“Maggie,” he said, “what do you want to do?”
I could have come to my senses at that moment. I could have done what a respectable thirty-six-year-old surgeon would do: get dressed, thank my hosts for the lovely party, and leave before I caught something. But I didn’t.
Instead I turned my head and watched Max strip for me. His wide chest was perfect, with a little patch of the same chestnut-colored hair as his moustache and that little soul patch.
“I want to stay,” I said.
“Will you let me fuck you?” Joey asked. He unwrapped a condom from the back pocket of his discarded jeans.
Max and I looked at each other. If I said no, Max was ready to say yes.
I said yes.
I twisted out of my panties and rolled over onto my belly. Joey gave me a nod of approval. I wondered what I looked like to him. Did he see me the way I saw him on the operating table—just a body, faceless, hardly more than a slab of meat? It wasn’t a very romantic thought, but somehow it turned me on to think that he was going to work on me.
“You have a sweet little ass,” he said, caressing the curves in question. “I almost forgot what a woman’s ass felt like.”
I felt his weight shift onto the plaid couch, then onto me. He slid his hands between my thighs and I spread my legs for him. His cock rested against my ass while he kissed the back of my neck. I turned my head so that I could watch Max.
Max crouched beside the couch, gently touching my breast with the back of one hand and stroking his cock with the other.
“Let me do that,” I said, reaching out. Max’s cock slid between my fingers.
Joey eased himself inside me slowly, reaching deeper and deeper within me until he filled me up. We both groaned from the strain. When he started to move, I lost my grip on Max for a moment; I wasn’t expecting Joey to be quite so powerful…so aggressive.
I pumped my hips in time to Joey’s strokes so that he wouldn’t have to work so hard. Wouldn’t want him to hurt his back again, after all.
“Oh God,” Joey moaned. I stopped thinking like a surgeon and started remembering that I was a woman. His cock might have been right at home stroking Max’s prostate, but there was no doubt that Joey knew his way around a pussy. Joey punctuated his long, slow strokes across my G spot by biting down gently where my neck met my shoulder. His teeth might not have been as precise as my scalpel, but they had me on the verge of coming again.
Meanwhile, my fingers worked furiously up and down the length of Max’s cock. His eyes were closed, and his face looked patient and mildly amused. I couldn’t have been as good at it was for Joey; there’s no substitute for knowing the equipment inside and out. I wanted to be the one to take care of Max. But this was the best I could do with Joey on top of me, fucking my brains out.
Joey thrust deep inside me and slapped my ass hard. It was more than I could stand. I buried my face into the plaid cushion of the couch and screamed as my body was wracked with a massive orgasm. Joey held my trembling, sweaty body tightly, giving me four or five more powerful strokes. I yelled out with each one. Then, at last, we were screaming and trembling together.
Joey and I separated. He sank into the battered armchair. “That was beautiful, Maggie,” he said breathlessly. “Your cunt is amazing. You’re so tight and wet.”
“Thank you,” I said, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees.
“No,” Max said, brushing my hair aside to touch the spot where Joey bit me. “Stay there. I want you right there.”
“You don’t have to,” Joey said. “I can take care of Max.”
I looked up at Max, standing over me, naked, every bit as hot as I’d imagined him in my fantasies. While that little voice in my head was telling me what a bad, evil slut I was, I saw with perfect clarity that this was what I wanted. This was what I needed.
“I want to,” I said. Then I added, “Condom?”
Max groaned, but Joey dug a box of condoms out of the end table drawer. I watched Joey give Max’s cock some good, long strokes with his tongue. He sucked the underside of the head for just a moment before putting the condom on Max. My pussy ached with desire.
Max lacked Joey’s sense of subtlety. He pounced on top of me, got inside me quickly and banged me ferociously. He might have hurt me if I hadn’t wanted him so badly.
And Joey was only making me hotter. Getting out of his chair, he watched us closely. Then he began whispering words of encouragement to Max.
“Fuck her,” he said. “Get that pussy. Bang her good.”
After a while, Max froze in mid-fuck. “Stop it,” he said. “You’re gonna make me come too fast.” He kissed the back of my neck tenderly and said to me, “This is our first time.”
“I know,” I said with what breath I had left in me.
Joey laughed. “He means it’s our first time, Maggie. Our first time sharing like this. With a woman. We’ve talked about it for years, though.”
Max reached for Joey, caught hold of his shoulder, and pulled him in tighter. Max and Joey kissed. I felt Max’s cock jerk inside me and I felt like an outsider.
But, thus distracted, Max was able to get back to business without fear of coming too soon. He rode me hard. After a moment, he must have looked ready to come, because Joey started whispering again.
“Do you like it, Maggie?”
“Yes,” I said. His words touched off a little spark inside my belly.
“Tell me you like it.”
“I like it,” I said, pumping my hips extra hard to make sure that Max felt it. He squeezed my breasts and bucked harder. “I like the way your cock feels inside me, Max. I like how you fuck me.” Who was this bad girl that was saying these things? Surely not Maggie Keller. M. D.
They worked for Max, though. His loud, sexy holler as he was coming sent me over the edge along with him. As we collapsed onto the plaid couch, I felt four hands all over my body. When I opened my eyes, Max and Joey were locked in a passionate kiss as Max fondly rubbed my hip.
When we separated, Max and Joey sat down on the couch on either side of me. I leaned my head on Joey’s chest and closed my eyes.
“Do you want to take a nap?” he asked, in an almost fatherly tone.
“Uh huh,” I said. I reached down to the carpet and groped for my beer bottle. I finished it all in a few swallows. Max led me into one of the bedrooms (it didn’t matter whose) and laid beside me. Joey lay on the other side of me; I was sandwiched between them again. Their bodies were hot, and the sheets smelled like guy. Like ball sweat and come stains. But when Joey rolled over and fell asleep, I traced the outline of my scar on his back.
“You fixed him,” Max whispered. His hand rested on my bare breast. “Thank you.”
It wasn’t so much that I’d fixed Joseph Zorich, but that Joseph Zorich and Max Lowell had fixed some part of me. Where there had been a need before, now there was a beautifully satisfied feeling. I guess the bad girl in me needed to be let out. I felt as if I were the one who’d been cut apart and sewn back together.
“The scar will fade with time,” I said.
Max reached across me and traced Joey’s scar with his fingers. Joey stirred slightly at his touch. “I like it,” he said. “I’ve always thought that scars make a body more beautiful, not less. They mean that you lived through something.”
“Yeah,” I said. I pressed myself against Joey’s back and closed my eyes. Max pressed in against me. I don’t know how long we slept like that before my pager went off. Joey slept through the beeping, but it woke up Max.
“You leaving?” he asked. Even in the low light, he looked adorably tousled.
“I have to. Work.”
Max got up to let me out of bed. Before I left he took my hand. “I’d love to see you again. I know Joey would, too.” Joey grunted slightly. He may have been partially awake.
This wild, carefree woman I’d become couldn’t resist Max’s smile, or the thought of seeing the two of them again. The rational, scientific part of my min
d that had gotten me through medical school screamed in protest, but I knew I’d found what had been missing from my life.
“I’d like that,” I said.
Max sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his chin. “Cool,” he said. He pulled me against him and kissed me. “See ya later, then?”
“See ya later,” I agreed. My heart did a little flip. It didn’t make a damn bit of sense, but as I walked out of Max and Joey’s apartment, I knew I fell in love with them both.
The End
The Birthday Surprise
Copyright © Pepper Anthony
Chapter One
Melanie Blaisdell cursed as the doorbell rang a second time. She was never going to get these drawings done if people kept interrupting her! And if the drawings weren’t ready for the meeting Monday morning, Marcus would have her head.
She padded down the carpeted hall in her bare feet and stood on tip toe at the front door, eye to the peep hole. Two young men waited on the front porch. After her vision adjusted to the distorted perspective of the fish-eye lens, she recognized one of them as Sandy Elliott, her lawn guy. Oh my gosh! It was Friday morning and she’d forgotten to leave the driveway gate unlocked so he could pull his truck in. She flipped the deadbolt and opened the door.
“I’m sorry Sandy. I completely forgot what day it was.”
He grinned, his straight white teeth a brilliant slash in his tanned face. As always, when the gorgeous young gardener smiled at her, Melanie’s pulse kicked up a notch or two. What she wouldn’t give to be fifteen years younger!
“That’s okay Mrs. B. I’m a little early today. I’m trying to get all my jobs done by three so Wes and I can take off for the beach for the weekend. He’ll be helping me out today.”
“Is this Wes?” she asked, her eyes settling on Sandy’s companion for the first time. The second young man was darker, but also very muscular and tanned; his clean white t-shirt strained over his broad chest. He was probably about twenty five, she guessed, like Sandy.
“Yeah.” Sandy turned toward his friend. “Wes, this is Mrs. B.”
“My friends call me Mel,” she said. Her gaze locked with Wes’s intense blue eyes. He was looking back at her with frank interest.
“Mel? You don’t look like any Mel I’ve ever known.” There was the slightest suggestion of flirtatious impertinence in his voice as he made a point of letting his gaze rove up and down her body. Melanie felt her face heat. She wasn’t exactly dressed for the public in her comfy old shorts and t-shirt, and her hair was probably a mess. She hated being put in the position of feeling self-conscious about her appearance, especially by hunky young guys like these.
Wes let out a little grunt as Sandy planted an elbow in his ribs.
“Cool it,” Sandy growled. “Mrs. B was my very first customer five years ago. Show a little respect.”
For your elders, she finished mentally, heaving a sigh. It was hell getting old. At their age she’d been pretty gorgeous herself. Now her fortieth birthday was just a day away. She certainly felt forty when she looked in the mirror. There was no denying those little crinkles at the corners of her eyes.
Stepping back, she plucked the ring of household keys from their hook near the door and opened the screen. “The gate key is the one with the blue top.”
As Sandy took the keys his fingers brushed against hers, and a nice little zing ran up her arm. Melanie felt warm all over again.
“I’ll get them back to you when we’re done,” he said. Then the two men turned and went down the steps toward the truck. Melanie stood for a moment and watched them as they crossed the lawn, admiring the way their worn jeans clung to their lean hips and molded to their perfect butts. Wes was more powerfully built than Sandy, with the thighs, chest and shoulders of a body builder, but Sandy was certainly no slouch in the muscle department either. In fact, Melanie had sometimes fantasized about him coming up behind her in the kitchen and putting those strong, tanned arms around her. More than once, on a lonely evening, she’d imagined his big, work-roughened hands covering her breasts, his fingers moving in circles over her eager nipples.
Aghast, Melanie felt a flush of sexual excitement curl through her. It was the first time she’d fantasized about Sandy while he was actually on the premises. It made the whole experience more immediate and much more exciting. Her breasts tingled with fresh desire and she felt her panties getting moist. Quickly she closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing unevenly.
Then, almost without volition, she found herself drawn to the big bay window in the dining room. Standing behind the cover of the heavy drapes, she watched as Sandy unlocked the gate and Wes drove the pickup through. He pulled it up the driveway close to the garage and got out. Sandy joined him, and for just a moment the two men stood shoulder to shoulder, heads down, talking something over. Sandy gestured toward the back yard and Wes nodded. Then Sandy said something and they both laughed. Their body language, as they stood there together, seemed almost intimate. They must know each other well, she thought.
For the first time, Melanie wondered if Sandy might be gay. That would explain why he’d never shown the least bit of interest in her, even five years before when she’d been a new widow, ten pounds lighter and still relatively wrinkle-free. The thought assuaged her ego just a little, but it also made her sad. What a waste that would be!
She watched as they unloaded the riding mower and leaf blower from the back of the truck. Wes got onto the mower, fired it up, and headed for the lawn in the back yard. Sandy’s shoulder muscles bunched and rippled as he strapped on the blower. He walked in the direction of her hiding place, stopping beneath a maple that had littered her front lawn with fallen leaves. The tree was only fifteen feet beyond her window, giving her a close-up view of the brawny machine operator. The autumn sun glinted off his light hair and gave a gold sheen to his smooth skin. Melanie licked her lips, thinking that he might taste like sunshine itself, warm and sweet. Her fingers twitched, stroking along the drapery panel as if along those big, brown arms.
Then the blower screamed to life.
Melanie stumbled back in surprise, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. It was all she could do not to let out a scream herself.
And somehow—she didn’t know exactly how—her foot or her hand caught in the drape and pulled the rod out of its bracket. The whole panel came floating down, rod and all, revealing her hiding place.
There, on the other side of the window, Sandy stood, looking right in at her.
Chapter Two
A sudden movement over his right shoulder caught Sandy’s eye. He turned just in time to see the drapes in Mrs. Blaisdell’s bay window fall to the floor. And standing there in the window with her hand to her mouth was Mrs. B herself. Her big blue eyes were very wide, her pretty face all pink.
Sandy flicked off the power to the blower. He stepped up close to the window.
“You okay?” he yelled.
For a moment she just stared, her face glowing more pink by the second. Then finally she nodded.
“Fine. Fine,” she yelled back, waving him away. Then she bent down and picked up the drapery rod. He watched as she struggled to lift it high over her head. He couldn’t help but notice her shirt riding up, exposing several inches of her pale stomach. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to hear him, he groaned under his breath. He’d been lusting after Melanie Blaisdell since the first day he saw her, and the skin on her torso was every bit as smooth and creamy as he had imagined it would be.
Now she didn’t seem to be having any luck hanging the drapery rod. She wasn’t tall enough.
“You need help?” he yelled again. He unhooked the harness of the blower, ready to set it aside. She shook her head vehemently. He watched as she hefted the rod again, admiring now the way her snug t-shirt clung to her big soft-looking breasts. He swallowed hard. He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra today. He knew Mrs. B. often worked at home, so seeing her in casual dress was nothing new. But he’d never seen her bo
dy displayed quite like this before, framed in the front window where anyone—including him—could totally check her out.
“I’m coming in to help,” he called. Then he set the blower down and went to the door. He waited for what seemed an eternity, but finally she was there, turning the knob and stepping back to let him in.
“I—I didn’t mean to bother you at your work,” she said, her voice all breathy. “I just can’t quite reach high enough.” She wasn’t making eye contact. And she was still blushing. What’s that all about?
He followed her to the dining room. As he retrieved the rod and easily popped it back into its bracket, it suddenly occurred to him that she had been standing right here when everything fell. Had Mrs. B been hiding behind the drapes, watching him? The possibility of that made him smile to himself. He glanced over at her. She was standing there by the dining table, twisting her hands together like a guilty little girl. He felt a strong rush of animal attraction to her.
Sometimes Mrs. B came across as just too sophisticated and glamorous…way out of his reach. But not today. He liked her without makeup, in her casual clothes and bare feet. He liked the tousled look of her long red hair, as if she’d just gotten out of bed. He especially liked the shy way she was acting. It stirred up strong feelings in him, made him want to put his arms around her, to take care of her in some way. At the same time, other parts of him were getting pretty excited to be standing here so close to her. He felt an undeniable response from the region below his belt.
But there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Barefoot or no, Mrs. B was still out of reach, and always would be.
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