The Neiborliness of Andrea Williams

THE NEIGHBORLINESS OF ANDREA WILLIAMS

PART ONE
Andrea Williams was ecstatic. The phone call told her that the part-time job was hers. Just what she wanted. Nine to three, five days a week. She could get her kids off to school by 7:30, jog for half an hour, shower, dress for the job, and be home by the time the kids came home from school at 3:30.

Her son, Jeremy, was in the second grade, and now that her youngest child, daughter Megan, had started first grade, Andrea at last had the time she dreamed of to get out of the house, engage in adult relationships, and make some extra money. Her husband Mark had an excellent income, allowing them to live in a beautiful home and drive the latest cars, but any extra money on the side would obviously be welcomed.

Excitedly, Andrea called Mark on his cell phone to tell him about the job. He was out of town on a business trip, as he often was, but she thought he might answer a call. When he didn’t, Andrea paced the house impatiently. She needed to tell someone! She dialed her next door neighbor Michelle, who also happened to be one of her best friends, and occasional jogging partner, to tell her the good news. Michelle Johns, who at age forty-two was eight years Andrea’s senior, was like the big sister Andrea never had. In fact, despite their hair coloring—Andrea’s was a dark blonde, Michelle’s raven black—they looked enough alike to have passed for sisters. Both women worked our regularly and had the bodies to show for it. They both had one son and one daughter, although Michelle’s were ten years older than Andrea’s. Michelle’s daughter Ashley had just begun her freshman year away at college, while son Brandon was a junior in high school.

In the seven years that she knew Michelle, Andrea had seen her cry only twice. The last time was when Ashley left for college a couple weeks ago. The first time was two years earlier when Michelle discovered that her then forty-one year old husband planned to run off with a twenty-something slut that worked in his office. Andrea provided her with the shoulder to cry on in both instances. “I got the house, he got the dumb bimbo,” Michelle was later able to laugh. “I’d call that a fair deal.” She also later admitted that the problem with their marriage was partly her fault, as she had frankly grown tired of her ex’s sexual demands, which Andrea had found strange. Who gets tired of sex?

Michelle was thrilled by the news of Andrea’s job offer, and invited her over for mid-morning coffee to celebrate. When Andrea came to Michelle’s sliding glass door at the back of the house, she saw Michelle in the kitchen, who waved her in. To Andrea’s surprise, since it was a school day, she saw Brandon sitting on the sofa in the family room adjacent to the kitchen, watching television.

“Hi, working lady!” Michelle greeted Andrea with a big smile and a hug. When Andrea nodded questioningly in the direction of the teenager in the family room, Michelle explained that he was home sick this day. “I swear, I think these kids get sick so they can go to bed and grow three inches. My mother always said that happened to my brother and me.”

Andrea waked over to where the boy sat, wrapped in a bath robe. “Hey, Brandon, how ya doin’?”

The youth looked slowly up at her. He was obviously groggy from the flu and the medications he was taking. That explained, surely, why his eyes seemed to linger on Andrea’s body on their way up to meet her gaze. “Hello, Mrs. Williams. I’m okay.” His eyes then quickly looked away, back to the TV screen. Andrea studied him for a moment. She had known the boy since he was ten, when Mark and she moved into the house next door seven years ago when her own son, Jeremy, was just a baby. Andrea had literally watched Brandon grow up, from the ten year old tyke she first met to the strapping young man he had now become. Over the years, he was frequently over at her house, helping her with chores, being a gofer, watching intently as she cared for her babies, never failing to ask a million questions. Andrea and Michelle had often kidded that Andrea should adopt Brandon since he seemed to spend more of his time at her house anyway. Andrea had always been impressed by how intelligent he was and how much more polite he always seemed to be compared to the average child. He also had always had an uncommon way while growing up of looking her directly in the eye, unlike many children who seemed incapable of maintaining eye contact with an adult. Now she noticed how quickly he looked away. He’s just sick, she thought. She also thought he was beginning to look a lot like his father.

“He’s actually mad at missing school, can you believe it?” Michelle said as she sat their coffee cups on the dinette table. “He’s really become quite the student.”

“Are you playing football again this year?” Andrea asked him. The fact was, in the past two or three years, when he started high school and became involved in a lot of school activities, she saw less and less of him and, after all, he was seventeen now, and kids that age aren’t the same as ten- and eleven- year-olds.

Brandon looked up at her again, but then once again quickly averted his eyes. It was his mother who answered the question: “No. He decided to concentrate on his studies this semester, and then do wrestling in the winter. I’m glad. I was always afraid he would get hurt in football.” Andrea noticed Brandon rolling his eyes, and she smiled.

“He’s quite the wrestler,” Michelle continued when her friend returned to the table.

“He’s so big,” Andrea said. “I saw it this summer when he was mowing our yard. And handsome! My god, the girls at school must be going crazy!”

Michelle laughed. “I hope not too crazy,” she said. “Not over my little boy.” From the sofa, Brandon could be heard moaning in disgust.

“Oh, now he’s little, is he?” Andrea chided her friend, and they both laughed.

“I know,” Michelle said. “My little baby…with guns!” Andrea laughed even more at this, surprised that her older friend was familiar with the younger generation’s slang term for muscular arms. She looked back at the teen on the couch. Yes, she had certainly noticed his arms last summer, on those hot days when he would mow her lawn after mowing the Johns’ grass. Shirtless. Yes, she certainly noticed those arms then, that was for sure.

“Last year he wrestled in the 150 pound division,” Michelle said. Then, speaking to her son on the sofa: “What do you weigh now, Brandon?”

“I don’t know,” came the mumbled reply.

“He’s got to be at least one eighty now. He eats like a horse!”

After a couple minutes more of the two women laughing and talking, young Brandon could take no more and got up from the sofa and announced that it was too noisy for him, that he was going back to bed. “Sure, honey,” Michelle said, not getting up from the table. “I’ll come and give you more Tylenol pretty soon.”

“See ya, Brandon,” Andrea called to him, not failing to notice again how tall and strong he looked, even being sick.

“Want to run together morning?” Michelle asked.

“Sure. Soon as my kids leave for school?”

“Deal.”

*****

Three weeks later, now at work, Andrea’s boss came to her at five till three on a Thursday and asked if she could stay until five to run some special reports for the CEO. Afraid to say no while still so new on the job, Andrea dialed Mrs. Connolly, a widowed lady that lived on her block whom she hired as a babysitter on those rare occasions when she needed one. She panicked when Mrs., Connelly did not answer. Looking at the clock, she knew her children would be home from school in twenty minutes. Frantically, she called Michelle Johns.

“Michelle,” Andrea said after her friend answered on the second ring. “Can you do me a big favor? Let Jeremy and Megan come over to your place until I get home? Probably around five thirty?

“Andrea, sure, but I’ve got a hair appointment in half an hour, but Brandon will be here. He can babysit.”

“Are you sure? He doesn’t mind?”

“No. He loves Jeremy and Megan. As long as you’re by five thirty because he has homework.”

“OK, I’ll be there by then. Thanks, Michelle”

***

Jeremy opened the front door at the Johns house. “Hi, mom!” he said through the screen door. Behind him, from within the house, Andrea heard Megan whooping and hollering. She opened the screen door and entered the house. Jeremy had already run back to where the apparent action was. Andrea followed, and found her two kids in the family room. Brandon Johns was carrying Megan piggy back around the room while she screamed excitedly. Jeremy chased after them, shouting that it was his turn.

When Brandon saw Andrea standing in the entrance to the family room, her hands on her hips, regarding the scene before her in bemusement, he stopped abruptly and looked sheepishly at her. “Giddy up, horsey!” Megan cried.

“Guys”, Andrea called. “Come on. Time to go home. Leave poor Brandon alone! He’s got homework. And so do you guys.”

“Ah, mom, do we have to?” Jeremy protested. “Can we stay? It’s my turn!”

Brandon was already lifting Megan off his shoulders and depositing her on the floor. “No,” Andrea said. “It’s late. Come on.”

Megan ran to her mother. “Can Brandon always babysit us?” she cried excitedly. “ Huh? Pleeese!”

“Yeah,” Jeremy piped in. “We don’t like old Mrs. Connelly!”

Andrea looked at Brandon who was staring at the floor, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t know, honey. I’m sure you’ve worn him out. This might be the last time he’s nice enough to help out.”

Megan ran back to the teenager. “Will you, Brandon? Huh?” The boy rubbed the top of her head, messing her long, blonde hair. “Sure, Megan, any time.”

Andrea stepped toward the teen, opening her purse. “Here, Brandon,” she said, offering him a twenty dollar bill. “Thank you so much. You really helped me out of a spot.”

“No, Mrs. Williams, you don’t need to pay me.“ He continued starring at something apparently very interesting on the floor as he spoke. Andrea noticed that he was perspiring slightly from his chores as a horse.

“No, I insist. You look like they’ve worn you out!” Looking at her two kids, who were now chasing each other around a couch, she added, laughing: “I’m sure you’ve earned double this amount.”

When she turned her head back to look at the teenager, she caught him staring at her breasts. Andrea was immediately aware that her leather jacket was open in front and that the top she was wearing happened to be a somewhat tight one that showcased her natural assets rather nicely. She smiled at the boy. That’s cute, she thought.

Knowing he was caught, the boy jerked his head downward quickly and blushed red, again finding that interesting spot on the floor to look at. Andrea smiled and stepped up to him. Taking his hand, she pressed the twenty dollar bill into his palm. In doing so, it was if an energy bolt reverberated up her arm and then down to her toes, not bypassing a particularly sensitive area of her body on the way. The sensation caused her a micro-second of confusion, and led her to not withdraw her hand from his as quickly as she might have. When she did let go and stepped back, Brandon’s eyes darted to her face before she could replace the smile that had faltered on her lips. His blush deepened even a darker red as he murmured “Thank you, Mrs. Williams.”

“No, thank you, Brandon.” He really is a cutie. “Come on guys, let’s go home.”

“Bye, Brandon,” the two children called out in unison as they headed to the front door.

***

That night, Andrea lay in bed, unable to sleep. The pressures of the day had left her frazzled. The extra hours she had put in at work, and then the effort of getting Jeremy and Megan fed and then overseeing their homework and getting them to bed had made her want nothing more than to fall into bed herself. Mark not being home had added to her stress. He was frequently away on business, and she was used to not having him around, but tonight she really could have used his help.

So, being exhausted, why could she only toss and turn? She needed to sleep, to be able to get up bright and early in the morning. Worrying about that only made it worse. She was unable to get those business reports out of her mind. Her boss—a bitch of a woman, really—had been non-committal when Andrea finally turned them in. That bothered Andrea. She had busted her butt to finish them, and they were perfect. What a bitch. Andrea suspected the woman was banging the President of the company.

Still, sleep would not come. She did not believe in sleeping pills, and therefore had none in her house even if she decided to give them a try. Finally, she gave up, turned the bedside lamp on, and read for a while. Then, she got up and went to the bathroom. On the way back to her bed, she glanced out the window and saw a light on in the Johns’ house next door. It was coming from a window about a hundred feet from her own. She knew it was Brandon’s room. She glanced at her bedside alarm clock. It was midnight. A school night. She looked back at the window next door. Was he studying this late? She felt a sudden pang of guilt: his baby sitting chores had obviously caused him to have to stay up late studying. Michelle had said he was a serious student. She would have to apologize to him. No. He would know then that she watched his window late at night….

Back in bed, the lights out again, Andrea’s eyes remained as wide as nickels. You know why, she said to herself. You know why you can’t sleep! You’re horny, girl!

She stirred restlessly and felt the empty bed beside her. She had talked to Mark on the phone before coming to bed, and wished he were her with her now to…to help her…to do something to her…something that would ease her tension and allow her to sleep. She lifted her head and fluffed the down pillow. Maybe that was what she needed. Or, lacking sleeping pills, perhaps two fingers of Mark’s single malt scotch from the downstairs bar!

She got up again and went to the window. It was twenty past midnight now and there was no longer a light on at the Johns’ house. She was glad.

Again back in bed, Andrea lay on her back under the sheets, her eyes shut. She commanded her mind to drift, to rise and float away…to wherever it would go. And where it went was…only as far as next door. The Johns’ house. Brandon’s house, to be specific. She recalled how the teen had looked at her that afternoon. She recalled the spark she felt when she touched his hand. It must have been static electricity? But…she had also felt the spark in another part of her body, hadn’t she? Her mind wandering, she remembered watching the boy mowing her lawn just a few months ago, in the heat of the summer. She had scolded herself at the time for watching him out her kitchen window for as long as she did, but he had taken his shirt off and, well, somehow the laundry in the washing machine didn’t seem too important at the moment. A little later she had taken iced tea to him. He stopped the mower to take a break, and she stayed to chat with him for more than what would have been considered politely necessary. As she lay now in her bed, two months later, thinking back, she was certain that he had looked at her then in ways similar to how he had looked at her this afternoon. The way he had looked at her three weeks ago when he was sick. He’s not a boy any longer, she decided. In more ways than one, he’s no longer a little boy!!

Andrea stirred and inhaled deeply. Brandon. Yes, she had definitely caught him staring at her breasts earlier that evening. That was so cute. Hmmm. Do you like my breasts, Brandon? Andrea licked her lips in the darkness of her bedroom. Slowly, she allowed her hands to sneak beneath her pajama top and caress her breasts. Do you like them?

Andrea knew these were indecent thoughts. Yes, he is still just a boy! He’s only seventeen, for god’s sake. A minor! I’m twice his age! And, above all, he was her best friend’s son! But…well…this was only a fantasy, right? Nothing wrong with fantasies, is there? Even a fantasy that’s a little…well…naughty? Okay, this is, like, really naughty, but hey, I need to sleep!

Thus assured, Andrea allowed her hands to remain at her breasts. She gently squeezed them, feeling her nipples respond and also feeling a special, delicious warmth in a lower part of her body, as well. Hmmm. Her legs stirred beneath the sheets. Mrs. Williams. She could hear his voice saying her name—a voice well past puberty, and rather deep for a boy his age, but still not a man’s voice. He’s just a boy! Yeah, a really big, strong boy. Mrs. Williams, you don’t have to pay me. No, I insist. Do you like them, Brandon? Do you like my breasts? Yes, he says. Do you want to touch them? she asks. Yes. Then, why don’t you?

Andrea now took—for her—a daring step. Leaving her left hand on a breast, she tentatively sent her right hand slowly trailing down her body. Her thighs parted in anticipation as her hand crept beneath the loose band of her pajama bottom. She had not done this since marriage. But her husband was not here for her tonight. What was she to do? Her parted thighs allowed a finger to find a very delicious spot on her body. Did respectable married women do this? Do mothers do this!?

This mother does! she cried to herself, her self-denial melted away now by the heat she felt from having her finger where it was. She could tell she was wet there.

Touch my breasts, Brandon. I know you want to. You’ve looked at them…so touch them now. The finger between her legs became more aggressive now. Kiss them, Brandon. Kiss Mrs. Wiliams’ breasts, Brandon. She will let you. You know you want to.

As her fantasy progressed, Andrea made herself into a seventeen year old girl who pushes Brandon Johns down on his bed and crawls all over him. Somehow, being seventeen herself makes this…maybe not so perverted? Maybe?

As she heated up, Andrea anxiously took her hands away from what they are doing long enough to push her pajama bottoms down to around her knees. She was finding them to be too confining against her hand. Quickly, the hands returned to the scenes of the action. At her breast, fingers of the left hand caressed and puledl lightly on the hardened nipple. As the palm of her hand brushed lightly against the tip of the nipple, its sensitivity caused her entire body to twitch. As she did this, her right hand reacquainted itself with a certain wet spot between her legs. Meanwhile, the hands of a seventeen year girl reach for the manhood of a seventeen year old boy. He’s huge. Of course he is. Andrea squirmed on the bed, her breathing becoming harder. She impatiently kicked the upper bed sheet off her body, finding it also too restrictive. Anyone equipped with night vision goggles and lucky enough to have been present in Andrea Williams’ bedroom at this moment, would have been treated to the very sensual view of a hot, thirty-four year old woman with her pajama tops pushed up in a bunch around her neck, the bottoms in a heap around her knees, with a wide expanse of female nakedness in between.

The seventeen year old girl now has Brandon’s cock in her hands, but in a flash the girl is banished from the scene. It is me, Brandon! You are going to have me! Not some silly young girl. You’re going to have Mrs. Williams! Andrea had decided that “perverted” would do just fine, thank you!
I am going to be your first woman. You are going to have Mrs. Williams, Brandon. She is twice your age, but you want her, don’t you? I know you want her. I know you want me. You have been watching her. You have been watching me. She is yours, Brandon. You can do whatever you want with Mrs. Williams. Anything, Brandon. Anything at all…

Her orgasm came quickly. It was sweet, profound, and exquisite. She cried aloud as tiny swells of pleasure ripple outward from her core. The fingers of her hands continued to dance and play, one on a breast with a very erect nipple, the other between a pair of thighs that now pressed tightly against that hand, keeping it where it is until the last currents of her orgasm faded away. Her body then relaxed as she sagged back into the mattress and lay still in the darkness, shocked at what she had just done. At what she has just admitted to herself.

The thought of Michelle popped suddenly into her head. “My god, the girls at school must be going crazy!” she had told her friend. “I hope not too crazy,” her friend had replied. “Not over my little boy!” Just as quickly, though, she was able to expel this thought. She rolled over and buried her face in her down pillow. There were two things that she admitted to herself at that moment. The first was that, yes, she had a terrible crush on her neighbor’s teenage son. The second was that the orgasm she had just had was better than the sex she had been having with her husband for at least the past five years! Andrea smiled into her pillow. She felt remarkably guilt free, her unwanted thought of Michelle notwithstanding.

Suddenly there was a timid knock at her bedroom door, startling her. “Yes?” she called out. Slowly, the door creeped open. Andrea never locked her bedroom door. Realizing that she was practically naked—her pajama top around her neck and the bottom around her knees—she frantically reached for the bedsheet and pulled it over her. A nightlight from the hallway created the long shadow of somebody standing in the doorway. “Who is it?” Andrea called.

The person stepped shyly into the room. “It’s me, mommy,” Megan said in her little girl voice. “I can’t sleep. I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?” She padded toward Andrea’s bed while her mother quickly pulled her pajama top down and then struggled in trying to pull the pajama pants up, finding them too tangled to do so. She had to leave them around her knees.

“Sure, sweetie, come here.” Andrea lifted the bedsheet, careful not to expose her naked lower body to her daughter, though the room was so dark, and the girl so groggy, that she would surely not have noticed anyway. Thank you for the timing of this! Thank you, thank you.

Megan cuddled next to her mother who soothingly patted her head. In the reassuring embrace of her mother, the little girl was soon fast asleep. Thanks to her naughty fantasy, Andrea was soon soundly asleep, as well.

***

At the breakfast table the next morning, Megan, after silently eating her cereal, suddenly piped up, as she often did after giving a particular issue some thought. “Isn’t Brandon nice? I like him.”

Andrea wondered if she blushed. “Yes, Megan honey, he’s really nice.”

***

After seeing Jeremy and Megan off at the school bus, Andrea hurried back to her house, ripping off her warm-ups once inside. Underneath she wore her running outfit: tight black compression shorts with a wine red, bare midriff top. It was a beautiful late summer morning, and she looked forward to getting her morning run in before going to work. She paused in the driveway to stretch before taking off, when Michelle, who was standing on her back porch, saw her and called out. Andrea, guilt ridden, panicked as she saw that Michelle was also wearing her running outfit, and was afraid that her friend would ask to join her. Not this morning. She didn’t know if she could look the woman in the eyes whose son—who’s “baby”—she had masturbated to the night before! Or to engage in small talk with her as they jogged.

“Have a good run, sweetie!” Michelle called out in a voice loud enough that Andrea, a hundred feet away, could hear.

That gave Andrea a sigh of relief. “You’re not running this morning?” she called back.

“I went out before fixing breakfast for Brandon. I have to do that these days or I get busy after getting him out the door and I put it off.”

“That’s dedication!” Andrea said.

“Hey, these hot bodies of ours don’t just happen, sweetie!”

Andrea smiled and, with a quick wave to her friend, started off down the street. This day she did have a nice run. The morning was brisk and sunny and she felt great, having had a good night’s sleep. She smiled as she ran, thinking of what had allowed her to get that sleep. She had her shoulder length, dark brown hair back in a ponytail which bounced jauntily as she glided along the roadway, impervious to the middle aged man in a dark Mercedes sedan who slowed down to check her out as he drove past.

***

The day continued on a good note for Andrea. After her run she took an invigoratingly long shower. As steam from the exceedingly hot water filled the bathroom, she carefully shaved in three specific areas on her body. Her husband would be home that evening, ready for her, she knew, and she also knew that he appreciated it when there was not a lot of hair anywhere except on the top of her head.

After the shower, and dressing in Friday casual, it was off to work. Her boss’s boss, a man whom Andrea thought was quite good looking, liked her reports of the previous day very much and let her know it rather enthusiastically, in front of, and much to the chagrin of, her boss. Andrea smiled to herself as she watched out of the corner of her eye as her boss went back into her own office and shut the door without saying a word.

Late that afternoon, Andrea drove with the kids to the airport to pick up Mark. It was great to have her husband home because the kids now showered their full attention on their father and left her mercifully alone. She was able to enjoy a glass of wine and prepare a sumptuous dinner in peace.

Jeremy informed his parents that since it was a Friday night, with no school in the morning, there was no need for them to go to bed at the normal hour. Megan, standing beside her advocate brother, nodded in agreement. Andrea could only smirk when Mark begrudgingly acquiesced to their petition because she knew very well that her husband, after being gone for five days, was rather impatient to take her into their master suite and shut and lock the door behind them.

Being the excellent father that he was, Mark dutifully played with, and read to, the children for another hour and a half. It was when he caught Megan trying to stifle a yawn that he finally scooped the pair up and carried them off to their respective rooms with one under each arm chattering happily.

When that moment finally came for the door to the master suite to shut behind them, the lock in the door had no sooner been turned than Andrea was thrown onto the bed and an eager pair of hands was pulling off her casual Friday jeans. “My, are we quite the gentleman!” she exclaimed, the huskiness in her voice belying the mock indignity that she attempted to affect. Her legs hung over the foot of the bed and her husband now stepped between them. Andrea shrieked, as her panties became the next thing to be roughly pulled down her legs and removed. Then she giggled and lie back on the bed and her husband’s face was between her legs, tasting her there, noting with approval that a careful shaving of pubic hair had been recently performed. Andrea grabbed for the hair on either side of her husband’s head and tried to control it, but the hair was too short for her to get a good grip, and she wasn’t going to control anything anyway so she gave up and tossed her arms above her head, the hands plopping to the mattress while her husband’s tongue had its way with her.

Andrea knew she could not scream out loud for fear she would awaken her children. She grabbed a pillow and pulled it over her face and screamed into it. Her thighs, firmly conditioned from miles of running, pressed against her husband’s head in the fashion of a giant nut cracker while her body writhed on the mattress like a slow moving snake. Mark, kneeling on the floor at the foot of their bed, held the cheeks of her ass while he ate her sex, never coming up for air for several long minutes. Gradually, Andrea’s screams morphed into constant little pig squeals muffled by the pillow.

When at last he pulled his face away from the juncture of her legs, Andrea moaned in protest from beneath the pillow. She had been on the verge of climax, and now this was going to be denied her? No! She remained on her back, her thighs parted, her legs, from the knees down, dangling off the foot of the bed. Restless, she shifted impatiently. Waiting….

With the pillow still covering her head, Andrea could hear the zipper of her husband’s pants and stirred in anticipation. As he hastily removed his clothes, Mark looked down upon the heavenly vision of his hot cougar wife, naked from below the hem of her business casual blouse that had ridden up past her belly button. While he was taking off his shirt, he decided that he would leave Andrea’s blouse on her. This vision of her half naked body, in tandem with the erotic way in which her head remained hidden by the pillow, added firmness to an already stiff erection.

Andrea felt him come onto the bed. She allowed him to push her body more into the middle of the bed so that her legs were no longer dangling off the edge. She reached to remove the pillow from her face but Mark’s hands caught hers. “No!” he commanded. “Leave it there. You’re being raped.”

Andrea affected protest as her husband kicked apart her thighs and mounted her. “No!” she cried, but her voice was smothered by the pillow and at that moment her husband’s penis entered her. Her body jerked in reaction to his filling her in this fashion.

“It’s not me fucking you, Andrea,” he hissed as he began doing precisely what he said he wasn’t. “It’s someone else. Someone else is doing you.” His penis went in and out of her and she met his thrusts with her own. “Think of who it is, baby. Who do you want this to be? Who is doing you? Who is he?”

Andrea, to her surprise, rapidly became turned on even further by this role play. And it did not take her long to latch on to a make believe partner. As her husband made passionate love to her, the image popped vividly into her brain of a hot young teenager mowing her lawn and looking at her breasts and drinking her iced tea and looking at her breasts some more and touching her now through her Friday casual blouse and the captivating Victoria’s Secret bra beneath it, and even kissing her now and fondling her ever more aggressively because what red blooded teenage boy is not mesmerized by a Victoria’s Secret bra and now he is actually fucking her with his huge insatiable teenage stud cock and feeling her breasts through the blouse and bra while he does so and when she explodes in orgasm she tears the pillow from her face because she cannot breath in enough air with the pillow there but with the pillow off she can and now her chest rocks and rolls beneath her Friday casual blouse and the bra that had recently mesmerized a certain teenage boy as she takes in copious amounts of wonderful air in huge gulps and her husband is still fucking her and he watches her and realizes how hot she is in more ways than one and this causes him to release his semen into her and she feels it shooting inside her body and she screams when she feels this and it doesn’t matter if the children hear her because she has not been fucked this well for a long time and now she collapses back onto the mattress and so does her husband whose full weight falls on top of her and crushes her until she successfully wiggles out from beneath him and pushes his dead weight off her and then stares up at the ceiling and she can see the ceiling because the bedroom lights were never turned off and she thinks to herself oh my god what was that, what in the love of god was that?

***

The delicious smell of an apple pie baking in the oven wafted throughout the kitchen. The pie was a recipe handed down to Andrea from her mother-in-law, and Mark had always said that Andrea’s were every bit as good as those his mother used to make.

Mark was reading the morning paper at the breakfast table. He had fifteen minutes before needing to drop Megan off at swimming class and then taking Jeremy to soccer practice where Mark was an assistant coach. The kids were ready to go and were waiting in the family room, watching cartoons on TV. Andrea, who was wearing skintight, black running shorts with a yellow tank top and warm-up jacket that matched her yellow running shoes, poured her second cup of coffee and sat at the table. She was planning to go for her morning run once her brood was out of the house. On Saturday mornings, when she had more time than on weekdays, she usually did 10Ks.

From behind his newspaper, Mark asked, “So, who was he?”

“Who was who?”

Mark turned the page of his newspaper without lowering it. “The man who made you come like a machine gun last night. You obviously were very attracted to him.”

“I’m not going to tell you!” Andrea exclaimed.

Mark put down his paper and looked at his wife over the upper rim of his reading glasses. Andrea hated when he did that, and scolded him. “Don’t look at me like that, over your glasses. That’s what old people do!”

“Was I ‘old’ last night?”

Andrea started to say something, took a deep breath, and merely said “no” in a weak voice.

Mark grinned. “So, he was he?”

“I said I’m not going to tell you!”

“I’ll tell you who I was fucking,” he said. He said this in a very low voice that would not carry into the next room where the children were. Andrea got up to reheat her coffee in the microwave. She was not certain she wanted to hear this. “The stewardess on my plane yesterday,” he continued. “She was a real hottie. And flirtatious. I’ll tell you, most of the stewardesses these days are old cows with no personality.”

Andrea returned to the table and picked up a section of the newspaper. “But I’ll tell you what,” Mark continued, “when you took that pillow off your head, and I saw you there, it was you, baby. It was you all the way from there!”

Andrea smiled and stared at her coffee cup. She felt a pang of guilt. She had achieved her best orgasm in memory while fantasizing the entire time about someone other than her husband, someone who lived quite near, someone who was quite young….

“So…?” he asked, looking at his wife with a sly smile. It shook Andrea from her momentary day dream and she looked at her husband quizzically. He repeated his question: “Who was he?”

“Okay,” Andrea said, exasperated. “It was Brad Pitt, okay?!”

“Brad Pitt!” Mark exclaimed. “Come on, Andrea, that’s so…unimaginative!”

Andrea meekly sipped her coffee and then nearly spit it out, for suddenly, standing at the glass door to the back patio, was Brandon Johns, holding a large package.

Mark got up and went to the patio door and opened it. “Hello, Brandon,” he greeted the boy. “What’s ya got there?”

“This package for you guys was delivered to our house by mistake.”

“Oh, it must be some stuff I ordered on line,” Andrea said as she got up from the table. Mark stood aside to let the boy come into the kitchen. “Just set it on the counter, Brandon,” Andrea said. “Thank you so much.”

Andrea then puttered nervously about the kitchen as her husband began to chatter amiably with the teen. Stealing a glance at Brandon at one moment, she was impressed by how the boy stood erect as he spoke, his shoulders back, his eyes confidently regarding her husband. The two men I had sex with last night! This thought popped into her head out of the blue and she turned away from them, not certain what kind of expression she had on her face.

The two of them covered all the male bases in two minutes: sports, cars, women, and then sports again. Pretending not to pay attention as she checked on the apple pie in the oven, Andrea’s ears picked up when Brandon said at one point, in answer to a question, that, no, he didn’t have a girlfriend.

“Well,” Mark said finally, looking at his watch, “I’ve got to get the kids going. Nice seeing you, Brandon.”

“Yes, Mr. Williams, nice seeing you, too.”

Mark walked toward the family room to gather up Jeremy and Megan. Brandon turned to leave.

“Brandon,” Andrea said. “Why don’t you stay and have some apple pie. You always loved my apple pies. I’m taking it out of the oven right now.”

The boy hesitated. “Come on,” Andrea insisted, pulling back a chair from the kitchen table and flashing him a big smile. “Just like old times.”

“Well…okay,” he said, although in a very tentative voice.

“Do you drink coffee?” Andrea asked this question after her husband and kids made their noisy departure and the house was quiet now and Brandon was sitting at the table with a fresh slice of apple pie before him. Steam rose steadily from the pie as he waited for it to cool.

“Yes,” he said. “With cream.”

“Brandon Johns drinking coffee,” Andrea said amusedly as she poured some into a cup. “You are getting to be quite the young man. But I suppose you’re getting tired of hearing that all the time.” She then joined him at the table with a slice of pie herself—a very slender one, since she was going to take off on her run shortly.

“Brandon, we used to be best buds, but I hardly see you anymore.” She paused after taking a bite of pie, wincing because it was still really too hot to eat. “I guess our lives get busier as we get older, huh?” When he didn’t respond, Andrea looked up at him and was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“Brandon! What’s the matter?”

“I…” he started to say, but his voice faltered.

Andrea pulled her chair next to his and put her arms around the boy’s shoulders. “Brandon, what is it? Tell me. We’re buds, remember?”

Tears were flowing down the boy’s cheeks by now. His body trembled in her arms. Between sobs, the boy spoke. “I…seeing…Mr. Williams…with Jeremy and Megan…going places…I miss my dad.…”

Andrea’s mouth dropped. She had always wondered what effect the divorce of the boy’s parents had on him. As far as she was always able to tell, it had had no effect. At least, he never outwardly expressed any emotional damage. But of course, outward expressions mean nothing!

“Why did he have to leave us!?” the boy cried.

Scooting closer to the teen, Andrea hugged him tighter. “You poor guy,” she said. “I know it must be hard on you.” She wiped his tears with her fingers. He leaned over and buried his face on her shoulder and cried. Your mother cried on my shoulder like this when it first happened, she thought. Now it’s your turn.

Andrea did not know what else to say. What could she say? Doing the only thing her instinct told her, she gently kissed the boy’s cheek, tasting his tears. She hugged him tighter still. “It’s okay, Brandon. It’s okay to cry.”

The boy lifted his head, shook it, and then landed it on Andrea’s other shoulder. Their mouths brushed as he did this. Andrea now kissed his other cheek tenderly. As he cried, he leaned into her. The pressure of this caused Andrea’s chair to push out from beneath her. She would have fallen to the floor had she not been holding onto him, hugging him, his shoulders now supporting her. When she slipped, their mouths lightly brushed a second time and then, as she attempted to press her cheek to his, the boy’s head twisted suddenly and their mouths again touched quite by chance. Andrea quickly averted this contact but it was only for a second because their mouths found each other’s yet again only this time it was not by accident and this time there was no pulling away. There was instead this time the parting of lips and the pressing together of open mouths and this time they stayed together.

Brandon’s sobs were effectively extinguished in his throat as they kissed. Andrea grasped the boy by the back of his head and ran her fingers madly through his hair as she pulled his face against hers. Having already fallen off her chair, she needed only to shift her body slightly until she was essentially on the boy’s lap, facing him, her legs straddling his. Their kiss continued. Andrea knew this was wrong and the fact that her heart had never beat this wildly from kissing anybody in her entire life didn’t make it right. As she felt the meeting of their tongues, her conscience told her that a married, thirty-four year old adult woman should know better than this, should not be passionately kissing a seventeen year-old boy, and she knew she must stop this insanity at once and she was about to marshal the will power to stop it but then she felt Brandon’s hands grasping her buttocks through her running shorts as her bare legs straddled him and she was now helpless to stop anything at this point and instead kissed the boy more wildly than ever, moaning into his open mouth from the feel of his strong fingers kneading her ass through the ultra-thin material of her skintight shorts.

Brandon rose from his chair, holding Andrea by her buttocks, lifting her with him. Her shorts were so tight, so much like a second skin, that it was almost as if she was wearing nothing. She shimmied upward, wrapping her bare legs around his body as he stood and then threw her arms over his shoulders, their mouths never losing contact. Aside from the kiss itself, and the wrongness of it and the feel of his hands on her body, two other things excited her at this moment. One was the raw strength that the teen exhibited as he lifted and held as if she were the child. The other thing exciting her was the erection which she felt through his jeans as it pressed against her widespread crotch, and she tightened her hold on him with her legs wrapped around his waist. Little Brandon, who as a curious ten-year-old would watch her bake cookies, who as an eleven-year old would show her frogs that he caught in the back yard, and who as a fourteen-year-old would ask her for advise on acne, was now a seventeen-year receiving her tongue into his mouth and pressing his hard-on against the junction of her opened thighs.

At long last their faces pulled apart and their eyes locked, both of them panting more than just breathing. Andrea, mad with a wild, carnal lust that she could not comprehend, wished desperately that the boy would pull her shorts off and fuck her right there on top of her breakfast table. But as she gazed into his eyes she saw a combination of competing emotions. There was desire there, certainly, but there was also fear and confusion and she realized suddenly that he was only seventeen after all and he was not ready for this and she was abruptly ashamed of herself because she was a trusted adult who was supposed to be consoling him for the pain he felt at the divorce of his parents and here she was a child-molesting predator. Shocked and sorry, Andrea loosened her legs from around the boy’s waist and he let go off her and her feet hit the floor but her legs were jelly and she spun slowly like a top onto the floor, landing in a sitting position at the boy’s feet. She looked up at him as he took a tentative step backward. He looked like he was going to cry again.

“I…I have to go,” he mumbled. He turned and rushed toward the door.

“Brandon!” she called after him. “Brandon, I’m sorry…”, but he was out the door and gone.

***

For a long while Andrea remained sitting in a daze on her kitchen floor in her running outfit, her legs crossed in yoga style, her face buried in her hands, wondering what she had done. Would he tell his mother what happened? That thought paralyzed her. What was I doing?

She eventually found enough renewed strength in her legs to stand. She leaned against the sink and ran a hand through her hair as she surveyed the kitchen. She noticed that the chair in which she had been sitting had been knocked over. Two plates of untouched apple pie and two cups of mostly cold coffee remained on the breakfast table.

***

By early afternoon Mark was back with the kids and Andrea had lunch ready for them. Mark gave her a peck on the cheek as he came into the kitchen. “How was soccer practice?” she asked him, unaware that she was running a hand through her hair as she asked the question.

Mark looked at her with narrowed eyes. He knew his wife quite well and knew that when she ran her hand through her hair it was because she was nervous about something. “Practice was fine. What’s wrong with you?”

His question caught her off guard and she flushed. “Huh? Nothing, why?” Nothing other than while you were out being an exemplary father I had cheating on my mind!

To her relief, Mark did not pursue his questioning. Instead he asked her how her run was. She was now dressed in jeans and a blouse.

“Oh, I didn’t feel like going,” she said, and that was definitely the truth. Since Brandon left, she had been lost in a strange, unfamiliar funk.

Mark nodded, picked up his plate of lunch and took it into the family room to watch a college football game on TV. Jeremy joined him. Andrea sat at the kitchen table with Megan to eat.

Andrea took Megan shopping in the afternoon. All during their outing, Andrea became more and more nervous about her encounter with Brandon. What if he does tell his mother? She almost ran a red light and hit another car when that thought came around to hit her again. Well, I can always say Brandon is an impressionable boy and that quite frankly he’s just imagining a bunch of stuff.

That evening she and her daughter were busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. As a six year old, Megan wasn’t really a lot of help, but Andrea was very pleased with her for wanting to help, and gave her some uncritical chores to do to keep her interested and encouraged. In the middle of preparing a chicken casserole, Andrea was beating eggs in a bowl when her cell phone rang. She carried the bowl and continued beating the eggs as she walked to where her phone was resting on a counter to check the caller ID. She saw the ID by the third ring and froze in mid stroke with the egg beater, which fell from her hand into the bowl. She needed to have a hand free so that she could run it through her hair. The phone rang a fourth time and then a fifth as Andrea stood there indecisively. Mark called from the family room to ask if she was going to answer it.

Tentatively, she picked up the phone and hit the green icon. “Hi, Michelle.” She meant her voice to be light, cheery, upbeat, but was afraid as soon as she spoke that she had been unsuccessful. She could hear the fear in her own voice.

“It’s Brandon.” The voice on the other end was soft, almost as fear laden as her own had been.

Andrea gasped. She glanced at her daughter and saw that the girl was looking at her. She turned and walked quickly toward the door leading to the garage, out of earshot of her curious daughter. “Brandon!” she whispered hoarsely into the phone. “What is it?”

The voice on the other end was tentative. “I…I just wanted to say…”

Andrea waited a long moment for him to finish his sentence. When he did not, she prompted him: “Say what, Brandon?”

“I…I liked what we did….”

Andrea gasped for a second time. She looked around furtively to make sure that no one was within earshot, then turned again with her back to the kitchen.

“Brandon…” she said, but her voice trailed off. Her knees had gone weak on her. She had spent the entire afternoon relentlessly scolding herself for being such a bad person and swearing that she would never again make such a foolish mistake as she had that morning with her neighbor’s teenage son, but suddenly all of that resolve melted like a handful of snow in hell. “I did too, Brandon.” Her voice was but a whisper into the phone. There was then a long, pregnant pause on the line, at last broken by the woman: “Would you…” she started to say, but paused to look around once again to make sure she was alone, something that in her household was often difficult to be. “Would you…like to do it again?” Her heart pounded in her chest as she said it.

After the briefest of hesitations, the boy spoke. “Yes.”

Andrea had to support herself by holding on to the wall. What was there about this seventeen-year-old boy that enthralled her so? “Me, too, Brandon. Listen, I can’t talk now. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Brandon, this is our little secret, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

But then paranoia struck and caused Andrea to freeze. Could it be that he was recording the call as proof that she had molested him? Could Michelle be listening on the other line? Andrea’s hand raced through her hair. Frantically, she repeated in her head the specifics of what they had just said. The teen had never used the word “kiss”. Surely he would have used that word if he had been trying to document evidence of what they had done that morning. Wouldn’t he? But then, she had mentioned their “secret”. That didn’t sound innocent at all, did it?

“Brandon, I want to help you…about your feelings. About your dad.” She thought it best, in case she was being recorded, to steer the conversation in this direction. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Brandon…” she started to say, but then decided she had said enough. Her hair was a mess from her hands running through it. “Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure. I’d like that.”

Andrea hit the red icon on her phone but stood holding it for a long time. No. Brandon’s not the type who would do that to me. He’s not!

From behind her came the call of her neglected daughter. “Mommy!” Andrea turned and went back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

***

They had just gotten into bed and Andrea was hoping that Mark did not want sex this night. Her mixed feelings of excitement and concern over Brandon’s phone call had left her very nervous and exhausted, and she was not in the mood for anything but sleep. That is why she wore her pajama bottoms to bed this evening. They were something she normally only wore at night when Mark was traveling, preferring to sleep naked from the waist down when he was home because they both liked to feel each other’s bare legs as they slept. When she wanted to avoid the potential for sex, however, she would put on the pajama bottoms. They were what she called her “tiger protection”. Mark, obviously, had caught on to the trick years ago. Most nights when Andrea wore the “tiger protection”, he would respect her wishes and leave her alone. Once in a while, though, he wouldn’t. On those occasions, their unspoken agreement was that he if he really wanted her, he could take her. He could use her body. She would not object, but neither would she respond. Her husband would simply pull her pajama bottom off her in the dark and fuck her unresponsive body until he was finished, and then he would roll over and go to sleep.

That was precisely what happened on this evening. When he was done, Andrea remained on her back staring at the ceiling in the dark, thinking of Brandon. She continued to be excited and yet concerned simultaneously. Excited by the possibility that she might get to know Brandon a lot better, yet concerned that the boy may have set a trap for her. Also, she had to admit that the fucking her husband had just given her had aroused her more than her unresponsiveness might have indicated. Unable to sleep, she recalled her remedy from two nights previous and slowly allowed her hand to go there. Mark had removed her pajama bottom, so there was no clothing obstruction to contend with. She closed her eyes and touched herself and knew immediately that she could make herself come quite easily.

Andrea stuck a finger into her vagina and withdrew some of her husband’s semen. She spread the semen over her clitoris as a lubricant and began to stimulate herself. She is straddling Brandon’s legs as he sits on a chair in her kitchen. She is wearing her tight fitting sports bra that showcases her breasts nicely, and black, skintight compression shorts, but ones with a convenient three inch diameter hole sown in the crotch. (It was her fantasy, and the compression shorts could have that hole there if she wanted it.) She could hear the gentle breathing of her husband beside her in the dark. Brandon then stands and lays her out on her back on the breakfast table with her bare legs dangling over the edge. She quickly brings her feet to the table top, her heels lose to her buttocks, her knees in the air and spread wide to show Brandon that a hole is very strategically located in her shorts and that she is ready for him, he will not have to bother with ripping off her shorts. She anxiously watches as her teen stud withdraws his cock from the fly of his jeans. See sees it stand at attention between them, thrillingly close to the hole in the crotch of her compression shorts. The virile young teen steps to the table and guides his swollen cock through the hole of the compression shorts. Their eyes lock, then Brandon, knowing that he has full permission from this adult woman, thrusts his pelvis violently forward, sending his seventeen-year-old manhood into her, feeling for the first time in his young life the sensation of his cock buried inside a woman. Andrea orgasms and whimpers softly, controlling herself lest she awaken her husband sleeping beside her in the quiet dark of the bedroom.

***

The next morning, Sunday, Andrea awoke early and could not go back to sleep. Quiet so as not to awaken Mark, she stole into the bathroom, shut the door, and took a long, hot shower. Her pussy smelled of the sex she had had at bedtime, and she wanted to get squeaky. After toweling off, she sliped into a bathrobe, with nothing on underneath.

Downstairs she made coffee and stared out the kitchen window in the early morning light toward the Johns’ house next door. Her nerves were frazzled and she needed to know what Michelle knew, if anything. She looked at her watch and saw that it is 6:30. She wanted to call Michelle—she would make up some excuse for the call—but it was much too early. She ran a hand through her hair.

A couple minutes later she saw Michelle coming out her back porch in her running outfit. Taking a last gulp of coffee, Andrea ran out her patio door, dressed only in her bathrobe, and sped across the lawn barefoot to Michelle’s driveway. Her heart was in her throat. Does Michelle know? Has she already called the police about me? She would be able to tell just by looking at her face of her best friend, a woman she had known so well for so many years. If the woman knew that Andrea had taken indecent liberties with her teenage son, it would show on her face. Andrea needed to know immediately. She could not bear the dear of uncertainly another moment.

“Hi, Andrea, what’s up?” Michelle called out as she saw her friend coming hurriedly toward her.

Think fast. Why did I come here? “I’m glad I caught you,” Andrea gasped. She tried to smile, but the fear she felt probably made it a twisted one. “I…I need to borrow some coffee before Mark wakes up. We’re all out.”

A look of concern had come over Michelle’s face, believing that something serious had caused her friend to rush over like that. The look changed quickly to a broad, radiant smile. “Thank god!” she exclaimed. “The way you were running, I thought something bad was happening!”

She does not know! Hallelujah! The relief that Andrea experienced at this was overwhelming. She took a deep breath, partly due to the thirty yard sprint she had just made, but mostly due to her great relief that her worst fear had been lifted from her shoulders. Her own smile now became a genuine one. In fact, she was laughing as she clasped her friend’s arm. “Something bad would happen if Mark wakes up and there’s no coffee!” Andrea says, and both women laughed at that.

“Sure, sweetie, go in and help yourself.” She glanced at her wrist watch. “I’ve got to get going. I’m doing an hour run this morning and I want to get back before Brandon wakes up. The coffee’s in the upper cabinet to the left of the sink. Take the whole can, it’s pretty low, anyway.”

“Thanks, Michelle.”

“Just pull the door shut when you leave. I don’t bother locking it anymore. Such a nice neighborhood,” she laughed.

“Will do,” Andrea said, and watched her friend as she took off running down the street. She marveled at how great her friend looked for a woman her age, or any age for that matter. She had really gotten into running after the divorce, and the results were fantastic. She had recently asked Michelle how her love life was going (had she tried harmony.com?), but her friend didn’t open up much on that subject. Andrea and Mark had racked their brains trying to think of some guy they could introduce her to, but everyone they knew was either married, gay, fat, or had bad personal hygiene.

Andrea waited until Michelle was out of sight and then began to turn and head back to her house, but stopped in her tracks after a few steps. Hmmm, I’d better go ahead and take the coffee can. She’ll wonder why I didn’t. She turned and went to the back porch door of her friend’s house and went inside. She found the coffee right where Michelle said it would be, and then turned to leave. As her hand touched the door knob, she paused. A thought had popped into her head. The thought of a strong, beautiful, teenage boy…asleep just upstairs. They were all alone in the big house. His mother wouldn’t be back for an hour.

The house was deathly quiet as Andrea stood just inside the door, weighing the situation, the coffee can in her hand. She could hear the ticking of a wall mounted clock in the kitchen. She ran her fingers through her hair. What she was contemplating sent a quiver of excitement through her veins. She glanced through the glass door at her own house, and judged that nobody there would be awake for another half hour at the least. She set the coffee can down on a table and very stealthily walked in her bare feet to the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms. She paused at the foot of the stairs and looked up the carpeted staircase. The upstairs hallway was dark. She put her bare foot on the first step leading up.

***

Slowly, soundlessly, Andrea took the stairs one careful step at a time. She was a predator feline stalking a prey. Half way up the staircase her bathrobe fell open in the front, revealing her well-toned thirty-four-year-old body. She closed the robe and pulled the sash tighter around her waist as she continued stealthily up the carpeted stairs.
Gaining the second floor, Andrea looked to her right, which she knew was Michelle’s master bedroom. She has been there before on several occasions over the years when visiting her neighbor. She now looked to her left and saw three doors. Two of them were open. One was to a bathroom. Andrea moved silently past that door and peered into the room of the second opened door. What she saw told her that that had been Ashley’s room before she left for college. It reminded her of how Michelle had cried when Ashley left. But a cat on the prowl had no time for maudlin remembrances. She moved on. To the thid door. The closed door.

Her hand carefully touched the knob. What if it’s locked? Boys often lock their bedroom doors, don’t they? You never know when your mother might decide to come in.

The knob turned in her hand. Andrea took a deep breath. The predator was nervous. Wasn’t it the prey who was supposed to be the nervous one? Her heart racing, she slowly pushed the door inward, lifting up on the knob slightly to keep the weight of the door off the hinges and reduce the possibility of a squeak. With the door ajar just enough, Andrea slipped silently into the room. There was a good amount of morning light coming in through the window and she immediately saw what she has hoped to see on the bed. He was there. He was asleep, his breathing soft and regular. He could have been on a sleep over at a friend’s, but he wasn’t. He was here. And now, so was Andrea.

She tiptoed into the middle of the teen’s bedroom, looking around carefully. Not a terribly un-kept room, she thought, considering it belonged to a seventeen-year-old boy. Standing five feet from his bed, she looked fondly at his tousled dark blond hair. Her instinct was to go run her fingers through that hair. But she remained standing where she was, and ran fingers through her own hair, instead. Surveying the bedroom again, she glanced out the window and saw her house across the way. In fact, she saw the window to her own bedroom quite clearly. She remembered seeing from her bedroom window the other night that the light was on in this very room.

Softy, she called the boy’s name. When he did not respond, she called a second and then a third time, each time a little louder. “Wake up, Brandon,” she now said in a firm, loud voice, and the boy’s eyes blinked and then opened wide and he was looking straight at her but she knew that what he was seeing was not registering with his brain, not until he gave a start and lifted his head off his pillow. “What the…” he cried, his eyes heavy and blinking from sleep. “Mrs. Williams?” His voice was laden with incredulity.

“Yes, Brandon. You’re not dreaming.” She smiled at him but was not sure that he has totally focused yet. “I have some questions for you. Brandon.”

The boy scooted up into a sitting position against the headboard of his single bed, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing a white t-shirt. He kept his sheets pulled up to his waist. Andrea couldn’t tell if he was wearing anything below the waist.

“Are you a virgin, Brandon?”

“What?” comes the groggy response.

“Have you had sex with a girl yet?

“What!? Why…?”

“Just answer my question, Brandon. “I know you want to have sex with me, so I need to know something about your previous sex life. If there is one. So…are you a virgin?”

“Mrs. Williams, how did you get in here? Where’s my mom?”

Andrea rolled her eyes as if in exasperation. “Your mom is out running and she let me in before she left. Now listen, Brandon, you have to answer my questions. I don’t have all day.” Andrea walked to the bed and sat on the edge, taking care that her bathroom did not open and expose her nakedness. She reached out and placed a hand on the boy’s knee through the sheet.

“You do want to have sex with me, don’t you, Brandon? I can tell by the way you look at me. I can tell by the way you kissed me yesterday. Can I be vulgar? You want to fuck me. We both know it.”

Brandon looked at the woman in total disbelief. She laughed. “You’re not dreaming, Bran. I told you that.” She playfully pinches the front of his thigh through the sheet, just above the knee. “Did you feel that? If so, then you’re not dreaming.” Her head is bowed, and she looks at him carefully with her eyes at the tops of their sockets. She slowly runs her hand up his thigh.

“Am I jumping to conclusions?” she asked him. “You told me on the phone last night that you liked kissing me, remember? And you were kissing me like you wanted to fuck me. Do you remember?”

If she did not maintain total eye contact with him, he might not have responded to this question, but since she did maintain it, he had no choice but to answer, though he did so, not verbally, but with a slow nod. The woman’s hand traveled further up his leg. Seeing a bulge beneath the sheets at the juncture of his legs, she smiled and her hand went there and seized the bulge. He gasped, his face now a ruddy red. Andrea was aware that the top part of her bathrobe stubbornly refuses to stay discreetly closed, but paid it no mind. Brandon, however, now fully awake, was paying attention. He could not help but see the way the robe had parted, allowing him a view of the beginning upper swells of her breasts. He paid even greater attention to the fact that his growing hard-on was now in the woman’s hand. The fact that there was a bed sheet between the hand and the hard-on was an insignificant detail for the red blooded young man.

“My, are we hard this morning!” Andrea marveled as she wrapped her finger’s around the boy’s still growing member. “Now Bran,” she continues, eyeing him coyly as she holds his cock through the white sheet, “answer me. I know that a lot of high school hotties must be panting after you. As a married woman, if I’m going to let you fuck me, I need to know if you’ve engaged in unprotected sex with any of those little hotties.” She gave his hard cock a squeeze as she said this. “Because when I have sex, I like the unprotected kind.”

The teen turns redder still and mumbles “No…I haven’t”.

“Good. Then I’m going to be your first woman.” She smiled at him. “I like that.” Her hand, working through the bed sheet, began to go up and down on the boy’s stiff penis. “They say a man always remembers his first time. I’m sure that will be the case with you.” Rubbing his manhood slowly, Andrea did not take her eyes of his. The boy licked his lips nervously, but seemed to relax a little, settling back onto the head board of the bed.

Andrea abruptly stood. The boy’s hard penis remained at attention, the bed sheet like a tent and his cock the tent pole holding it up. This amused Andrea. “I have another important question for you Brandon,” she said as she stood over him, looking down.

“What?” His voice is weak.

“I need to know that you can keep a secret.” She glared at him and he nodded quickly. “I mean it, Brandon. This has to be our secret. You can’t go bragging to your friends that you’re banging some hot cougar, do you understand?

“Uh huh.”

“Do you understand!?” She nearly shouted this at him.

“Yes!”

Andrea turned and walked slowly to the middle of the room, then turned back to face the teen. He did not move a muscle save for those that controlled his eyes, which had followed her like those of a puppy. In a calmer voice, she said: “There’re big reasons for secrecy, Brandon. This could wreck my marriage if it got out. Not only that, you’re seventeen and I could go to jail. If you can’t keep your mouth shut, that’s a deal breaker.”

The boy swallowed hard. “I know.”

Andrea regarded him carefully. “You see, Bran, I’ve always played with fire. Ever since I was a little girl. I was always fascinated with danger. I did all kinds of wild stuff. When I was sixteen—younger than you—I seduced the husband of a woman that I babysat for. I rode motorcycles when I was old enough to get my license. But then, when I got married and had kids, I guess I kind of got…conservative, you could say. I’ve lived in the same damn house for nearly ten years for god’s sake. I’ve realized lately I’m bored without fire and…well…you’ve really inspired my wild side again. You represent that fire for me, Brandon. Forbidden fruit.” Andrea paused to lick her lip. “I guess my parents should have named me Eve, because I absolutely love forbidden fruit. And you, sweetie, are about as forbidden as it gets.”

When Andrea paused, there was a long silence in the room. Brandon finally broke the silence. “I won’t…I won’t tell anybody.” He licked his lips eagerly. “I swear.”

Andrea smiled. “Good. Look sweetie, I wish I could fuck you right now, but we don’t have time. Anyway, I want our first time to be more special than just me barging in on you all unexpected like this. We’ll have to plan it. When my husband’s out of town and we’ll have plenty of time.” She laughed when she saw a flicker of disappointment on the boy’s face. “Don’t worry, sweetie, it won’t be long. He travels a lot. You’ll have me soon enough.”

A wicked smile then played across her lips. “In the meantime,” she purred, “I want you to have something to remember me by.” With that, Andrea pulled open her bathrobe, exposing her full frontal nudity to the young teen, whose breathing stopped short. Had this been a cartoon, his eyes would have popped out of their sockets. “Have you at least gotten any of those high school hotties naked?” she asked softly. When the boy, his mouth agape, slowly shook his head no, she continued. “Well then, this is what a woman’s body looks like, Bran.” She cupped a breast in her hand. “You couldn’t take your eyes off my breasts the other night, could you, you naughty little boy? And I was wearing clothes then. So…how do you like them now that I don’t have any clothes?”

The teen was completely incapable of speech. Andrea did the talking. “That’s okay, it was a rhetorical question.” She smiled at him sweetly. “I want you to be thinking of me this week, Bran. When you wake up in the mornings. When you’re at school. In the evenings. I want you thinking of this.” After holding the top of her robe open for a few more seconds, she slowly closed it and tied the sash in front.

“Gotta go, Bran,” she said breezily and turned and was at the door. She opened it, then spun back around to face the boy, who was still sitting up in his bed, paralyzed. She looked him in the eyes. “The next time I touch your cock there won’t be any bed sheet in the way.” She smiled again and winked at him, and started out the door, then turned yet again. “Oh, and, feel free to masturbate to me, honey. Whatever anyone’s told you, it really doesn’t cause blindness.” She then stepped into the hallway and silently shut the boy’s bedroom door behind her.

On her way out of the house, she remembered to take the can of coffee with her.

PART TWO

Over the course of the next two weeks, Andrea received three outstanding pieces of news. The first came at her job, where she learned that her boss had been fired. With that came the boss’s boss’s offer for Andrea to take the now vacated position. This flattered Andrea, and it didn’t matter that part of the man’s interest in her had more to do than just with her ability to do her job well. But she had to decline the honor due to her commitment to her children. She was not about to be the type of mother who was not there for her kids when they came home from school. She knew that some women had no choice, that they needed full time jobs. But Andrea and Mark didn’t need the money. So no, she would not take on additional hours. She was just happy that she was rid of her bitch boss, and hoped that her replacement would be a better person.

The second piece of extraordinary news came when Mark announced that he was leaving on a two week business trip the following week. He would be gone the entire weekend in between. Andrea’s thoughts drifted to her neighbor’s teenage son even as she told her husband how much she would miss him.

The final piece of news—and its timing—was almost too astonishing to believe. Michelle called her one evening to tell her that she was going to spend a weekend with her daughter Ashley at her university, and asked Andrea if she would keep an eye on Brandon so that he didn’t throw any wild parties while she was gone. The unbelievable part: the weekend that she would be gone just happened to coincide with the very same weekend that Mark would be away. One couldn’t make this up, Andrea thought while still on the phone with Michelle.

***

It was a Friday late afternoon, the beginning of the weekend when Mark and Michelle were out of town. The doorbell to the Williams’ home was rung. Jeremy, with his usual exuberance, raced to answer it. Opening the door and seeing who was standing there, the boy turned and yelled to his mother. He wasn’t sure exactly where his mother was but figured she had to be in the house somewhere and that if he yelled loud enough she would hear him. “Mom! Mrs. Connelly is here!”

When Jeremy and Megan had been told that mommy would be out this night and that Mrs. Connelly would be babysitting, they both exclaimed that they wanted Brandon to babysit. Andrea had to tell them more than once that Brandon had other plans that evening. Yes, he very definitely had quite different plans on this evening!

It was 7:00pm when Andrea backed her car out of the garage. She drove once around the block of their subdivision, about a half mile route, and then pulled into the driveway of her next door neighbor. The driveway was sheltered by heavy shrubbery so that no nosey neighbor would spot the curiosity of Andrea pulling into her neighbor’s garage, which she opened with the remote taken from Michelle’s car that was parked in the other half of the garage. The only house from which the driveway could be seen was her own, and she knew that Mrs. Connelly would be settling in to an easy chair to read her magazines at this time and not be busy looking out the window. At least, Andrea was taking the risk that she would not be seen. What would she say if she had to explain why she was driving her car into Michelle Johns’ garage when Michelle was not at home?

Brandon had been sitting on the sofa of the family room when Andrea entered through the door from the garage and into the kitchen. He was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. The shirt hinted of a well-developed chest beneath. Being short sleeved, it also forthrightly displayed his muscular arms. The teenager rose from the sofa as the woman came into the family room.

“Hello, Brandon. How are you this evening?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Williams.” He looked nervous, as if he didn’t know what to do with his eyes or his hands, the latter of which he stuffed into the pockets of his jeans before taking them out again and letting them just hang by his side. He had been expecting her, but actually seeing her appear suddenly in his house, where he was all alone for the weekend, made him tense. Andrea smiled as she set down her purse as well as a brown paper bag and straightened her flowing, shoulder length hair.

Andrea walked to where the boy stood and gave him a peck on the cheek. It was her standard form of greeting anyone, but left the boy even more apprehensive than he had been. She then turned to where she had set the paper bag and from it extracted a bottle of red wine and a pair of wine glasses. The bottle had a twist off cap, which she proceeded to remove. She poured wine into the two glasses and then held them up, offering one to the teenager. “Here,” she said, smiling. “If I’m going to corrupt a minor, I might as well do it all the way.”

Brandon looked hesitantly at the wine glass before reaching to accept it. “Have you had wine, before?” the woman asked cheerily as she clicked their glasses together in a toast. The teen shook his head no. “Well then, it’s time you did,” she said, and with that took a large sip from her glass. The boy did the same. Andrea continued: “Kind of gets you in the mood, you know?”

The teen regarded his glass a moment and took another sip. “I like it,” he said.

After a few pleasantries about school and how it felt to be spending a weekend alone, Andrea, still holding her wine glass, walked to a certain point in the family and told the teen to join her. The boy, holding his glass, ambled slowly over to where she stood.

“Brandon, this is exactly where we were standing several weeks ago when I caught you staring at my breasts. I’m sure you remember, you were so embarrassed.” She took a sip of wine and watched in amusement as the boy’s face turned a shade of red similar to that of the wine they drank. Holding her glass in one hand, Andrea ran her other hand through her hair. “Well,” she continued, “in case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing exactly what I had on that day. This leather jacket. The burgundy blouse. This pair of designer jeans. Except for the boots. I forget what shoes I was wearing that day, to tell you the truth, but I wanted to wear these boots today, anyway, because I really like them and they make me feel sexy. Do you like them?” She pointed down to the pair of knee-high, brown leather boots into which her jeans were tucked.

Uncomfortable and embarrassed, the boy nodded.

“Well, Brandon, you were undressing me that day with your eyes.” She leveled her eyes at him and feigned a look of displeasure. “Such a naughty boy!” She then took a sip of wine, not taking her eyes off his. “So…I’m wondering…why don’t you be really naughty and undress me now with your hands?”

The boy appeared paralyzed with fear, or shyness, or both. Ever since that morning in which Mrs. Williams magically appeared in his bedroom, Brandon had every reason to believe that this opportunity would eventually present itself, regardless how absurdly unbelievable it all seemed. He had wondered if she had just been playing some horrible joke on him. Merely teasing him for some reason? He didn’t think so. She wouldn’t do that. He therefore had had time to prepare for this encounter. But, then again, how could a teenage virgin prepare for something like this? He had taken the woman’s parting advice that morning and masturbated a number of times fantasizing about her in anticipation of actually having real live sex with her. In fact, going back ever since he had reached puberty and learned what it was that males and females do, Brandon frequently masturbated to the much older next door neighbor. After all, she had always been beautiful and close to him and he had developed into a red blooded, heterosexual male full of hormones, so no component was missing. But, now that the moment had arrived, he was totally clueless on how to proceed.

Andrea proves to be a willing and patient teacher. “Your hands, Bran. Use your hands. Touch me. Go ahead. I won’t bite,” she smiles at him. “You had a preview of me that morning in your bedroom. Now it’s time you had more than a preview.” She takes a sip of her wine.

Tentatively, holding his wine glass in one hand, the teen reaches out with his free hand, but the hand pauses, shaking, just inches from the front of the woman’s leather jacket. “Touch my breasts, sweetie”, she encourages him gently, and his hand at last passes between the lapels of her leather jacket and his fingertips graze lightly against the upper 36 of her 36-24-36 body. Andrea leans almost imperceptibly toward him, just enough so that his hand now cups her right breast. His fingers do not shy away as she is afraid they might, but instead begin to knead her breast, feeling her soft flesh through the material of her blouse and her Victoria’s Secret bra. It is a bra that uplifts, but without needless padding. What he feels is all Andrea. She gives a gentle sigh and smiles encouragingly. When Brandon squeezes her breast, she closes her eyes and moans softly through closed lips and slowly sways her weight from one foot to the other.

But then the boy quickly pulls his hand away from her breast. “Mr. Williams…” he mumbles. “He’ll kill me for this….”

Andrea opens her eyes and stares at the young teen. He is so damn cute. Irresistibly so. Yes, she thinks. You should be afraid of that possibility. It will help you to keep your mouth shut about this. Aloud, she says, “You’re right. If he ever knows about it, he might kill you. And me.” She extends her free hand and touches the boys arm at the elbow. “But how will he ever know, Brandon? Are you going to tell him?” She looks the boy squarely in the eye. “I’m certainly not going to tell him,” she continues, her voice almost a whisper. Her hand runs up his arm. The feel of the tense muscles of his biceps against her fingertips causes her breath to hitch. She feels a sudden warm and delicious wetness at the juncture of her thighs. She stands on tip toes and places a kiss on the boy’s lips. Her free hand goes behind his head and pulls his face toward hers and their kiss becomes a deep one. “This will always be our little secret, Bran,” she whispers as soon as their mouths parts part enough for her to speak.

Pulling her face back and coming down from her tip toes, Andrea looks up at the teenager’s face. “Are you with me, Bran?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Good,” she replies, and lifts her glass, indicating a toast. They clink glasses and take big sips of wine.

“Now, undress me, please,” the thirty-four-year-old tells the seventeen-year-old.

Without having to be told again, Brandon takes a half step forward so that their bodies are nearly touching. Suddenly, his wine glass falls from his hand and bounces off the carpeted floor. It does not break, but a quarter of a glass of wine now stains the light colored carpet. Andrea suppresses a laugh. “We’ll clean that later,” she says, kicking the glass away from their feet. “Wouldn’t want you mother to know you were drinking wine, would we?

Recovering from his gaffe in dropping the glass, the boy resumes his fondling of Andrea’s breast with one hand while his other goes about her waist and pulls her against him. They nuzzle each other’s neck as Brandon’s hand pops open a button of Andrea’s blouse and his fingers come into direct association with the bra and its soft, fleshy contents. Soon their mouths have found each other’s again and their kiss is tender and full of promising delights yet to come.

Another button of the woman’s blouse is undone. “Take the wine from my mouth, Bran,” she whispers and then sips the last of the red liquid from her glass but does not swallow it. Instead, their lips come together again and Andrea allows most of it to trickle out and into the mouth of the unsuspecting boy who nearly chokes on it. In his surprise, he jerks and instead of undoing the third button of Andrea’s blouse, he rips it completely off.

“Easy, tiger,” Andrea says soothingly, making a mental note to look for the lost button before the boy’s mother returns home. “I want to wear this blouse again!”

She allows her own empty wine glass to drop noiselessly to the carper so that she can run both hands through the boy’s hair. She sees a small amount of wine trickling from the corner of his mouth and eagerly licks at it. They kiss again. “Strip me,” Andrea whispers huskily with her lips lightly touching his.

Brandon by now seems no longer clueless. He gently slides Andrea’s brown leather jacket off her shoulders and down arms that she keeps straight by her side. The jacket falls to their feet. Brandon moves to pick it up, but Andrea grasps him by the shoulders. “Leave it,” she whispers, and kisses him again, and their mouths remain together as Brandon begins to undo the remaining buttons of her blouse. He is somewhat clumsy in this—after all, he has never unbuttoned a woman’s blouse before—but the way in which Andrea’s tongue now probes his mouth tells him there is no rush, no need to worry. You’re doing just fine her kiss tells him.

The hem of the woman’s blouse needs to be un-tucked from her designer jeans before the final button can be accessed and undone. When it is, the blouse falls open in front and is swiftly pulled off Andrea’s shoulders by the ever more confident young man.

Brandon stands back to observe the sight of the woman he has known for seven years as Mrs. Williams, wearing now only a flimsy bra with her designer jeans and boots. It is apparently a sight that agrees with him, for he then spins her around and pulls her back against his chest. Andrea giggles like a school girl at the unexpected aggressiveness of her young student, whose two hands, reaching from behind her, immediately set upon the twin mounds covered—though barely—by the Victoria’s Secret bra. As his hands roughly fondle her there, Andrea reaches behind and searches for the crotch of the horny young teen. She is greatly excited by what she feels.

“Sweetie, you are such an animal!” Andrea whimpers, her hand at the swelling in his crotch behind her. The boy’s fingers push their way beneath her bra and have at the bare flesh of her twin mounds and the nipples that sit atop them. The boy’s unexpected aggressiveness is turning her on beyond expectation. Her nipples respond to his less-than-delicate touch by hardening into firm, protruding pink cubes between his pinching and caressing fingers.

After several long moments of massaging her breasts and kissing her neck, Brandon pulls his hands away from beneath Andrea’s bra and attempts to undo the undergarment’s clasp behind her back. He struggles with this impatiently until Andrea, smiling and turning to face him, tells him to not worry about it. Reaching behind her to undo the clasp herself, she assures the boy that he will have plenty of opportunities to learn how to remove a woman’s bra. In the meantime, well, they had other things to get to. With the bra clasp undone, her arms now go around the boy’s neck and they kiss fervently. At some point during the ensuing embrace and passionate kiss, the bra drops from Andrea’s breasts and falls to the floor between their feet.

Andrea at last breaks their embrace and steps back, breathing deeply, her hair disheveled. She crosses her arms in front of her in such a way as to cover her now naked breasts. She does this not out of any modesty which she obviously dos not suddenly possess, but rather simply to tease the boy. She backs further away and falls back into an overstuffed chair, keeping her arms crossed in front of her. The late afternoon sun has finally set and the Johns’ family room is now deep in shadows, but a lamp on a nearby table has automatically come on, providing just the right amount of subtle lighting.

“The boots are next, Bran,” Andrea says. These the boy finds no problem in removing. A zipper down the side of each boot, then a gentle tug on each, and they are off. Her black anklet socks present no problem, either, as he rolls them off her feet.

Andrea, slumped into the overstuffed chair, the designer jeans now the only remaining article of clothing on her body, slowly drops her arms to her side, exposing with no further hindrance her upper body nudity to her young novice, who stares down at her in utter fascination. She is not going to tell him anymore what to do next. Instead, she bites gently on the tip of a forefinger and regards him with an amused expression on her face that says okay, man child, let’s see if you know what to do now.

The teen takes a determined step toward her chair. Her eyes follow his as he closes in on her. Looking up at him as he now stands where her feet hit the floor, she asks in a sultry voice, “What are we going to do, Bran? You want to watch me bake cookies like you used to? Huh? Maybe you want to show me a snake you caught?” She laughs. “The only snake I want to see now is the one you have in your pants!” With that she lifts a bare foot and rubs it against his crotch, feeling his bulge with her toes. Her voice is soft but full of lust. “Those sure are tight fitting jeans you have.”

Brandon takes her foot and holds it with one hand as he kneels before her and reaches for her belt with his other hand. The amusement on Andrea’s face only heightens as the boy loosens the belt and then forces the zipper of her jeans down, revealing a pair of thong panties that match the bra laying on the floor several feet away. Andrea licks her lips. “Why, you audacious young man, you,” she murmurs, again playing footsie with the bulge in his pants. Saying nothing, Brandon tugs downward on the waist of the woman’s jeans. She raises her butt off the chair to aid him in getting them off her hips and ass and onto her thighs. He pulls them halfway down to her knees. Her panties are pulled slightly askew by this effort and the teen pauses to absorb this vision that he will certainly remember for the rest of his life. The expression on Andrea’s face has morphed from one of amusement to one of a more lustful nature. Neither says a word as the boy nervously wipes his brow and continues to gaze upon the woman before him in the overstuffed chair, naked from her mid-thighs up except for the skimpy, beige colored Victoria’s Secret panties that sit awry at her pubic area, covering the essentials of her womanhood, but only barely.

Andrea regards him with the eyes of a starving cougar. The teen grasps the legs of her jeans and is about to tug them downward when suddenly the cell phone in Andrea’s purse rings. Andrea gives an abrupt start, and Brandon backs away. She springs from the chair, nearly tripping because of the way her jeans—pulled down to mid-thigh—encumber her movement, but reaches the nearby purse and answers the phone before the third ring.

“Mommy,” Jeremy wails on the other end. “Mrs. Connelly won’t let me play The Walking Dead!”

The half-naked mother of the eight-year-old boy sighs and rolls her eyes. She sinks back into the overstuffed chair and runs a hand through her hair. “Jeremy, honey, I know she thinks these video games are too violent. Look, do as she says and tomorrow I’ll let you play for two hours, okay?”

“That’s why I wanted Brandon to baby sit!” the child yowls.

“Look, honey, I can’t talk right now, okay?” She looks up at Brandon in exasperation. “Please do as Mrs. Connelly says. Play some Disney game, okay? Tomorrow you can play The Walking Dead.”

Not happy, the woman’s son moans. Andrea’s voice is firm: “No arguments! Look, I’m going to hang up now and I’m turning off my cell phone. I’m going into a meeting and I can’t have my phone on. Okay?”

“Okay,” the child says, obviously still quite miffed.

Andrea powers off her phone and sets it aside. She sighs heavily and leans back in the chair. “Sorry about that,” she says softly to the teenage boy who has been standing patiently before her. “Such are the perils of a double life.” She gives what can best be described as a half laugh, and then a wry smiles plays at the corners of her mouth. “Hard to be a mother for my children and a sex toy for you at the same time.”

As the boy stands in front of her, she notes with disapproval how the bulge in his jeans has softened perceptibly. Nothing that can’t be corrected.

The adult woman notes how the minor boy licks his lip in indecision, and she smiles demurely. “Get our wine glasses, Bran,” she says, crisscrossing her arms in front of her and grasping her shoulders, covering her bare breasts once again. “We need to get back into the mood of things.” She watches as the teen does as asked, retrieving the glasses from the floor where both had fallen, and then pouring wine into them. “No, you don’t fill a wine glass more than half full!” she admonishes, but too late. Brandon now stands before her with full glasses in each hand.

“Fill your mouth with wine and set the glasses down,” she instructs him. He obeys, and now stands facing her, his cheeks slightly swollen with the liquid contents in his mouth. “Now…share it with me.”

The boy hesitates, then kneels before the chair where Andrea sits. They lean toward each other, Andrea still grasping her shoulders, and bring their mouths together. Andrea opens her lips and delights in the taste of the wine that trickles from the boy’s mouth and onto her tongue. “Not all of it!” she exclaims when her young pupil opens his mouth too much and more than a little of the red liquid runs down both their chins. They laugh like guilty kids, then kiss again. Andrea responds wildly when she feels Brandon’s hands under each of her bare armpits. She takes her hands from her shoulders and unfolds her arms from in front of her body and envelopes the boys’ head with them. The passion of her kiss becomes more vigorous when one of the teen’s hands goes to her back to press her against him and his other hand again finds a naked breast to fondle.

“Finish your job, Bran,” she pants into his mouth, her hands in his hair, her breathing once again heavy as she has quickly forgotten the realities of motherhood. The teen knows that his unfinished task is that of removing the rest of Mrs. Williams’ clothing. This will be an easy chore, as the only remaining items are the jeans and those enticing little panties that she has on beneath them. The waistline of her jeans had fallen from mid-thigh to her knees when she rose to answer her phone, and Brandon now takes the waistline and pulls them off her, the legs of the jeans turning inside out as they are peeled the rest of the way down her calves and off her feet.

Andrea lies back in the overstuffed chair and puts her hands behind her head, body language that shouts total surrender. The skimpy pair of flesh toned Victoria’s Secret panties—nothing but a G-string, really—is the last remaining article that clings to her cougar-hot body. She intently watches the teenager as his nervous hands now reach for the strings that encircle her curvaceous hips. One of the strings is much lower than the other, having already been tugged partially down when her jeans were taken off. The boy’s fingers encircle the strings and then pause.

Is he going to carefully slide the thong panties down her legs…or is he going to rip them off her? The way he flexes his fingers, Andrea is not sure. Either way, her heart is in her throat.

The boy hesitates. Their eyes meet. Andrea’s are ablaze with lust. Brandon blushes a deep crimson and swallows hard. As he is ready to give a downward yank on the woman’s last remaining article of clothing, the house telephone rings.

Brandon, whose nerves are already on edge, jumps up in a motion that would have given an older man three weeks of back pain. Two succinct curse words escape his lips. Andrea, with her panties still intact, curls up in the chair as if someone has just doused her with cold water.

The phone rings again. Brandon stumbles toward the cordless headset and stares at the caller ID. “It’s my mom!” he groans. “I should have known she’d call!”

“Answer it!” Andrea exclaims. “You’re alone. No one’s here!” Brandon hesitates and the phone rings again. He looks panicked. Calmly, Andrea tells him to take a deep breath, act natural, and answer the phone for god’s sake.

The boy hits the speaker button but says nothing. Michelle John’s voice fills the family room. “Brandon? Hello, Brandon?”

Andrea nods her head quickly to the boy. “Yeah, mom, what’s up?” he finally manages to say.

“Your cell phone went to voice mail. Do you have it off?”

Brandon looks nervously over to Andrea, who merely nods encouragingly for him to continue. “Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t want any distractions. People calling.”

“Brandon,” his mother says, her voice excited and proud. “Are you studying? On a Friday night?”

Another quick glance at Andrea who is smiling at him from her chair. Her nakedness—which is total save for the skimpy beige G-string—is making it extremely difficult for him to concentrate on a conversation with his mother. Andrea nods at him. “Yes,” he says. “I…I want to finish it…so I don’t have too much to do on Sunday.”

“Oh, Brandon, that’s so mature of you. Mommy’s so proud of you.”

The boy blushes. His mother continues talking about what she’s been doing since arriving at Ashley’s college campus. To Brandon’s surprise and horror, Andrea is suddenly standing before him. As his mother’s voice continues to emanate from the speaker phone, Andrea is lifting his white t-shirt up his torso. She pushes it up over his head and pulls it down his arms, and while doing so, they are both aware that there is silence on the phone line. His mother has paused in her commentary in expectation of a reaction from her son. When there is none, she calls out: “Brandon, are you still there?”

Andrea nods earnestly at the boy. “Yeah, Mom, I’m here. I’m listening to you,” he says, although he hopes that she doesn’t ask him to repeat what she just said. He is flummoxed almost beyond any capacity to communicate now that Mrs. Williams is unbuckling the belt to his jeans.

“I asked Andrea to keep an eye on you while I’m gone,” Michelle was saying over the speaker phone as Andrea was lowering her son’s pants. “Have you seen her?”

Brandon is looking down at the top of Andrea’s head as she kneels at his feet, lifting first one of his feet and then the other out of the jeans. An enormous erection is protruding outward against his loose-fitting boxer shorts. He takes a deep breath before he can speak. “Yeah, I saw her. She…came over….”
From her kneeling position at his feet, Andrea looks up at the boy, past his hard-on and to his eyes, and she smiles. It is a mischievous, almost devilish grin.

“She’s such a sweetie, Brandon,” says the voice out of the speaker phone. “And I know she likes you a lot. She always has.” Andrea smiles and nods. Still kneeling, she runs a hand up each of the teenager’s legs. “Let her know if you need anything,” his mom says. As Andrea’s hands run underneath the legs of her son’s boxer shorts, she adds, “I know Andrea will do anything for you, honey. Anything you need.”

“I know,” Brandon manages to utter before he feels the cougar’s hands encompass his manhood beneath the loose fitting boxers. It will be a long moment before he is able to offer any further verbal acknowledgement.

“Brandon, Ashley wants to say hi.” There is pause on the line. One of Andrea’s hands has carefully cupped the boy’s testicles, while the other gently strokes his penis. Her eyes beat upward into his. The devilish smile on her face has become virtually demonic.

“Hey, little bro, how are ya!?” Ashley’s voice over the loud speaker is chirpy as usual.

“Hey, Ash. What’s up?” He is relieved that he was able to get the words out. Andrea is now removing his boxers. With them now down around his ankles, his erect penis stands up like a flag pole.

“Are you okay” his sister asks. “You sound weird.”

“I’m…just tired, I guess.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “I guess I fell asleep studying.”

“Sleeping? This early on a Friday night?” The girl’s voice is incredulous. “Mom says you’re a real bookworm, Brandy, but this is, like, weird, dude!”

Andrea is now before him on her knees. With one hand on his balls and the other on his engorged staff, she lightly licks the tip of his penis.

The voice of the boy’s sister continues from the speaker. “You need a social life, little bro. You know, I was life-guarding last summer with Stephanie Kramer—she’s one year ahead of you—and she told me she had the hots for you. You oughta give her a call. That is…” she giggles slightly, “… if you like older women.”

“Yeah…I might do that.…” Gasping best describes the manner in which Brandon succeeded in spitting out these words. The end of his penis is now three inches inside the mouth of a hot cougar wearing only a skimpy pair of panties. Talking on the phone with his sister is the last thing he wants to have to do at this moment.

“Brandy, are you sure you’re okay?” his sister asks.

He takes a deep breath, trying desperately to steady himself. There are now four inches of his cock that have disappeared into the woman’s mouth. “Yes! I’m fine. Look, Ash, I gotta go. Tell mom I’ll call later. Bye!” With that the boy hits the off button on the speaker phone and emits a low, guttural groan. The cougar is sucking his cock with abandon.

Andrea had been quite amazed when she first saw the actual size of Brandon’s penis after pulling down his boxers. She had felt the boy’s cock before, on that morning in which she had surprised him in his bedroom and had held the thing through the bed sheets, but somehow the true size of it had not registered. Now, holding it before her eyes as the boy spoke with his mother and sister on the speaker phone, she realized it was the largest of the some half dozen male organ she had ever seen—much larger than her husband’s—and the discovery of this sent tingling sensations rippling throughout her body. The Victoria’s Secret thong panties that still clung to her crotch became even damper still. She spotted tiny beads of pre-cum that had appeared around the eye of the boy’s penis as she brought her mouth toward it. Using her tongue with extreme delicacy, she licked the droplets away, tasting their saltiness.

Soon she is aware that the speaker phone has been disconnected and that she now has the boy’s full attention. She looks up at him and stares into his eyes as she continues to suck his cock like a famished calf at its mother’s teat. The boy grabs the cougar by the sides of her head and holds her there while thrusting his pelvis into her face, sending his cock deep into her mouth. Andrea gags slightly at this but doesn’t lose a beat, expertly keeping her lips over her teeth. She sinks her fingers into the firm flesh of the boy’s buttocks. He partially withdraws and then thrusts inward again, sending his cock even deeper into the gaping mouth of the woman twice his age.

Andrea stares up at him wide eyed as he face- fucks her with growing abandon. Gradually, as his thrusts become more and more unequivocal, and the guttural groans that he emits with each thrust become more and more emphatic, an awareness rushes over her. She has not planned on this. She has not planned for her energetic young stud to come in her mouth, but she knows now that this is what is going to happen. She has never allowed a man to do this before and her eyes grow wider still at the prospect of it happening now. She knows that he will not stop. She knows that she cannot stop him. To the contrary, her fingers dig deeper into his ass, inviting him to come, her nails leaving scratch marks that will last a week. Her chin is lathered with the drool that trickles from her mouth with each thrust that she receives. Her eyes that are locked onto his are wide, and they, too, like her fingers that are digging into his buttocks, are telling him to cum. To give it to her. To send his cum into her mouth. She is overwhelmed by the animalistic lust that she has unleashed in him. She sees this lust in his eyes and feels it in the cock that ravishes her oral cavity. Her Victoria’s Secret panties are a sopping mess as result of it. She brings one of her hands off his buttock and cups the testicles that bounce before her chin. She feels the testicle sac harden and knows that his ejaculation is imminent.

It does come. In buckets. Andrea feels an enormous amount of the warm, squirting fluid hit the roof of her mouth and she swallows it immediately, her eyes unblinking. Her sex education student suddenly halts his trusting in mid stoke, mostly withdrawn from her oral cavity, and she feels a second squirt, this one more toward the front of her mouth. She feels the gooey substance as it falls onto and coats her tongue. She wants to swallow this, as well, but it’s too soon after her first swallow for her throat muscles to contract enough to do so. She is therefore afforded a thorough tasting of the metallic saltiness of the teenager’s wad of sperm.

Groaning, Brandon withdraws his penis from the mouth of Mark Williams’ wife and slumps into the overstuffed chair in exhaustion. The woman remains on her knees. She has finally managed a second swallow, but a good portion of the cum that was deposited in her mouth now joins the drool that coats her chin. She lets out a deep sigh and wipes the chin with the back of her hand. She then crawls the few paces to where the boy has collapsed in the chair. Unquenched desire reverberates throughout her loins, and she sighs in despair in seeing how flaccid her young stud’s spent penis now lies between his legs.

She spots her wine glass on the table next to the overstuffed chair and reaches for it. She needs it to calm her frustration. Also, she frankly does not like the residual taste of semen in her mouth and swirls the wine around her tongue in an attempt to cleanse her palate.

Andrea then curls up on the floor between the spread legs of the naked teenager who sits slumped in the chair, rests her cheek on the bare skin of his thigh and begins to wait. Sexual fever burns within her, but she knows she must be patient. He’ll be ready for me again…he’s the age in which males are at the peak of their sexual prowess….

It is dark outside now, but there are still three more hours that Mrs. Connelly is being paid for babysitting her children. Long before that her young stud will be ready for her again—ready to satisfy her.

***

Brandon’s recovery begins less than twenty minutes after ejaculating into the mouth of the woman old enough to be his mother, had she gotten knocked up at the age of seventeen. Andrea initiates the recovery with fingertips that begin to play delicately upon the boy’s flaccid manhood. Gradually, she feels life returning to the organ as it slowly begins to swell between her fingers.

“I’m…I shouldn’t have done that. Should I have?” Brandon’s voice is weak. He sounds embarrassed.

“Done what?” Andrea asks softly as she continues to gently massage his cock. “Come in my mouth? That was okay.”

“It felt…really good.”

Andrea leans over and licks the tip of the cock that she holds upright. “You liked it, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” he moans, and the increased swelling of his member against her lips tells her he is not lying.
Soon, Andrea is delighted to see and feel that her young male is once again ready for exploit. Delaying no further, she lies back on the carpet and lifts her feet onto the chair where the boy sits, placing a foot on each side of his hips. Her Victoria’s Secret thong does only a fair job of covering the most intimate part of her hot body.

Brandon watches her for a long moment, studying the way her hair has cascaded around her shoulders on the carpet. He devours her body with his eyes, as if he still cannot believe that this whole thing is happening. He then slips off the overstuffed chair and kneels on the carpet between Andrea’s spread legs. She watches him intently, desire festering in her loins. She swallows in anticipation as she realizes it is no longer necessary to tell the boy what to do. His hands are already at the strings of the thong that encircle her hips. This time the fucking phone will not ring, she prays.

The phone does not ring, and off comes her final article of apparel. Lifting her ass from the carpet and bringing her knees close together to assist him, Andrea senses that the boy has overcome all shyness as he confidently rolls her panties down her legs. Once they are off, and she is at last totally naked, Andrea stretches her body, her arms above her head on the carpet. She leaves one leg straight but crooks the other at the knee, parting her thighs just enough to give the seventeen-year-old boy his first non-porn magazine introduction to human female anatomy.

Andrea smiles up at him demurely. Keeping one arm above her head, her other arm bends down so that she can insert the tip of a forefinger between her teeth at the corner of her mouth. Brandon is like a child who has just unwrapped an exciting Christmas present but doesn’t know where to start in playing with it. His male organ is once again standing at full attention and sways between them. Finally, he gently kicks her thighs even farther apart and begins to mount her. He’s definitely not shy anymore!

“No, Brandon!” she cries.

What? Exasperation clouds the expression on Brandon’ face as he looks down upon the woman as if not hearing her correctly. “Not here,” she pants. “Take me to your bedroom! I want you to fuck me where you sleep each night! Carry me there!”

The teenager pauses a long moment as he considers the woman’s plea. “Carry me in those big, strong arms of yours,” Andrea purrs.

Brandon retracts himself from the act of mounting the woman and kneels between her spread legs. He appears to be pondering her request for a further brief moment. Then, nodding, he reaches for her and lifts her naked body in his arms. He hoists her 120 pounds as easily as he would a child weighing a third that. One of his arms goes under her bent knees, the other supports her back. Andrea throws one arm around the boy’s neck and with her other hand squeezes his hard, muscular biceps. His brute strength sends yet additional waves of desire coursing through her veins. She has now succumbed totally to the millennia of evolutionary hardwiring that dictates to females that they deliver themselves to strong, virile males. This is the force that had made this strapping young teen so irresistible to her in the first place, and it is the force in which she finds herself so helplessly lost now. Once again her fingers run along the hardened biceps of her chosen male who carries her like the prize that she is. The juices inside her pussy stir. She nuzzles his neck as he arrives at the foot of the stairs and begins the trek upward to his bedroom. Andrea feels that she is a captured prey being taken to a place where she will be devoured, and is so excited by this prospect that if she were to rub her thighs together with any force at this moment she will probably have an orgasm on the spot.

Gaining the second floor, Brandon carries Mark Williams’ naked wife, the mother of Megan and Jeremy, down the darkened hallway. The door to his bedroom is ajar and he kicks it open wide with his foot. The room is dark. Continuing to hold Andrea in his arms, he maneuvers so that he can flip on the light switch by brushing his shoulder upward against it. He then swings around to face the bed. Andrea’s feet dangle in the air as he does so. The boy pauses, and the two of them look at the bed. It has not been made. The sheets are in a tangled mess. One pillow is on the bed, the other on the floor.

Andrea giggles softly and plants a wet kiss on the teen’s mouth. “Didn’t your mother teach you to make your bed?” she asks.

“Why should I?” he replies. “It only gets messed up again.”

“It’s going to really get messed up now, huh?” she says softly.

Wasting not a second more, Brandon carries Andrea to his bed and lays her down upon it. Her legs spread the instant her back touches the mattress. It is the body language of a female offering herself in total surrender to a male. Brandon is on top of her and between those legs immediately. Andrea reaches for his virgin cock and guides it to her. She envelopes Brandon’s torso with the well-toned thighs of a committed distance runner as the tip of his penis pushes into her. Her sex is wet for him and his thrust is instant, unhesitating and deep. Andrea’s mouth goes wide as she feels him fill her. She returns his thrust and is incredulous that this is all it is going to take to make her come. Her body bucks wildly as a rolling orgasm overtakes her. Brandon, less than ten seconds into losing his virginity, instinctively knows how to keep his cock pressed into her, buried within her body despite her rendition of a crazed rodeo horse that is seemingly trying to buck him off. After only an additional ten seconds into his official sex life, the teenage boy can no longer resist the feel of a real live woman on the end of his cock. Perhaps it is his inexperience, but Andrea’s pulsating orgasm, reverberating along the entire length of his manhood, pumps cum from him with the deftness of a Swiss farm girl’s fingers milking her cow. With a fierce grunt and several more deep thrusts, Brandon releases his sperm into the married woman’s vagina and then falls on top of her in exhaustion.

Andrea is still thrashing beneath the teenager when she feels his weight fall heavily upon her. “Brandon,” she gasps, “don’t stop, honey!” She has had repeated orgasms but wants more. She bangs her fists against his shoulders and kicks the back of his thighs with her heels. “Come, on baby, keep giving it to me!” But she knows he is spent. At the same moment, she realizes it doesn’t matter. His cock is still hard and it is still inside her and she is able to feel it touching her in all the right places if she continues to squirm beneath his weight, so she continues to do so, fucking him even if he has finished fucking her. Now officially a first time adulteress, the thought of her husband Mark flickers into her consciousness as she squirms beneath her new found stud, but any pang of guilt melts away as quickly as if it were a snowflake landing between the hot and sweaty bodies of the two lovers.

Andrea manages yet another orgasm by fucking upward against Brandon’s still body. Eventually, she herself collapses into the mattress of the teenage boy’s bed, with the teenage boy himself on top of her, smothering her, still inside her.

***

It was 8:00pm. Andrea had at last extracted herself from beneath the spent body of her teenage lover and had padded downstairs to look for her cell phone and check the time. She had found one of Brandon’s t-shirts on top of a dresser in his bedroom—one that did not look too dirty—and pulled it on before heading downstairs. As she walked, she felt copious amounts of the boy’s sperm trickle from within her and run down the insides of her thighs. Since the t-shirt fell to below her crotch, she used it to wipe the cum away.

She was shocked to see a text message from her husband Mark on her mobile phone. She had turned the phone off after the unwelcomed interruption from her son. She read the message: “Hi, babe. I called the house and Mrs. Connelly said you were out. Your mobile phone went to voice mail. Got a hot date, huh?”

A renewed pang of guilt came over the adulteress wife who had just cheated on her husband for the first time in their nine year marriage, and this time it didn’t melt quickly away as it had when it briefly afflicted her in the middle of her sex act with the minor teen. This may have been because her carnal lust was at last sated, and the young teen that drove this lust was not currently within her eyesight.

Remorse at her brazen infidelity now flooded over her. She ran a nervous hand through her hair. What have I done? Suddenly, despite the fact that she was wearing her young lover’s t-shirt, she felt quite naked. This was because it was more than just a corporeal nakedness that she felt. It was a moral nudity that no t-shirt, nor any article of physical clothing, could cover. Nevertheless, she at that moment tugged the loose fitting shirt as tightly to her body as she could.

What to do? Fortunately, she had prepared her alibi for the evening, and speed dialed her husband’s mobile phone. She didn’t really want to talk with him right now, so soon after…after what she had just been engaged in…but she felt she had to return his call. He might be worried. She hoped the call would go to voice mail, and counted the rings, crossing her fingers. One. Two. Three. Yes, he’s not going to answer. But then he did answer.

There was noise and confusion in the background. “Babe, I’m in the middle of dinner with some customers. Where are you?”

Andrea ran a hand through her hair. “I…my boss asked me to come back in tonight,” she lied. “He’s going on a trip Monday, and he forgot to have me run a ton of reports that he needs. He was very sorry.…” What I’ve really been doing is having criminal sex with an underage boy, honey, what have you been up to?

“Okay, babe. Those things happen. I’m sure he appreciates what a hard worker you are.”

“I know. Believe me, I’m racking up some serious brownie points.” It was mind blowing sex, actually. Did I mention he was a minor?

“Are you still at the office?”

“Yes.” In fact, his sperm is still inside me! Except for what’s been running down my leg.

“Until when, do you think?” He sounded worried.

“Uh…probably another hour. I told Mrs. Connelly I’d be back around 9:30.” I lost track of the number of orgasms I had. He’s seventeen and makes me come like a machine gun.

“Okay, babe, I gotta go. We’re in the middle of dinner, and I don’t know how long it’s going to last. I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Andrea replied. Nothing to worry about, honey. I had my tubes tied after Megan was born, remember? “Bye, honey.”

After hanging up, Andrea hugged herself and looked about the Johns’ family room, softly illuminates by that single lamp. A growing guilty conscience was now weighing down upon her. I am the worst person in the world. She suddenly wanted to get out of this house. To be away. To go home and hug her children. She needed her clothes. Her purse and brown bag that had contained the wine were still on the table where she had left them, but her clothes, as well as Brandon’s, were strewn about the family room. She found her jeans and panties on the floor by the overstuffed chair. The boots and socks were by the sofa. The blouse and leather jacket were more in the middle of the room. Her bra—how did it get way over there?

Andrea decided she would come back in the morning to collect the wine bottle and glasses, clean the wine stain off the carpet, look for the button that had been torn from her blouse and for any other telltale signs of her debauchery. Right now, she just wanted to get out of this house and what it now represented.

Hurriedly, after lifting Brandon’s t-shirt over her head and off, she began to dress. First she pulled her bra on and adjusted it into place. She was then about to step into her panties when she felt how wet they were and decided to just stuff them in her purse. She next put on the blouse but left it unbuttoned while she reached for her jeans. She had one leg into the jeans and was in the act of putting her other leg in, standing on one foot, when she saw him standing there out of the corner of her eye. It was so unexpected and so startling, especially given her present state of mind, that she lost balance standing on her one foot and fell awkwardly to the carpeted floor, landing on her butt, with only one leg in her jeans.

She immediately sat up on her elbows and looked anxiously up at the boy as he stood watching her. “Brandon, you scared me!” she blubbered. “I thought you were asleep.”

The teenage boy said nothing. He was stark naked and his stiff pole stood out proudly at an angle slightly higher than parallel to the floor. From Andrea’s vantage point on the floor it was an impressive sight of masculine physiology. The way in which the boy regarded her made Andrea suddenly feel like it was lunchtime at the zoo, and she was lunch. A natural reflex caused her to crabwalk backwards a few inches, scooting away on her butt from where he stood. This caused the jeans on her one leg to pull down to her knee.

Their eyes locked. “I have to go home,” Andrea announced. She licked her lips nervously and lifted an elbow from the floor long enough to run a hand through her hair. Brandon took a step closer to her. She started to say something else, but then didn’t. She started to press her knees together, but then didn’t. She realized she wasn’t wearing panties and knew that the way in which she landed—with her thighs not nearly together and her jeans only partially up one leg—afforded the boy an unencumbered view of her sex. She made no move to restrict that view.

Brandon took a final step toward where she lay. Andrea was about to take another crabwalk backwards, but then didn’t. Her eyes riveted on his engorged manhood that preceded him. She couldn’t believe he was so hard again so soon. My god, it’s true what they say about teenagers! He’s already come twice tonight and now…this! This was not even remotely close to anything Andrea had ever experienced. She had never been with a male who could perform like this. Her husband was definitely a one-and-doner—although, in fairness to him, what husband of nine years was not?

Andrea now feels the hot glare of the teenager thawing away the cold remorse that had engulfed her just minutes earlier. Her breath catches as she realizes that she will not be crawling any further away from him. What is this insatiable hunger?

Andrea, still with her torso upright supported by her arms with elbows on the carpet, does not move and does not take her eyes off the boy as he kneels at her feet and not too gently pulls her jeans off the one leg they were on. On his knees, Brandon pauses to look at Andrea now that she is without pants or panties. She has only her unbuttoned burgundy blouse and the Victoria’s Secret bra that is visible beneath it, but the boy’s interest appears to be in the lower part of her body at this moment. The nude part. The way his eyes hungrily devour her would wet Andrea’s panties even further had she bothered to put them back on.

The thirty-four year old mother of two with a smoking hot body now lays back fully onto the carpeted family room floor of her best friend’s house while her best friend’s seventeen-year old son begins to run his hands up and down her naked legs. His hands come between her luscious thighs and Andrea parts them for him ever so slightly and his fingers find their way slowly to her sex and then a finger enters into her there and Andrea’s head begins to rock back and forth on the carpet as her breathing becomes deeper and soft, tiny moans arise from her throat and find their way out between parted lips.

Brandon Johns sends one finger and then a second one into the vagina of Mark Williams’ wife and Mark Williams’ wife responds by twisting her body in a slow, sensuous grind. I am the adult here. I should be stopping this insanity. But that is Andrea’s final, fleeting bout with guilt which is then banished from her conscience, an unwanted intruder. There is another type of intruder—this one not unwanted—that now has her full and undivided attention. This intruder is the pair of fingers that her young sex apprentice has inserted to the hilt inside of her, and she grinds against them.

Andrea looks down as she grinds and sees the boy with his face very close to her genitals, watching in apparent awe where his fingers have disappeared into her body. She sees and feels him using the fingers of his other hand to spread aside the lips of her vulva, surely so that he can see as much pinkness as possible. What a brazen young man! What happened to the shy boy I seduced?

Andrea takes her hand and reaches down and places it on the hand that has two fingers in her pussy. Lightly, she guides the hand…and the fingers. “Like this, Brandon,” whispers the sex education teacher. “Yes…right…there, baby. Yeah. This spot right there. Rub me there, sweetie. Yes. Just like that…just like that….”

She removes her hand from his and throws her arms back over her head as the boy continues to finger fuck her. “No, not too fast, sweetie,” she calls to her pupil. “Just nice and slow…yeah, that’s it. That’s it. That’s what a girl likes. Oh, yeah….”

Her outstanding pair of legs—legs that make male motorists take their eyes off their driving for dangerously long periods of time as she jogs along roadways—now writhe slowly on the carpeted floor around the body of her young male student who is quickly earning post graduate degrees in how to handle a woman. At the same time, one of Andrea’s fingers becomes busy, as well. The tip of that finger, which she has wetted with her saliva, now caresses a nipple through the flimsy Victoria’s Secret bra. It is not the type of bra that has padding, so there is really no need to remove it—the nipple is easily stimulated through the frilly, silky material. Already standing at attention from the activity going on at the juncture of those legs of hers, the nipple quickly becomes even more rigid and sensitive as her finger caresses it with steadily growing aggression.

“You can go a little harder now!” she cries out after several long minutes of being digitally fornicated. “Yes, harder…harder, damn it!” Brandon complies, and her orgasm is quick in coming. Brandon keeps his fingers inside her as her body heaves and bucks upon the floor with undecipherable whimpers choking her windpipe. For a student in the fine art of sex, this is like a graduation ceremony, only he is buck naked instead of wearing cap and gown.

“Enough of your fingers!” Andrea finally pants as soon as she is able to shove intelligible words out of her mouth. “I want your cock again! I can’t get enough of it!”

It is really not necessary for her to tell him this because he has already withdrawn his fingers from her sopping cunt and is in the process of mounting her. Her legs go wide for him and this time it is his hand and not hers that guides his penis into her.

He enters her with ease and does not stop until the tip of his cock bangs against the deepest recesses of her anatomy. Andrea encircles his legs with hers and wraps her arms around him. “Let me smell your fingers,” she pants. When he holds them below her nose, she takes a deep whiff, breathing in her fragrance. “This is what I smell like, Brandon,” she hisses. “Smell me!” and he complies, wiping his fingers across his nostrils. “This is what a hot woman smells like, sweetie. A hot woman that you’re having!” She licks his fingers with long, erotic strokes of her tongue, then kisses him, sending her tongue as far into his mouth as she can.

The couple—she old enough to be his mother, he young enough to be her son—proceed to fuck with abandon on the floor of the family room, his body on top of hers, dominating her. The boy has already ejaculated twice on this evening and his staying power now is off the charts—he could probably continue fucking the hot cougar all night if he had to.

After a long while of furious sex in the missionary position, their bodies glistening with sweat, Andrea rolls Brandon over onto his back. His swollen, wet penis disengages from her momentarily, but Andrea quickly crawls on top of him and sits upon him, her thighs straddling him, and reaches for his manhood and positions it and then lowers herself onto him, impaling herself on it, sighing deeply as she feels him reenter her with a penetration so deep that she thinks for a moment his cock is going to come up into her throat.

“Just stay hard for me, baby,” she pants, her voice hoarse. “You’re my horsey and I’m going to ride you, sweetie. Just stay hard for momma, okay? Just stay hard for her. That’s all you have to do.”

Impatiently, Andrea shrugs off her blouse. The way its open front was hanging was annoying to her because it was blocking some of her view of her young lover’s magnificent body. She ignores the bra. It is such a flimsy thing that it’s almost like wearing nothing and is certainly not blocking anything she wants to see.

Once the blouse is out of the way, Andrea leans forward and brings her knees up to where they straddle the boy’s chest at the level of his nipples. Leaning forward, her face hovering over his forehead, her knees digging into the sides of his chest, she looks for the world like a female jockey riding a thoroughbred down the backstretch at Churchill Downs. If only she had a riding crop the image would be complete.

Instead of a horse’s saddle, however, she is riding the insatiable cock of a teenage stud in the prime of his sexual maturity; an irony since he is not legally old enough for her to be riding him this way. But the forbiddance of this—the wrongness of it—the fact that society says this is wrong—is much of what makes this so thrilling to her.

“Stay hard for your momma, baby!” Andrea cries as her lower abdomen twists and thrusts against his, her movements sending his cock in and out of her. Her breasts, sheathed in their flimsy bra, jiggle wildly beneath her as she leans over her lover, her upper body horizontal and parallel to his. Completely in control of things, she is able to make his cock rub against her in all the right places and in all the right ways. “Good boy,” she whimpers. “Good boy, sweetie. Stay hard for your momma, baby. Fuck her good, baby! Fuck your momma…just like this, sweetie….”

Multiple orgasms wash over her as she rides her mount. Her cries fill the house, as do the slapping sounds that her ass makes twice a second, each time she cycles downward and slams her butt cheeks against the boy’s thighs.

And then, at last, she collapses in exhaustion upon the body of her teenage stud. Her breasts, still mostly contained within her skimpy bra, flatten against his muscular chest as her own chest heaves against his, gulping in needed air after her lengthy anaerobic exertion. She remains impaled on his cock, her four limbs splayed spread eagle out onto the carpet. Perspiration from both their sweaty bodies mingles freely.

For several long minutes, both of them remain motionless save for some very heavy breathing, especially on the part of the woman. Gradually, as they cool down, Brandon begins to stir. Deftly, in one swift motion befitting the talent of a top notch high school wrestler, he rolls Andrea off him and onto her back on the carpet and rolls on top of her, pinning her helplessly beneath him. In performing this maneuver, he manages to not let his cock disengage from the woman’s vagina—a skill which owed nothing to any coaching received by wrestling mentors.

Andrea’s body is that of a rag doll, her arms flapping about and then dropping lifelessly to the carpet after she is rolled onto her back. Now in the superior position, it is the teenage boy who is the aggressor. He begins to slow-fuck the cougar whose body is limp and unresponsive beneath him.

“Brandon, my god!” she whispers in disbelief, her voice weak. “You’re…you’re still….”

Brandon answers her by giving her a vigorous inward thrust with his cock that makes her shut up with a grunt as if slugged hard in the belly, which, in a way, she was. The word “hard” that was going to speak died in her throat.

“My god,” are the only two words that Andrea seems able to utter as the virile young male ups his tempo and proceeds to fuck her with the gusto of a man who has not had sex in years—five years, to be exact, since it has been that long since young Brandon reached puberty and began understanding what his penis was to be used for. His sex education teacher utters these two words over and over as his thrusts become increasingly more deliberate and she is pounded mercilessly. The words can barely be heard because she is too exhausted to really vocalize them and instead they basically just fall from the lips of her gaping mouth.

Brandon forces his arms under Andrea’s ass and lifts her legs off the floor. Her feet dangle in the air and bounce wildly with each fucking thrust that her body receives. Eventually, the “my gods” that she mutters are accompanied by other two word phrases: “no more!” and “I’m done!” and “please stop!” It is as if she hasn’t the strength to string together more than two such words at once. But the boy ignores her. His face is a foot above hers, and as his lower abdomen claims her, he stares down at her, mesmerized by her beauty and mystified by the surreal fact that he is actually having her. Having the first sex of his life with Mrs. Williams, a woman he has known since he can first remember and on whom he has had a terrible crush ever since he reached puberty and began to comprehend the facts of life.

Andrea would have sworn it impossible. She would have sworn that her system had shut down, that it was incapable of a single additional orgasm. But she is mistaken. She feels yet another climax approaching. Can they be called “climaxes” if there are multiple numbers of them? Isn’t a climax by definition the end of something? But there is seemingly no end to the ways in which her body and her mind respond to this young, insatiable stud! When the wave hits, her two word utterances deteriorate into one long guttural whimper, a whimper that continues after the wave recedes. She thrusts herself into him with the all of her remaining strength until collapsing in exhaustion on the carpeted floor.

Still, the boy—the man she has now created—is not finished with her. He continues doing her as she lies spent beneath him on the family room floor, fucking the rag doll that her body has become, a rag doll that whimpers for mercy. When he at last withdraws his penis from her vagina, she is grateful. Thank god! She is positive she can take no more. But then she feels her body being rolled over onto her belly. Her arms flop lifelessly in the process. She quickly feels that she is being mounted from the rear. She feels him enter her again from behind. She is amazed that he knows about this position! She begins to protest, but quickly realizes that it would be useless to so so and resigns herself to just lying there, face down on the carpet, taking it, being a sex toy for a young stud having his first mare. She feels his hands slide beneath her body to grasp her breasts after impatiently pushing the flimsy Victoria’s Secret bra off them. She feels his strong fingers digging into the soft flesh of her breasts—almost painfully so—and at the same time is acutely aware of how his washboard abs pound into her curvaceous ass with each deep inward thrust that he gives her. She is beyond the ability to so much as whimper. The only audible sound she now makes are soft grunts with each thrust that she receives, stroke after stroke after unrelenting stroke.

***

An hour after she was being fucked senseless face-down on the family room floor of her neighbor’s house, Andrea was at last in her bed, at home, alone, exhausted both mentally and physically. She stared up at the dark ceiling and knew that welcoming sleep would soon come to her. There would definitely be no need for sleeping pills this night. She had been fucked raw by Brandon Johns and now lay under the sheets of her bed in the darkness of her room, savoring the afterglow of countless orgasms. How many times did he make me cum!?

Raw was definitely the correct term to describe her, as her genitals were literally smoldering from the performance of her young lover. Before coming to bed, she had carefully lathered Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion over her genitals, both externally and internally, as far as her fingers could reach inside her. The lotion, with its medicinal ingredients, had stung at first, but after a few moments it helped soothe the rawness. Still, she knew it would be days before she would feel like having sex again, and was thankful that her husband was out of town.

Andrea had not had the patience to shower before coming to bed. It did not matter that she had been very sweaty earlier. It did not matter that dried sweat from her young lover caked her skin and that considerable traces of his dried semen coated the insides of her thighs. She had simply been too tired to care about washing herself. She could do that in the morning.

She had taken a long moment before getting into bed to glance out her bedroom window to the house across the way. There was no light on in the window of the bedroom where a few hours earlier a seventeen-year-old boy had lost his virginity in a way that he would surely remember for the rest of his days. Andrea smiled at the thought of that. He didn’t lose his virginity. I took it from him! And the sensation of smoldering embers that she acutely felt in her vagina was her souvenir for that.

Yes, Brandon had finally finished with her. Now that she was safely out of his reach, Andrea gave a deep sigh recalling her relief when at long last the boy shot his final wad of cum into her ravaged sex as she lay face down beneath him on the family room floor and he mercifully rolled off her, as spent and exhausted as she was. She knew that she would remember the smell of that carpet for a long time to come. She also knew that the teen—who not too many years ago had been a cute little boy who helped her bake cookies—had shamelessly made sure his cock was as deep inside her as physically possible when he came. I’ve turned him into a cocky little son-of-a-bitch!

Andrea had left him lying on the floor as she got up and slowly dressed. She wanted to leave quickly but knew she could not hurry in dressing because Mrs. Connelly would give her a visual once over when she got home and Andrea would not pass inspection if her blouse was not buttoned correctly or her jacket was not on straight. Concern about Mrs. Connelly also meant that she had to go into the bathroom of the Johns’ house to reapply the little amount of makeup that she used and to also brush out her hair which had an “I’ve-just-been-fucked” look.

It was 9:45pm when Andrea drove into her garage—fifteen minutes later than what she had told Mrs. Connelly she would be home. As she was getting out her car, Jeremy and Megan came running to greet her in the garage. As Andrea stood, she felt with consternation that sperm was trickling freely out of her and soaking the crotch of her designer jeans. The fact that she was not wearing underwear permitted this. She would have to be careful to keep the sight of her crotch away from Mrs. Connelly’s range of vision. It was just like her to notice such details. Andrea removed her leather jacket and held it strategically in front of her as she entered the house from the garage, Jeremy and Megan trailing after her, asking a million questions about where she had been. Andrea was thankful that Mrs. Connelly, uncharacteristically, left almost immediately after Andrea paid her for her evening of service.

“Why couldn’t Brandon have babysitted us?” Jeremy whined once the woman was out the door.

“Yeah, I wanted Brandon,” Megan piled on.

I wanted Brandon too, sweetie. “It’s ‘babysat’, not ‘babysitted’, Jeremy,” she admonished her son.

It had been a long day, and she was relieved that the process of herding the kids to bed was not a hard one on this night. It was funny how this task was usually easier when Mark was away.

In her bed at last, this incredible evening behind her, Andrea stared at the ceiling. Did I really call myself his momma? Yes…I did. She sighed softly. Oh well…. Soon her eyes became too heavy to remain open any longer. Smiling to herself, she rolled onto her side. Her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were of Brandon Johns and the probability that she had not had the last of him. So that’s seventeen! My…god!

PART THREE

One week later, Andrea had just returned from her morning run and was headed upstairs to shower and get ready for work when the phone range. It was Michelle. Andrea felt a guilty pang stab her in the stomach as she heard her friend’s voice. She had managed to mostly avoid Michelle since the older woman’s return from her weekend at Ashley’s college, not sure if she could ever look her best friend in the eyes again after what she had done with her young son. Michelle asked her to come over. It was important. Andrea hesitated, as she needed to get ready for work, but Michelle sounded that it was so urgent that she relented. Still wearing her running shoes, tight fitting running shorts and tank top over a sports bra, her skin still glistening from the sweat worked up during her run, Andrea slipped out the kitchen door and trotted toward her neighbor’s house. Guilt-fueled paranoia swept over her as she went. Get over it! she admonished herself.

Michelle met her at the kitchen door. “I need to show you something”, she said as Andrea stepped inside. Michelle led Andrea to where her laptop was open on the kitchen countertop. Without further ado she touched the mouse of her laptop and onto the screen came the image of the family room of her house. It appeared to be a color video surveillance recording, a little grainy but of relatively good quality. Andrea stared at the screen. Why was Michelle showing her a surveillance recording of the family room? She ran a nervous hand through her hair. The recording was time lapse photography, until motion occurred, then the surveillance camera went into continual recording mode. Andrea could see on the screen the motion that caused this, and it caused her knees to buckle. Blood rushed to her face, turning it a deep crimson. Slowly, her body dropped onto a kitchen stool next to the counter. On the screen, she saw herself walking into the family room. Brandon was sitting on the sofa and rose as Angela came near. “Hello, Brandon,” she could hear the audio quite plainly. “How are you this evening?” “I’m fine, Mrs. Williams.”

Andrea flashed a quick glance at Michelle, who was staring at her with a fixed gaze, her face expressionless. Quickly, she turned back to the laptop monitor. She could not believe what she was seeing. Her image on the screen was smiling and setting down her purse as well as a brown paper bag, and then she was standing erect as she straightened her flowing, shoulder length hair.

Andreas’s jaw dropped as she continued to stare at the screen, her face red. She could feel Michelle’s stare boring into her. She watched, incredulous, as her image on the screen walked to where Brandon stood. She watched as she gave the boy a peck on the cheek, and then turned to where she had set the paper bag and from it extracted a bottle of red wine and a pair of wine glasses. She twisted the cap off the bottle and poured wine into the two glasses and then held them up, offering one to the teenager. “Here,” she heard herself say. “If I’m going to corrupt a minor, I might as well do it all the way.”

With that, Michelle paused the tape, and a heavy silence fell over the suburban kitchen. Andrea could not look away from the now blank screen. She pulled at her hair with her hand.

Finally, Michelle spoke. Her voice showed no emotion. “It’s a long tape, Andrea. I can show you more, if you like. There’s a lot that goes on here.” She paused, then added, “There’s a lot that comes off, too.” Andrea’s head now drooped. She stared unseeingly at the tiles beneath the stool on which she sat. She desperately wished she could find a crack in the tile into which she could crawl. “You don’t think I would go off for an entire weekend without keeping some track of my teenage son, do you?” Michelle’s voice was soft. She might have been discussing the weather. “I must admit, I thought the worst that would probably happen would be a beer party for a dozen of his buddies. Little did I know that my best friend…my best friend…would come into my house and seduce my underage son right under my own roof.”

Michelle paused and again there was only heavy silence for a long moment. After a while, Michelle gave an un-humorous laugh. “My favorite part,” she continued, “was when I was talking to him on the phone and you were both naked and he had his cock in your mouth. You want me to fast forward to that scene?”

Andrea felt a wave of nausea engulf her. She stumbled off the kitchen stool and made for the sink. Once there, the contents of her stomach—an apple and granola bar that she had before her run—came vomiting out of her. She remained at the sink while a couple of dry heaves continued to rack her body. When she was done at last, she turned around slowly and leaned back against the sink, pale, her knees weak. Michelle was watching her carefully. Andrea wanted to say something. To do something. But the humiliation was crushing, and she could only stand there slumped against the sink, trying hard to believe that this was but a nightmarish dream from which she would awake.

“Felony sexual assault.” Andrea barely heard Michelle speak these words, but she did hear the word “felony” and it hit her like a lead pipe to the chest. Her heart was pounding. Tears began to well in her eyes. “Brandon is a minor, for god’s sake, Andrea. How could you do that to my son?”

Andrea started to speak, but there were no words to use. Instead, Michelle continued: “I should have taken this tape to the police already, but I wanted you to see it first. To see what you had to say for yourself”. She paused. “But you have nothing to say, do you? You’re just a slut whore, aren’t you?” Again, by the tone of her voice, one would have thought that Michelle was asking if her friend wanted another slice of pie, but the words stung. Tears began streaming freely down Andrea’s cheeks. “Oh, so we’re all sorry now, aren’t we?” For the first time, a hint of sarcasm could be detected in Michelle’s speech. “Let’s all have a nice cry!”

“Yes…” Andrea’s voice trembled. “Yes, I am sorry. I’m so ashamed.”

There was silence in the kitchen. Andrea looked balefully at her friend—surely her ex-friend now. “Has Brandon…does he—“

“Does he know about the tape? No. Not yet, anyway. He’ll find out, though. When I go to the police.”

The word “police” made Andrea feel like vomiting again. She thought of her husband. Of her two small children. More tears ran down her cheeks. “Michelle…” she began her plea, but no further words came forth.

“Shut up and come with me,” Michelle commanded and began walking to the stairs. Andrea stared after her uncomprehendingly through tear blurred eyes. “Come on,” Michelle repeated as she paused momentarily at the foot of the staircase, but Andrea was still leaning weakly against the kitchen sink when she heard her neighbor’s voice again, now at the top of the stairs, calling for her. Slowly, almost as in a trance, Andrea pushed away from the sink and shuffled uncertainly toward the stairs.

After gaining the upper floor, Andrea, sniffling now, saw Michelle standing in the doorway of her bedroom, motioning for her to come. Slowly, Andrea complied. When she got to the bedroom door, Michelle had moved to the center of the room.

“Lie down on the bed!” It was not a strongly uttered command, but there was no doubt it was a command.

“What?” Andrea asked, sniffling, blinking back her tears and stroking her hair. “Why…”

“Shut up and do what I say!” Andrea stared in utter confusion at the older woman and remained motionless. Michelle’s tone had changed drastically. “Do as I say, Andrea, or so help me god I’ll drive your butt down to the police station with your sex tape in hand so fast it’ll make your head swim!”

Andrea looked at her friend in utter shock. She glanced tentatively toward the large, king-size bed, and then back to the older woman, whose body language suggested that she was not kidding. Many thoughts raced through Andrea’s head. Chief among them was Michelle’s indication that she wouldn’t necessarily take the tape to authorities. If I lay on the bed she won’t go to the police? Why…?

After only the briefest of further hesitation, Andrea, running a hand through her hair, decided that her best choice was to do as the other woman demanded. Biting her lip, she padded uncertainly to the bed. Once there she sat on the edge. She knew Michelle was watching her carefully. Then then brought her legs up onto the bed and then reclined back on the mattress. She didn’t know what to do with her arms, so she placed her hands on her tummy, bare where the tight fitting tank top had ridden up. She stared up at the ceiling and noticed cracks in the plaster. The question of what was going on raced through her mind.

Michelle walked over to the edge of the bed. Andrea became acutely aware of the older woman staring down at her, particularly at her bare legs, from her running shoes all the way up to where her tight fitting running shorts covered only the upper most inches of her thighs.

The two women’s eyes met. “Take off your shorts.” Michelle’s voice had become soft again.

“What!?” Andrea gasped. She was certain she had not heard correctly.

“Listen, Andrea, sweetie. It’s like this. Either you do what I say, when I say it, or your sex tape with an underage boy goes to the District Attorney’s office. Do you understand me, honey?” It was as if she were explaining a simple task to a rather slow child. Andrea lay there, petrified. “Please nod your head yes if you understand,” her neighbor added.

“But…I’m not wearing panties,” Andrea protested.

“Sweetie, you’re testing my patience. Little sluts like you should not do that. Now, take off your fucking shorts before I change my mind.”

Further tears welled up inside Andrea’s beautiful, round eyes as she stared upward in disbelief at her neighbor who was ordering her to do something entirely against her will. She had never heard Michelle use the f-word in the many years she had known her. It scared her now. The realization washed over her that she had no options. Also, for some strange, unpredictable reason, she realized at that moment that she was going to be late for work. Indeed, the entire idea of going to her job had vanished in a flash the moment she was confronted with her sex tape. It came back to her now. She was going to be late for work. Her new boss was going to wonder….

Andrea shook off this trivial digression and brought her mind back to her present, more serious dilemma. Her neighbor—her friend—or ex-friend—was ordering her to take off her shorts, and the shocking reality that she had no choice about the matter now hit Andrea like a fist in the gut. She felt nauseous again. Slowly, tentatively, her nervous hands found their way to the waist band of her tight fitting running shorts. Exhaling, as if she were about to plunge into a pool of ice water, she pushed down on the waist band. She had to raise her butt slightly off the mattress to allow the shorts to be pushed downward, off her hips and to her thighs. Her face blushed a deep crimson at the realization that, despite trying to keep her thighs as tightly together as possible, her sex was now exposed to the intent stare of the older woman. Why was she making her do this?

“Keep going”. The older woman’s voice was firm, no nonsense. Exhaling again, and fixing her eyes on the crack in the ceiling, Andrea pushed the shorts down to below her knees. Once there, she lifted her feet one at a time to kick the garment off her legs. She was still wearing running shoes, and the shorts caught on one of them. Michelle reached for it and pulled the tiny garment the rest of the way off her Andrea’s foot.

Now naked from below where her tank top hit her midriff, Andrea remained motionless on her back as she felt the eyes of the older woman examining her. She kept her legs pressed together in an attempt to conceal the most intimate pat of her body. She knew by now that this was some of cruel game—a card game in which her opponent held all the cards. She waited patiently, therefore, for the next command, not at all certain where any of this was leading.

She didn’t have to wait long for that next command. “Spread your legs, sweetie,” Michelle said softly. “Spread them wide for me.”

“Why!?” Andrea cried, her voice that of a frightened little girl. She wanted to rebel. She wanted to stop this madness. It was a devastating pendulum that she was riding on, one that had taken her from one overwhelming humiliation to another—from the discovery of her sex tape with an underage boy to now having to strip in the presence of that boy’s mother, an angry mother who obviously wanted to demean her. It was retribution for what she had done. And it was working. Andrea’s humiliation was complete. She knew she was helpless. She had no way to rebel. She saw the way the older woman arched her eyebrow in disapproval at her question. Reluctantly, against her will, she did as she had been told. With her heart pounding, she dutifully spread her naked legs before the unrelenting gaze of her tormentor.

A long hiatus ensued in which nothing happened in the quiet suburban bedroom. There was only the nervous breathing of the two women, one lying half naked on the bed, her legs spread, not knowing what was happening, the other standing by the bed observing her intently, knowing full well what was occurring. Finally, out of the corner of her eye, Andrea could see that Michelle was removing her blouse. It was a pullover top that the older woman brought slowly over her head, her shoulder length raven black hair disheveling in the process. In a state of absolute shock, Andrea continued watching out of the corner of her eye as the other woman unclasped her bra and allowed it to fall to her feet. Andrea at that point could not help but turn her head to directly face the other woman. Among the many reactions that she might have expected herself to have at that moment, the one that struck her most was not on the list: her surprise at the fact that her friend’s bare breasts were remarkably firm for a forty-two year-old woman. She looked much younger. She was certainly fit, her waist slim. Her remaining garment was a pair of Capri pants that rode low on her shapely hips and came to mid-calf.

As Andrea watched with unbelieving eyes, Michelle climbed onto the bed and positioned herself between Andreas’s legs, and regarded Andrea with an aspect of wonder. “You are indeed beautiful, Andrea,” she said, her voice husky. “I have wanted you for years. Ever since I first saw you. When you moved in next door.”

Both of Andrea’s hands ran through her hair as she lay on her back on the bed, but she was too shocked to speak. She felt Michelle’s knees between the insides of her thighs. She felt those knees gently kick her thighs a little further apart. “I always looked for signs from you. Signs that you…that you liked me…in the same way I liked you. But the signs were never there. And silly me, I was too afraid to ever make a pass at you. Too afraid you would reject me…hate me…not be my friend anymore.”

Andrea, her heart racing, felt the older woman’s hands move beneath her thighs. Michelle had been looking her in the eyes while speaking, but now let her gaze wander downward, past Andrea’s chest that heaved in anxiety against the tank top and the sports bra beneath it. The woman’s roving eyes only stopped when they came to the juncture between Andrea’s naked and spread legs. “But you have provided me the opportunity to at last fulfill my desires, Andrea. I know now that you can’t reject me. You’re mine now. I have you. You’re either going to prison, or you’re going to be my sex slave. My little slut that does everything I tell her to.”

With mouth agape in astonishment, Andrea stared at the older woman in utter incredulity. Michelle now hovered over her and lowered her body onto hers. When her lips met the younger woman’s neck and began to kiss it, Andrea protested weakly, her voice shallow. “No, Michelle…please. This…this is rape….”

Michelle laughed as she nibbled at the Andrea’s neck. “You know all about rape, don’t you, you little slut? The statutory kind. With my son. Now, if you don’t do as I command, you can see what ten years in prison will feel like.” Michelle had now brought her mouth around and was kissing the other side of Andrea’s neck as she spoke. She was pleased with the way the younger woman’s body shook when she mentioned ten years in prison. “Of course,” she continued, “you could maybe get out in five with good behavior.” The younger woman began to quietly sob, her body shaking gently but uncontrollably. “Your kids could visit you on weekends,” Michelle continued, her mouth moving to kiss the tears than ran down the other woman’s cheek. “It wouldn’t be like they would forget their mother. And then, when you got out of prison, you could see them more regularly.” Her mouth moved to Andrea’s other wet cheek. The younger woman’s body lay fossilized in fear. “Unless,” her neighbor continued, “Mark filed for divorce and gained custody and was able to get the court to issue a restraining order against their registered sex offender of a mother.”

Andrea’s tears were now streaming freely down her cheeks, her body quaking uncontrollably. She knew she had fallen into a trap, and that she now belonged totally to Michelle, who continued licking and tasting her salty tears as they ran down her checks. Michelle’s mouth then covered Andrea’s in an attempted kiss, but the younger woman shook her head violently from side-to-side to deny it. Never mind, Michelle thought, there will be time later for that! She proceeded to scoot downward, her mouth licking a trail down Andrea’s body, moving between the twin mounds beneath the tank top. Michelle pushed the tank top up to around Andrea’s neck, but left the sports bra untouched. Her mouth continued downward until it reached the navel. After pausing there for a while, her tongue playing with the tiny belly button, Michelle’s mouth resumed its downward travel. With her own legs she could feel that Andrea had closed hers, and she impatiently kicked them apart again. Andrea, crying softly, did not resist this, her body passive now, her only movement being her head which flopped slowly back and forth on the pillow in denial. Michelle’s mouth spent a considerable amount of time exploring the lower belly region beneath the younger woman’s navel but, eventually, her teeth were biting and pulling on the few strands of fine pubic hair that had escaped an otherwise quite close shaving. Then, she shoved her hands under Andrea’s naked buttocks and lifted the younger woman’s pubic region slightly. For the first time in her life—a life led with closeted and frustrated yearnings for a bisexual experiences—Michelle John’s face came into direct contact with the warmth and moistness of another woman’s pussy. With her mouth, her tongue, her lips, her nose, she began to devour that pussy with the fervor of a starving dog.

***

Andrea had essentially been in a state of abject shock since the moment Michelle had turned on her laptop monitor to show the surveillance tape of her encounter with young Brandon. The words she had just heard to the effect that her children could visit her on weekends in prison had only deepened her near zombie-like state, to the extent that, after her quiet sobs had gradually subsided, she was initially not really paying full intention to the fact that she was being sexually molested. Gradually, however, the intense manner in which her pussy was being eaten began to stir her awareness. She could no longer ignore what was happening to her. She lifted her head and looked down her body to where her neighbor’s face was buried between her spread legs, the woman’s raven black, shoulder-length hair tickling the sensitive skin of her thighs. Dropping her head back onto the pillow, Andrea was awe-struck by the sensation. Her arms lay helplessly by her sides, her fingers clinching into fists and then unclenching, over and over again. Her eyes were as wide as the moon and she stared above her and again saw the cracked plaster on the ceiling. She gasped as she felt the other woman’s fingers parting her labia and licking as deeply into her vagina as was anatomically possible. She felt the woman’s nose rooting her. She again raised her head to look down her body at the scene that was unfolding between her legs. For a long moment she watched the head of her neighbor bobbing as she ate her with increasing gusto, and then dropped her own head once again back onto the pillow in disbelief, shutting her eyes tightly as she gave in to experiencing the situation that was occurring. She always enjoyed Mark eating her pussy—and other men before him. And Brandon, just recently, had proven to be a tremendous thrill for her in that department. But this was different. This was not Mark. Or Brandon. Or any man. This was a woman eating her pussy! Andrea gulped at the realization, her fingers once again fisting before her hands shot to her hair to pull at it. This was nothing she had ever before even remotely contemplated. Her head flopped slowly back and forth on the pillow. She was aware—vaguely at first, and then unmistakably—that her body was writhing as the other woman worked on her. She gradually became aware that…that what was happening to her…was exciting!

No longer able to deny that the sensation between her legs had become a marvelous one, Andrea’s hands moved downward and seized the sides of Michelle’s head as the older woman relentlessly licked, kissed, sucked and nosed at this most intimate part of her hot, sexy body. Soft moans of pleasure now escaped from her trembling lips. Soon, she was aware that her nipples had hardened, and that they were uncomfortably constrained by her tight fitting sports bra. In an act that surprised and shocked herself, she brought her hands up impatiently from Michelle’s head and pushed the bra upward, off her breasts, to around her neck, where it joined the tank top that Michelle had already pushed up. Did I just do that!? With her breasts now bared, her hardened nipples were suddenly freed of any constraint and able to swell to their full size and stand erect. Any embarrassment that she may have felt at having pushed her bra out of the way was quickly dispelled by the sensation of her eager fingers quickly caressing the hardened nipples. Strange little sounds trickled from her parted lips.

Michelle, as intent as she was in eating her friend’s pussy, noticed what Andrea had done with her sports bra and sent one of her hands upward to massage one of the now exposed breasts. Andrea continued playing with her other breast, and sent her freed hand downward once again to caress the scalp of the woman whose face was buried in her pussy.

Andrea’s soft moans gradually elevated to louder murmurings of “yes…yes!” as Michelle continued doing her. Michelle would pause occasionally and pull her face away from her friend’s pussy, keeping, as she did this, one hand firmly on her friend’s breast and her other hand on one of the younger woman’s well-toned ass cheek. Andrea, her head tossing, would wait impatiently for Michelle’s face to come back to her, and when it wouldn’t, she would squirm her body downward like a serpent seeking heat, and would find that heat in the hot breath of her female lover whose mouth would begin again to devour her cunt.

Minutes of intense cunnilingus followed. Andrea’s whimpering cries of “yes…yes” morphed into shouts that implored a divine being—shouts that could have been heard in the downstairs family room had there been anyone there to listen.

As Andrea approached orgasm, she grabbed hold of a cross bar at the head of the bed with both hands and pushed her crotch violently against the face that was fucking her. Her explosion was accompanied by a long, seemingly ceaseless cry of release that reverberated throughout the entire suburban house. Her body bucked like a rodeo bronco, and it threw her rider off. Michelle pulled back and, from her front row seat between a beautiful pair of spread legs, with pussy juice coating her face, watched her friend go through the throes of a tumultuous orgasm.

Andrea’s bucking body—naked save for the tank top and sports bra wrapped around her neck—and the running shoes on her feet—eventually came to a rest on the mattress. When it did, Michelle’s face was quickly once again at her pussy, licking it delicately this time. “No!” Andrea gasped. “I can’t take any more. You’re killing me! Please stop!”

“Shut up!” Michelle hissed, her words partially muffled by the fact that her mouth was fully of freshly orgasmed pussy. “You’re a fucking sex slut! Just shut up!” Her friend’s orgasm had released a virtual shower of vaginal secretions that Michelle was now licking up like a kitten at a bowl of milk. Andrea collapsed back on the mattress and tried to suppress her cries of protest. She wrapped her thighs around the older woman’s shoulder so that that might limit the woman’s range of movement. Michelle was content with that. She only wanted to keep eating the pussy of the woman for whom she had lusted for such a long time.

Andrea lay back on the mattress, breathing deeply, overwhelmed, and deeply shocked, by what she had just experienced, and was continuing to experience. On the one hand, what was transpiring was nothing short of mind blowing. She had never orgasmed quit like that. On the other hand, this was all so…so wrong! And the wrongness would not stop. The other woman would simply not quit licking her pussy! And there was nothing that Andrea could do about it! This actually helped wash the guilt away as she lay back and closed her eyes and focused on what her best friend was doing to her.

It was not long before the gentle licking that she was receiving between her widely spread thighs brought Andrea to climax once again, but a different type of orgasm this time, one that did not rock her body like the first one. This time she merely writhed languidly on the bed as one gentle wave of pleasure after another reverberated outward from her loins. The noises she made this time were more subdued, as well. Instead of shouting to the heavens and the god who supposedly lived there, she merely made low, guttural sounds not unlike those of a tom cat in a dark alley before a fight starts.

***
After bringing Andrea to an uncountable number of orgasms that left her exhausted and motionless on her back on the bed, Michelle remained curled up in a fetal position between the younger woman’s spread legs, studying her, marveling at her beauty, marveling at the good fortune that had allowed her to seduce the object of her desire. The room was silent now that the recent cries and moans of girl-on-girl lovemaking had subsided. After perhaps five or six minutes, Michelle stirred. The first thing she did was to remove the running shoes and socks from Andrea’s feet. Andrea lay oblivious to the world as Michelle did this. Nor did the younger woman show a sign of life when Michelle pulled her tank top and sports bra over her head, leaving the younger woman’s spent body completely naked.

Michelle, still wearing the Capri pants but nothing else, lay face down on Andrea’s face up body. Their bare breasts pressed together. Michelle stared intently at Andrea, who appeared to be asleep. She lowered her face and kissed the slightly parted lips of the younger woman. This brought a stir from her friend. Michelle pulled her face away and watched as the Andrea’s eyes flickered open. Michelle smiled down at her friend and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair. Andrea stared back at her with the look of a deer in headlights. “You are gorgeous,” Michelle murmured before slowly lowering her head to kiss her friend again.

Andrea, her eyes questioning, did not resist the kiss this time, but neither did she at first respond. For one thing, she was acutely aware of the scent of her own pussy juices on the other woman’s mouth—indeed, over her entire face. She was quite cognoscente of the fact the lips now touching hers, and the tongue now flicking its way into her mouth, had only moments before been locked on her vagina. “But…but…I’m not a lesbian!” she stammered against the open mouth of the other woman.

“Be quiet,” Michelle scolded her softly. “You’ve just discovered that you’re bi, sweetie. Like me. It’s great, isn’t it? You get the best of both worlds.” With that she began to kiss the younger woman who lay beneath her. Andrea’s resistance melted. Her own lips parted, and when she felt Michelle’s searching tongue come deep into her mouth, she met it with her own tongue. Her body gradually relaxed as the sensuality of their dancing tongues dissolved the last remnants of her denial. The two women embraced, and their bodies ground slowly together as the passion of their extended French kiss amplified.

At last, Michelle pulled away, and laid her head beside Andrea’s, leaving her body on top of hers. Their lengthy kiss had left both of them somewhat breathless. There was only silence for a long while, Andrea staring in wonder at the ceiling.

Finally, Michelle spoke. “Okay, Andrea, baby, it’s like this. You’re going to be my sex slut, and I’m going to be your master. Or I guess ‘mistress’ is the correct term for a female owner.” She paused and looked into the eyes of the younger woman who lay beneath her, staring back up at her with eyes now as wide as an owl’s. Michelle ran her fingertips across the other woman’s lips as she continued speaking. “Now, during the normal course of our lives, you’re Andrea, I’m Michelle, we’re neighbors, we’re best friends, we’re equals, we do all the things that suburban women do, things we’ve always done, we get together for coffee, we talk about our children, you talk about your husband, your job, just like old times.” Michelle paused here and smiled.

“But, when I snap my fingers—and I can’t tell you now how often or when that is going to be—you will become my sex slut. I will call you my sex slut and you will call me your mistress. You will obey every command that I give you. When I give you a command, you will say ‘yes, mistress’, and then do it with no talking back.”

Michelle paused again in her monologue. Their faces were only inches apart, so close that Andrea appeared to almost be cross eyed as she stared awe-struck at up at her friend—so close she could continue to smell her own, now drying pussy juices on the other woman’s face.

“If you don’t do these things,” Michelle continued, her fingertips continuing to trace their way lightly along Andrea’s moist lips, “I will haul you before a judge and have you tried for criminal sexual assault of a minor. In the video, you verbally acknowledge that you are corrupting a minor. What jury would not convict you? Like I say, that will get you five years minimum. Now, my dear, what is your choice?” She smiled at the younger woman.

Andrea could only stare in incredulity upward into the face of the other woman. After a long moment, her lips quivering faintly, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. She managed to get the word “I” out on a second effort, but her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, and then tried a third time. “I…I guess I’m your sex slut”, she managed to say meekly.

***
Michelle gave the naked woman laying beneath her a big hug. Her plan had worked! “Smart girl, Andrea. I’m glad you see it this way.” A devilish smile then played on her lips. “You didn’t exactly seem to mind my ‘raping’ you, did you, sweetie? You came like a machine gun!”

Andrea blushed a deep red. She knew it was true. She also knew at that moment that she was going to end any charade of pretending it was not true. She reached for the other woman’s head and pulled it to her face and again they kissed with abandon.

This latest kiss lingered. Their naked breasts smashed into each other’s as their bodies ground slowly together. At last, Michelle pulled her mouth away, panting as if she were coming up for air which, in a sense, she was. “Now, sweetie,” she said before having to pause for breath. “One other thing. I don’t want you to so much as touch Brandon again, do you hear me?”

Andrea stared up into the eyes of the woman who had just eaten her to multiple orgasms, a woman whose son she had recently fucked. Hesitating only for a moment, Andrea nodded in the affirmative. “Look, Andrea, honey,” Michelle said softly, “when you’re naked around me, it’s because at that moment you’re my sex slut. Sex sluts don’t just nod their heads. Sex sluts say, ‘Yes, mistress.’ Do you understand?”

Andrea began to nod, but caught herself. “Yes, mistress,” she said, her voice weak. She knew there were no choices in the matter. Deciding between facing criminal prosecution or giving in to the surprising sexual demands of her neighbor was a definite no-brainer. This woman, whom Andrea now realized she had never really known despite being best friends and neighbors for many years, held in her hands the power to ruin Andrea and destroy her family. She would not—she could not—let that happen. In any event, she had already demonstrated to her friend what the residual tingling in her loins had told her: that she had found the beginning of this quite illicit affair to be truly exciting!

Michelle shifted her weight upon the prone body of her friend. She lowered her face to within inches of Andrea’s. “Now, my sex slut, I want you to lick your considerable pussy juices off my face before they totally dry.”

The two stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then, Andrea reached for Michelle’s head again and pulled her friend’s face to her mouth. “Yes, mistress,” she whispered before her tongue tasted the first musky flavors of her own vaginal secretions.

***
“My goodness!” Michelle exclaimed. Andrea had been licking her face like a famished beagle, unceasingly except for those moments when the mouths of the two women came together and they kissed passionately. Andrea of course had smelled and tasted her own pussy juice before, when licking her fingers after masturbation. But licking it off the face of her best friend was a whole new ballgame, and it excited her. She eventually rolled out from underneath her friend and crawled on top of her. “I don’t think I needed to blackmail you!” Michelle said, her voice breathless.

Andrea ignored her. Now on top, she had more control. After satisfying herself that her untiring tongue had erased the last of the scent of her sex from Michelle’s face, Andrea’s mouth moved down onto the older woman’s neck, and then her shoulders. One of her hands was now at Michelle’s breast, massaging it, her fingers toying with the rock-hard nipple that sat atop it. Her fingers pinched and pulled on the nipple until her mouth arrived to participate in the action. It was Michelle’s turn to moan, to toss her head with abandon on the bed as the younger woman worked on her. Andrea took as much of the woman’s fleshy breast into her mouth as would fit, her hands molding around the rest of it that would not fit. Sucking forcefully, her tongue worked the rigid nipple like a boxer’s gloved fists training on a punching bag. Her saliva ran freely down the sides of the woman’s mammary. Eventually Andrea paid equal attention to the other breast as the other woman squirmed in seeming agony on the bed.

“Fuck me!” Michelle cried at last. “For God’s sake, take my pants off and fuck me!”

Andrea sat up, her knees straddling the prone woman’s thighs. “Is that a command, mistress?” Her voice was husky but with an almost bashful tone.

“Yes!”

Andrea smiled. She had never in her life harbored a homosexual desire, but a sudden awakening had occurred within her. Looking down upon the body of her best friend, an overwhelming craving engulfed her, a yearning to explore new ground, new sensations. Excited by this, her fingers went eagerly to the zipper of the Capri pants that were the only remaining piece of clothing that her best friend was wearing.

Michelle lifted her ass off the bed to make it easier for the other woman to tug the tight fitting Capris off the swell of her hips and ass and down her legs. Andrea flung the pants across the room once she had pulled them all the way off. She paused then to take in the view of her friend, clad now only in a tiny g-string of a panty, and writhing impatiently on the bed. “You’re beautiful, Michelle,” she whispered. “I hope I have this body when I’m your age.”

“You have my body now!” the older woman panted. “It’s yours!”

Andrea extended herself over the other woman and lay atop her. Except for Michelle’s g-string, which hardly counted as clothing, they were both totally naked now for the first time and they kissed again passionately, their hands locked together, their legs intertwining. As the one in command now, Andrea eventually slithered her body downward, her lips and tongue marking a path down the other woman’s skin as she went, passing through the valley between the breasts this time. “How do you do it?” she mumbled half to herself in amazement at the firmness of the forty-two year-old woman’s abs, which she caressed with her fingertips, lips and tongue. The older woman squirmed beneath her, and Andrea’s mouth resumed its downward journey, arriving finally at the belly button, where she spent considerable time with her tongue, remembering how good it felt when her friend had done the same thing to her earlier. She felt Michelle’s hands on her head, trying to push her head farther south. Andrea resisted. She lifted her head and looked up toward the face of her best friend. “I might be your sex slut,” she cooed, “but I’m calling the shots right now, mistress!” She then returned to what she had been doing, which was pretending that her friend’s belly button was a tiny jar of honey and her tongue was trying to dig the last drops out of it. Michelle, in response, grabbed the sides of her own head and moaned unintelligibly.

While Andrea’s tongue was still reaming Michelle’s navel, she had used her knees to kick apart the older woman’s legs so that she could position her torso between them. When Andrea’s mouth at last reached the juncture of those legs, she did not bother to push aside the g-string. Instead, she placed her mouth and nose against the sheer fabric of the miniscule underwear, feeling its moistness and breathing in the musky scent of a woman in heat. Her tongue darted from her mouth and pressed against the g-string. She heard her friend gasp. She applied more pressure by pressing her face ever closer. She then began to eat at the g-string. Her tongue was able to push the tiny piece of lingerie into the threshold of the other woman’s vagina.

“God yes! Oh god yes!” Michelle cried. Her hands were still pressing against the sides of her head. “Eat me, you little sex slut! Eat my cunt!”

Andrea took her fingers and pushed the g-string to the side, exposing her best friend’s hairless pussy just inches from her eyes. A silly thought jumped into Andrea’s mind: this is the vagina which gave birth to the young stud who fucked my lights out! She now inserted two fingers into that very vagina as far as they would go. Her tongue quickly searched for, and found, the woman’s clitoris.

Michelle came immediately. Her thrashing was such that Andrea could not keep her mouth against her friend’s pussy, but she did manage to keep her fingers planted inside her vagina as she sat back between the spread legs of the other woman and watched the spectacle of her going through the throes of her orgasm. After perhaps thirty seconds, the woman’s back arched high in the air and remained there for a long moment before she collapsed back onto the bed in spent exhaustion.

It was only then that Andrea again acted. The first thing she did was to pull Michelle’s g-string down her now lifeless legs and off. She pulled the flimsy garment over her own head and onto her neck where it sat as some sort of silky neckless. Then, after pausing to run her hands through her own hair, she resumed her position between the other woman’s spread thighs and took up again where she had left off, with her face pressed against her best friend’s pussy. Michelle was sopping wet there, and her juices now coated Andrea’s face, just as Andrea’s secretions had done to Michelle’s face earlier. It was the first time Andrea had ever tasted or smelled pussy juice other than her own. She was mesmerized by it. She burrowed her face ever deeper into it, French kissing her best friend’s pussy with passion, drinking in as much of the woman’s nectar as she could.

Michelle’s lifeless body gradually responded to the unceasing caresses she felt down there. She slowly ground her pubic region against the face of her sex slut, marveling at how she had conquered this amazing woman whom she had lusted after for years. She was finally having her! The realization of this alone made her climax again. Only this time her orgasm, instead of the earthquake she experienced the first time, was like more like a series of tiny tremors that rippled repeatedly outward from the epicenter that was her womanhood.

***
Fifteen minutes later, bright early autumn sunshine was streaming through the bedroom window, bathing the naked bodies of the two mature and quite beautiful women—each the mother of two children—entwined on the bed. (Technically, they both weren’t totally naked: Andrea still had Michelle’s g-string panties draped around her neck.)

Their stirrings were leisurely now as the fires of their earlier passions had given way to an unhurried exploration of what, for both of them, was unchartered territory, where they were discovering that sexual fulfilment with a partner did not require that that partner be a male of their species. It was an exploration full of discovery, one planned and perfectly executed by one of the women, and a total surprise sprung on the other who had initially been conscripted against her will for this voyage, but who now was quite apparently an eager participant.

Gradually, with the twisting and turning of their bodies, they found themselves in the sixty-nine position, Michelle on top. Their wild lusts having been sated, they were now seemingly content to engage in a prolonged, leisurely examination of each other’s bodies, more or less a wind down, both believing that neither of them had the energy left to achieve further orgasms. This was still most likely still the extent of their intentions after their respective mouths came into contact with the other woman’s genitals and they proceeded in a simultaneous and slow eating of each other’s pussies. But after several minutes of this, Michelle’s tongue strayed the short distance from Andrea’s pussy to her anus. She spread the cheeks of the younger woman’s ass and began licking at the round, puckered hole, covering it with her saliva, endeavoring to send the tip of her tongue into the hole, and suddenly it was as if fresh fuel had spilled on dying embers. Michelle felt her lover’s body beneath her respond. Moaning, the younger woman wrapped her legs around Michelle’s torso, a move that lifted her ass upward in an attempt to provide her friend’s tongue better access to the opening of her rectum. Andrea tried as best she could to press her ass upward into Michelle’s face, and succeeded in flattening her friend’s nose into the crack between her two, round, firm buttocks. Michelle also felt Andrea eagerly returning the favor, as her own asshole became the attention of a daring, darting tongue. She felt a finger of the woman beneath her forcing its way into her. “Ouch!” she cried. “Careful with you nails, sweetie!” She gasped these words without taking her mouth more than a millimeter away from the younger woman’s asshole, which she resumed licking feverishly.

If Andrea, on her back with her face buried in her friend’s crotch, heard her friend’s plea to be careful with her fingernails, she made no indication of it. What she did do was insert a second finger into the other woman’s ass and then sink both digits to the hilt, eliciting a different kind of cry from the lips that played with her own puckered, brown hole. With her fingers now filling Michelle’s ass, Andrea inserted her thumb into her partner’s vagina and then pinched her thumb and fingers together, feeling them practically touch as they pressed together the walls of Michelle’s vagina and rectum. Andrea then brought her mouth back down to her friend’s pussy and again eating at it wildly as her fingers and thumb moved around inside the older woman’s body, controlling her as if she were a bowling ball.

Fucking backwards against the fingers in her ass and cunt and against a tongue that ate at her clitoris with abandon, and with her own tongue licking madly at her partner’s rectum, Michelle came in a climax that shook her body. It was the umpteenth time she had orgasmed in the past hour, and it left her a whimpering basket case as she collapsed on top of her female partner.

But her female partner was not through with her. Andrea, perhaps still shocked at her sudden and enthusiastic conversion to bi-sexuality, did not cease her vigorous finger fucking of her girlfriend’s ass and pussy. Nor did her mouth pull away from where her thumb disappeared into the other woman’s sex, allowing her to fully taste and smell a new flow of vaginal juices secreted from her exhausted partner’s latest orgasm.

After perhaps a minute more, Michelle, coming out of her post-orgasmic torpor, was unable to withstand any further stimulation that her partner continued to administer to her ass and cunt. Mustering her strength, she rolled herself off of Andrea and onto her back beside her, her friend’s fingers coming disengaged from her bodily cavities in the process. Lying still now, save for the rising and falling of her chest as she stared upward at the ceiling panting, Michelle was soon aware that her lover was now masturbating with the fingers that, until just moments before, had been inside Michelle’s ass. Andrea had been near orgasm herself when her Michelle abruptly rolled off her, leaving her high and dry. Giving a faint cry of frustration at this, fingers of one of her hands quickly reached for her pussy, while the fingers of her other hand massaged her breasts.

Beside Andrea on the bed, both women on their backs, Michelle listened for a while to the soft noises of her partner masturbating—the unmistakable slurping of a wet pussy being fingered, the soft little moans that escaped from her friend’s throat. Michelle waited, listening, her body gently rocking from contact with Andrea’s arm as the other woman masturbated beside her. When she sensed that her girlfriend was nearing climax, Michelle rose up and rolled Andrea’s body over onto her tummy. Andrea cried in protest.

“Keep fucking yourself!” Michelle hissed as she positioned herself between the legs her now face-down friend. Obeying, Andrea forced her right arm between her body and the mattress and once again her fingers found her pussy. “Good girl”, Michelle said. “Now, raise your pretty little ass in the air for me”.

Again Andrea obeyed. With the side of her face planted on the mattress, she brought her knees forward until her spectacular derriere was presented in all its glory before the admiring gaze of her female lover. Without having to be told, Andrea again reached for her pussy, anxious to get herself off. Michelle, attentive to the situation, realized that Andrea, with her lower abdomen raised off the bed, had to make an uncomfortable reach upward to touch herself where she needed to be touched, so she quickly shoved a couple of pillows underneath the younger woman’s body so that her hands could rest on them while her fingers danced with her pussy. Michelle then knelt behind Andrea and spread the younger woman’s ass cheeks wide.

“Yes!” she heard Andrea cry. “Kiss me there some more! Please!” Her whimpering voice was lust-filled as her fingers worked rapidly on her sex. Michelle quickly complied, sending her tongue against the round, puckered hole that lay between the stunningly beautiful and spread buttocks of Andrea Williams, poking at it, trying to enter it. Michelle felt the other woman push her ass back against her face, and then began licking the ass crack up and down its entire length, from where the crack began up between the swell of Andrea’s hips, down to where it came within inches of the cunt. Up and down. Down and up, pausing often at the hole itself where her tongue was able to at least part the puckered opening, if not entirely enter it.

Michelle knew her girlfriend was close to coming. She pulled her face from Andrea’s ass crack and planted her mouth squarely on one of the younger woman’s beautiful, round buttocks that stuck invitingly in the air as her body squirmed, the side of her face flattened on the mattress, her hair spread wildly about her head as she masturbated. Michelle’s teeth bit into the flesh of the well-toned buttock and then sucked as much of that flesh as she could into her mouth.

Andrea cried out sharply in pain, her fingers suddenly forgetting their task of bringing herself to orgasm. “What…?” she gasped.

Michelle took her lips away from her girlfriend’s butt cheek only long enough to proclaim three words, her voice rough: “I’m marking you!” Already a bright red spot was blazing at the spot on Andrea’s buttock where Michelle’s mouth had been and where it quickly returned. A further bite ensued, followed by a forceful sucking pressure that brought yet more blood to just beneath the surface of the skin.

“No!” Andrea gasped. “My husband will see it!” Andrea knew that Mark would be returning in the evening horny, as he always was after his business trips, and that he would take her as soon as they got the children to bed.

“Don’t let him take off your panties,” her female lover hissed as she moved her mouth the younger woman’s other buttock and proceeded to apply a second hickey.

“But…” Andrea stammered. “He…he’s coming home tonight–”

“Shut up, slut!” her mistress demanded, and carried on with her marking of her lover’s behind. When she was finished, she pulled her face back and admired the matching, bright red hickeys now adorning the twin mounds of the younger woman’s perfect ass.

Michelle thought about what her girlfriend had just said about her husband. She reached between the legs of the face down woman and shoved two fingers into her sopping wet pussy. Andrea’s body shook gently as she felt this. “Is he fucking you tonight?” Michelle asked, her voice raspy as she proceeded to finger fuck her lover.

“Yes.”

There was then silence between them as Michelle continued to gently finger fuck the face-down younger woman whose ass remained high in the air, raised by the pillows stuffed beneath her lower abdomen, and whose eyes were shut as if in sleep. Eventually, Andrea’s fingers found their way back to the juncture of her legs. With her neighbor’s fingers having their way with her vagina, her own fingers twirled against her clitoris. She had been riding the summit of sexual stimulation for so long that the clitoris was like a red hot iron, and the orgasm that she nearly achieved before her mistress interrupted her with hickeys to her ass was again imminent. The whimpers that escaped her parted lips as climax neared came quicker and in more staccato fashion.

“Is your husband fucking you tonight?” Michelle demanded again, losing not a stroke in the finger fucking of her lover.

“Yes,” Andrea cried, not missing a beat herself in wildly masturbating herself to the brink of orgasm.

“But you’re cheating on him now, aren’t you!?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, mistress!”

The fingers of the two women rubbed together furiously as Andrea masturbated against her clitoris and Michelle vigorously finger fucked her vagina. “Tell me you’re a cheating little whore!” Michelle demanded, her voice hoarse.

“I…” Andrea started, but was unable to finish. On her knees, her ass in the air, with multiple fingers bringing her to the brink, uttering any words now other than “god!” and “yes!” seemed impossible.

“What?!” her mistress demanded.

Gritting her teeth, her eyes shut in a tight grimace, Andrea was at last able to spit out: “I’m a…a cheating…little whore, mistress!”

“And you love it, don’t you, you little slut?!”

“Yes…mistress…I love it!” Andrea panted. “I love you fucking me!” The first ripples of climax were beginning to radiate within her loins. Her fingers at her clitoris worked with blinding speed. Her body arched. “I’m a slut…a slut whore!” she cried as she came, her body thrashing wildly on the bed, her legs scissoring. Michelle could not stay with her. She withdrew her fingers from her friend’s vagina and watched in utter fascination as the naked body of the beautiful woman she had coveted for years now writhed in the throes of orgasm beneath her. It was a spectacular and satisfying moment of conquest for the forty-two year old divorcee.

When Andrea’s body gradually came to an exhausted rest, the body of her female lover was on top of her, pushing her into the pillows beneath her tummy. Michelle licked Andrea’s pussy juice from her fingers. “You taste delicious, sweetie”, she purred into her lover’s ear.

***
Ten minutes passed. During these minutes neither woman stirred. Only their breathing, deep at first, then relaxed, confirmed that they were alive. After Andrea’s last orgasm, they hugged and kissed and licked pussy juice off their respective faces, laughing about it. Then they dozed off.

At last, Andrea stirred and murmured, “I didn’t know it could be this good. With a woman.” Michelle smiled and hugged her lover. After a long pause, Andrea spoke again, her voice soft and dreamy: “If you send me to prison, we won’t be able to do this anymore.”

Michelle smiled again. “As long as you’re my little sex slut, sweetie, you have nothing to worry about.” They kissed, and then Michelle again spoke. “And about Brandon? I was kidding. I don’t really care if you ‘touch’ him again. In fact, I’d prefer he fuck you instead of some high school slut he could get pregnant. I really think you’ll be good for him. Help him mature.”

The two women were quiet for a long moment. Then Michelle added: “Just be sure you wash off after he does you. I might grab you some day when you’re not expecting me, and if I do, I don’t want to taste my son’s sperm in your pussy!” Andrea laughed at that. Michelle joined her. When their laughter faded away, they drifted off to sleep for another ten to fifteen minutes, despite the bright, late morning sunshine pouring through the suburban bedroom window. The limbs of their naked and spent bodies were entwined as they slept.

THE END

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