Mother's Day (slut wife, FMMM, humor)
It was a picturebook Mother's Day dawn. My angelic sons tottering into
our bedroom at 6 am: one clutching a card he made in pre-school, the
other carrying a breakfast tray with a worrying sort of wobble. Their
father tiptoed behind them, encouraging their progress with pats on
their tiny bottoms, rescuing the tray and placing it on my bedside
table. I got three cards, one from each of my men, and a vase
containing the only flowers in the garden. My husband means very well
indeed but his gardening tends to be of the 'scorched earth' variety. I was moved almost to tears by the kisses carefully, deeply inscribed
on my cards, by the little sticky arms wound fondly round my neck, and
the even stickier kisses. We settled down for breakfast - the little
one cuddled up next to me in the big bed, happily munching my toast;
his older brother doing Batman impressions by jumping off the blanket
box. Right cape, wrong pyjamas. My old man's eyes met mine over the children's heads. We smiled, and
our glance glittered for a second like a hot road surface. Sex is
sometimes no more than an exchange of wistful glances, a look full of
promise, when you have small children and two jobs. But at least it's
there. "Bill and Harry are off to Grandma's for the day, aren't you boys?
They're going to have a lovely, lovely time!" James is smiling. "She and Grandad are coming *very* early to take you to the zoo. And
you're going to go out to the zoo for the *whole day*! . So we'll get
you two dressed, shall we, and leave Mummy in peace to have a nice
rest?" My corn-silk haired boys wobble and bounce joyfully off, the little
one still in diapers at night, eager for their exciting day out. I am
longing for my nice rest.... Mothers seem to spend an inordinate
amount of the time longing for a nice rest. @---}---}----- Next thing I know, James is whispering my name. "Wake up, Bronwen.
Wake up, sweetheart." Eyelids fluttering, eyes popping open in shock, I sit bolt upright. I
say nothing, but my mouth must be a silly 'O' of amazement. The room
is packed with people. People with no clothes on. By the doorway of our dishevelled bedroom stand three naked men. Erase
that. Not naked. Nearly naked. I register three well-filled satin
posing pouches. Belonging to three perfect 20-year-old athletes. Satin
skin, rippling six packs, long sculptured limbs, exquisite shoulders.
Faces which would look at home in Italian Vogue. These are easily the most beautiful men I have ever seen in RL. One
blond, wearing a leopard skin G-string, one slightly Italianate man,
and a plum-bloomed black man with a shaven head. His G-string is an
absurd, yet sexy, hot pink. They have not another stitch on, not even
shoes. They are all smiling at me in a wholesome sort of way.
Astonishing teeth. James, OTOH, is *not* looking wholesome. He looks profoundly
lecherous. "Meet Lance, Rod - and John Thomas, darling," he gestures at our
guests. "They're your Mother's Day surprise. You've been working too hard,
babes. Way too hard, and without a proper break. I know I don't always
appreciate what a perfect wife and mother you are, but I've been
trying to think of a way to show you. And knowing what your fantasies
are, and how horny you get writing those stories - well...." his voice
slows, and thickens. "I kinda like those slut wife stories myself. I
thought I'd give you free rein this morning, and come home later to
see how the four of you are getting on...." He grins, horny yet
bashful. "I've bought you this, too," and he hands me an instant
camera. "Holy shit, James!" My voice holds shock and admiration. He's a
creative thinker, my boy, and he knows what turns me on, but this is
outrageous. "You sure you know what you're doing, angel?" "Yep. I got these three guys especially *because* I know you'd never
think of it yourself in a million years. But like the song says 'Girls
just wanna have fun". You always loved that song. So I thought I'd
put a bit back in your life. Have a good one, baby!" "But, James...." I yelp urgently and, leaping out of bed in my
ankle-length nightie, hussle him into the bathroom and shut the door.
Once inside I fire whispered questions. "What about disease? How do
you know they aren't sex maniacs? Where did you get them?" James stays relaxed. "You don't have to worry about a thing, love.
They've been tested for every disease possible, but we're all stocked
up with condoms anyway. You'll find them beside the toaster. And never
you mind where I found them." James taps the side of his nose. "That's
my business. But they're not going to move a muscle unless you say so.
You're the boss. That's the rules. This is *your* day. Those guys are
safe as houses. You just get along and enjoy yourself." He kisses me first on the nose, then on the mouth, and with a cheery
call of "You look after my old lady, OK?" he is gone. I stand at the
top of the stairs, dumbstruck. But my hand has somehow found its way
to my mound, where it winds itself around in an absent-minded way like
a cat settling to sleep. @---}---}----- By 12 o'clock I am in the kitchen, rubbing my clit slowly through my
nightdress as I watch a fantasy unfold. Outside in the garden John
Thomas is up a ladder pruning the wisteria. I chose him because the
Spring sunlight is treacherously bright and his glorious vinyl-black
skin would never burn. His body against the whitewash would make a
woman on her deathbed drool. But it isn't this that's giving me such
pleasure, although I've been worrying about the wisteria for weeks now
- one of those jobs that just never gets done. No, it's the sight of Lance on his hands and knees. The muscles and
sinews of his shoulders, his back and his mouth-watering ass are as
perfect as an anatomy drawing, but far more exciting. And what he is
doing fulfills all this mother's wildest dreams. Lance is scraping all the crud out from under the refrigerator. Rod is upstairs finishing the bathroom with exquisite care and
thoroughness. I checked a few minutes back, and I could eat out of my
toilet. He's currently cleaning between the tiles with a toothbrush
dipped in bleach. Earlier on he rolled all the kids' socks into pairs. They're nice boys. Really professional - and so energetic. They aim to
please. And so they have.... @---}---}----- (c) BronwenSM 1998 - sorry to break the flow but so much of my stuff
has been pirated, and they may not notice a copyright notice in the
middle when they strip my name, email etc. off the top & bottom of the
story.... @---}---}----- It's nearly four and James will soon be back. And I love him far too
much to disappoint him. I open the kitchen window and summon John
Thomas from the weeding. Rod puts the last of the ironing neatly away
and Lance gives the gleaming stove one final wipe. We come together,
as arranged, in the living room. The curtains are drawn, and I've enjoyed getting ready in my spotless
bathroom. I'd planned to wear some fancy lingerie but most of it's
been washed lovingly by hand and is now drying among the lavender
bushes. "Makes for a lovely scent, Mrs Sainsbury-McClintock," Rod
informs me proudly. So I am bathed, scented, and ready - but
unadorned. Never mind. Won't be for long. Soon I'll have a pearl
necklace. "You've got the camera?" I ask Lance. "Yes, madam," he grins. "And I must admit all that cleaning's built up
a good head of steam. You should get some great pictures." And we do. Lance at one end, JT at the other (we're getting to know
each other now). Then the other way around. Me slowly impaling my arse
on Rod's rod (I made some terrible joke about domestic staff.) The big finale shot is slightly spoilt though. Imagine me, lying on my
back in the middle of the room, with my mouth wide open for the
cum-bath of a lifetime. I'm trying to manipulate the camera while I
thrust my hard heavy breasts up for maximum spatter. My nipples are
dark loganberries of excitement. Three huge fat cocks disappear in a
blur as their owners race to spunk on my face. One of them is fucking
me furiously with a pink jelly dildo. My cunt is puffy and glistening,
my face flushed, my chest mottled. I am determined to get James a picture to remember, a picture he can
lech over when we are old and grey. But when the hot, luscious moment
arrives - when the geysers erupt and the room is filled with groans -
the first huge leap of jism splatters the lens. I'm worried I've
fucked up but as James points out later: "It just adds to the
realism." @---}---}----- I can hear his car in the drive. My three playthings have gone home in
a taxi. Such nice boys. Resting actors (and not a little bisexual) is
my guess. I prefer what I've already got. To be honest, the slut wife stories I will tell James are more his
treat than mine. The sparkling house is my well of refreshment. It's
been a wonderful, wonderful day. As I gaze at the order and
cleanliness around me it feels as if the weight of whole world has
been taken off my back. Tidy cupboards are an idyll of seemingly
impossible bliss. Isn't it terrible how your priorities can change? But now, as I hear his footsteps approaching, a wide, rampant grin
spreads across my face. I feel spectacular. I feel totally relaxed,
flooded with energy. I'm going to give my dear old man a seeing-to he
won't *ever* forget! After all, I haven't had to lift a finger all
day...
Keys: momporn sex stories hot xxx
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