ankles tightly, one in each hand, about shoulder-width apart—a grip that would allow him an easy view up my wet legs. In a show of false modesty I pressed my thighs together. Had I worn panties today? In my aroused, frantic state, I couldn't remember. I hoped I hadn't.
Peter grabbed my arms, twisting the champagne bottle out of my hand, and holding my arms out above my head. I lay on my stomach in a pool of orange juice and champagne.
"You've made a mimosa out of me!" I declared.
"A what?" asked Ethan.
"A mimosa. It's a cocktail," Peter said.
I nodded. "Orange juice and champagne." I could lick it up off the floor by sticking out my tongue. I didn't though, I just breathed in deeply smelling the wincing citrus.
They held me there, and we fell into a silent stalemate, neither of them sure what to do next and me restrained from movement. Of course, we all wanted the same thing, more or less.
"Okay, let go."
They did as I told them, and I pulled my legs in, rising up to my hands and my knees. Peter's face was inches from my own.
"Kiss me. Kiss mommy."
I saw him look past me to Ethan, unsure of how to act in front of his brother. Then he leaned into me with a soft, gentle kiss.
"Mmmm, nice," I moaned.
He kissed me again, and I put an arm around his neck, pulling him in against me.
"Now stand up."
His crotch was a little above my face, and I could see his nice shaft through his jeans. Of course he was hard. I would have been shocked if he wasn't.
"You know what mommy wants. Take it out for her."
