Trust

by Alice May Ball

  At the top of his sinuous thighs where the pants were pulled, his tight scrotum peeked out. As they humped against each other, mouths still fast together, the shiny purple head of Max’s fat cock poked out over the top of his boxers.

  Max’s hand went deeper into the back of Bobby’s jeans, and Bobby’s hips bucked hard against him. Bobby’s hand scraped down Max’s chest, twisting and pulling on a nipple to make Max groan and squirm. Their cocks were grinding harder and Max’s briefs were losing out to friction, lust, and gravity.

  Sliding slowly down, they began to expose the dark, rippled shaft of Max’s thick, pulsing male meat. Bobby’s fingernails scratched down Max’s stomach and stopped to curl around that hot cock. Max’s lips pulled away from Bobby’s and he let out a long gasping groan.

  Bobby bit Max’s nipple as he slid down to slip his lips over that beating cock. Max’s head slung back and his back arched as Bobby slowly slid his mouth all the way down to Max’s neatly manicured fur. Bobby’s tongue poked out to tickle Max’s balls before his head drew back to plunge again on that hot rod.

  Max’s eyes were wide as he stared down at the cute boy giving him hard, wet, deep head with such expertise. Bobby slipped and sucked and licked with a wonderfully controlled rhythm until Max’s hips tightened and a deeper red came over his face and neck.

  Pulling his lips off with a little pop, Bobby said, “Ah, easy tiger. You need to save something to deposit in the goods entrance.”

  Max grabbed Bobby by the hair and said, “Don’t fret, twink, I’ll get you fed and fucked.” And he rammed his cock back into Bobby’s mouth. Max’s eyes met mine and he caught me as I was absently snaking my fingers up my skirt and along the soft, trembling inside of my thigh. Gagging, gurgling sounds came from Bobby’s throat as Max held his head and slammed his cock in and out, all the way until Bobby’s ruby lips touched his balls.

  Max tensed and quivered as his hips bucked and pounded, and he groaned and moaned as his cum dribbled and foamed around Bobby’s lips. Bobby sucked harder and pulled Max’s ass tighter and closer, as little pearls of white cum dripped down his chin.

  When Bobby looked up at me, licking his lips and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he didn’t seem to be the same innocent-looking boy whom I’d opened the door to. He’d grown in stature. I had expected him to be looking up for approval, but he wasn’t. He was looking for something else. I beckoned him over.

  “Mrs. Harper, that’s all got me pretty hard and…” To interrupt him, I took the back of his head, and drew his face down to mine. We kissed. I lapped his tongue for the thrill of the fresh, salty taste of a man’s cum in another man’s mouth. I was turned on in every curve, crease, and crevice in my body.

  My clit was buzzing, the lips of my pussy were throbbing, my sex was wet and aching. My hands slipped inside Bobby’s shorts, and found his hot, hard shaft. My tongue still tasting his mouth, I stroked over the shiny head, pulled the skin back along the length, and stroked it down, more and more firmly.

  I brought my hands up to my face and spat, and took the moisture to that pulsing prick. I pulled it to bring him to my mouth. I wanted to feel that cock all the way along my tongue, I wanted to feel its thickness fill my mouth. I wanted its heat in me.

  I sucked on the head and Bobby writhed and moaned. I slid my mouth over the girth of it, and slipped along it. My breath was thick and my heart pounded. The scent of my own juice added a thrill to the feeling of one cock in my mouth while I could still taste the cum from another.

  I slid back along the table on my elbows, looking up at Bobby. He peeled off his shirt, jeans, and shorts and crawled along the table after me. His cock was over my breasts, so I took it between them. They were big enough to swallow it up, and I rocked him in my cleavage, thrills rippling out and all over my body.

  His cock got hotter and more firm, and then I felt another pair of legs. Max was on the table, stroking my poor hungry puss, and beating it with his cock. I gasped as Max entered me, and Bobby looked around with a wicked grin, edging now as we moistened his cock in my soft, hot breasts. A wave of ecstasy rolled through me, and Max’s cock slipped out.

  I could see from Bobby’s face where it had gone. Max started working his cock into Bobby’s ass, and Bobby got closer and closer, his eyes popping. Meanwhile two sets of hands were pleasuring my puss, my clit, my ass, my breasts, my mouth. Everywhere on me there was man.

  As Max drove Bobby toward a huge climax, I got his cock back from my breasts and into my mouth. It was hot and pulsing and shiny with precum, and I didn’t want to miss the treat. Bobby started to moan and almost sob as his cock beat and pulsed in my mouth, and Max pounded his ass, and he shouted and tensed, and he pumped great gulps of hot, sweet jizz right in my mouth.

  Max’s cock was back inside me, slicker now, with a condom, I thought, to the extent that I was still thinking at all. He pounded and filled me and shouted, “Mrs. Harper, Mrs. Harper!” He was still stroking Bobby as he flushed and gushed into me, and I came yet again, and again, gushing and squirting and shouting in climactic abandon.

  We sank and all curled up together, stroking each other for what could have been forever.

  Chapter 5

  HEN WE DISCUSSED THE SETTLEMENT – really, when the lawyers discussed it – I couldn’t face it, but there had to be some discussion and I had to take part, and I really appreciated how Mr. Quinn handled it. How he broached the topics and subjects in a way that was business-like, but still very sensitive.

  About the settlement, he never once used the words ’fair,’ ’reasonable,’ or ’generous,’ even though the propositions from the other side were all of those things.

  He understood, I think, that for me it couldn’t ever be fair. It couldn’t be reasonable. None of it, no amount of money would replace the tiniest shred of what I had lost. I would live with it and move on, but I had no idea how.

  That could be the true curse of a wealthy wife. You’re used to having money, being able to buy what you need. So, when your heart has been ripped out in a drive-by, you know that no amount of money will make it better. More bearable? Maybe.

  If I’d had to take two jobs, feed three kids, and look after an aged parent, sure, then cash would have been transformative. The fact that I didn’t have to struggle meant, I guess, that I wasn’t damaged in some ways that I might have been otherwise.

  I truly am grateful for all of that. But things aren’t happiness. When all of your security is torn away from you like a bedsheet on a freezing morning, money doesn’t warm you up.

  But legally it was a good settlement. It gave me the house, a cabin in New England, and more than enough money. A lot more, in fact. One of the few decisions I was really proud of, was to work with an accountant that the attorneys provided to set up charitable gifts. Money for scholarships, medical and children’s programs, and a pool of safe investments that would grow steadily and keep the programs funded.

  Having money at least meant that I could do some good, and that was a thing worth doing. What I was doing in my personal life, well. It was thrilling and it was all wonderful at the time, but more than anything, deep down, as I went on I learned more about what I didn’t have and what I was craving.

  The blossoming from innocence is still a rush, although afterward, I wondered just how innocent Bobby had really been. Whatever, he played his part well and it was a fabulous moment. Really, I must have been one of the luckiest women on earth.

  A few days later, I was having late afternoon drinks with Janean, an old girlfriend from way back. She asked me how I was, what I was doing, all the usual pleasantries. I told her about some developments in the outreach education program. The program had been my own idea and I felt I was actually due a little credit.

  As I was telling her, I was annoyed to see that I wasn’t holding her attention. She wanted gossip. In the past, we had shared all kinds of scandalous titbits. Or so I thought at the time. They all seemed pretty tame to me now. I thought back to Bobby and Max and the
afternoon we’d spent together.

  Would Janean have found that a more compelling tale? I think she would have painted the wall of the Cafe Flora with her Long Island iced tea. Then, I have no doubt, she never would have spoken to me again.

  Although I’m sure she would have spoken about me plenty at all of her future afternoon outings.

  It was becoming clear that I was drifting away from the few friends and connections I had left after my marriage. As my life became more packed with excitement, adventure, and thrilling entanglements, it seemed I was leaving behind everything I had known before.

  It could have been a line that I was drawing in the sand, consciously or unconsciously, between the past and my new life, but I had a nagging doubt. I began to wonder if my not keeping or maintaining any of my new contacts was a sign of deeper disconnection. The thought made me unsure and unsettled.

  “You’re eyeing the waiter’s ass!” Janean exclaimed. She was right. My mind had drifted one way, and my eyes had gone another way to find their own entertainment. The young waiter turned slowly and gave me a smoky look. Janean’s mouth dropped and her eyes opened wide.

  A big red firetruck gleamed outside my house. Coming back from the store, I saw it as soon as I turned into the street and my heart stopped. Is my house on fire? I thought, but I didn’t see any smoke or flames. The crew of five or six big, great-looking firefighters were loping toward the truck, chatting, smiling, hands clapping each other’s big, round, manly shoulders, and it looked as if they were getting ready to leave.

  I got out of my car as two of the firemen were walking by, trickles of laughter splashing between them. The nearest, he was the tallest of the company, and the tough, loose-fitting coveralls made him look even bigger. He had short, curly red hair, dreamy blue eyes and lips that looked slightly pursed, like they were perpetually whistling. My chest thumped as I called to him. “Hi, this is my house. Has there been a fire?”

  The two men both turned and loped slowly over toward me. The first one, the tall one with his deep blue eyes twinkling, said, “No, ma’am. The lady in the house across from yours, she thought her cat was stuck up a tree.”

  “Oh. And it wasn’t?” I was struggling for composure. His voice was like distant thunder on a clear day.

  “We couldn’t find it. She calls often, though. Always seems to want some kind of help with her pussy.” The two men shared a look and a little laugh about that.

  I looked up and down the tall, strong frame up to that soft, winning smile and my breath caught as I said, “Well, maybe I can understand that. I often feel kind of the same way. Seeing you boys here, I’m beginning to feel that way right now.”

  The way that I was really feeling, well, I couldn’t tell them about that. They’d think I was just a stupid, middle-aged woman who was losing her mind, fantasizing about big, strapping young firemen. Big firemen handling their big hoses…

  There was a distinct rise in temperature, in my chest and in my pants, too, but I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of these two hunky specimens of huge, hot manhood.

  “Oh, do you have a cat, ma’am?”

  “Mm, no, I don’t.” I admitted, flustered.

  He smiled and lowered one eyebrow, “I see.”

  And then I brightened as I remembered, “I have a cake, though. I’m baking it later this afternoon. When do you come off your shift?”

  “Four o’clock, ma’am.”

  “That’s about when the cake should be ready. Would you and your friend come by and help me out with the cake? You see, I love to bake a cake, and I like to eat cake, too. But a whole cake, well that’s just too much. Just for little me.”

  I pushed out my chest. I knew that I was babbling, and I wished that I could say something sensible, or just stop, but I was addicted to the pull of his eyes as he listened to me, and I went on, “I would be stuffed with a whole cake. I can’t ever really finish them off, you know? Not on my own. Now, with you two strong boys to help me out, maybe we could all bang on through it together.”

  His friend asked, “Will it have whipped cream, ma’am?”

  “Oh, yes,” I told him, my breath escaping faster than I could hold it. “Yes, yes. Cream, God, yes. I’ll need to have it filled to overflowing with thick, gooey cream.” I gasped a little.

  I really love cream and even the thought of it can make my thighs tingle. “It will need an awful lot of cream. All the cream that I can get my hands on. I could just get sticky, all covered in cream.”

  “Well, ma’am, that sure is a tempting offer,” and he turned to the other fireman, “What do you say, Joe, does that sound like the kind of a cake that you might enjoy?”

  “Served up by this fine, gracious lady, I’d say that would be a rare treat. I say that we should accept her kind invitation and put on our best suits for four this afternoon.”

  “Oh,” my breath caught, “You don’t need to get dressed up for me. You could come in your working gear, just as you are now. You could wear your coverall pants with suspenders over your tees. And your big boots. You could wear your fire hats, too, if you wanted. That would be…” I was searching for the right word, before I knew it, I had said, “delicious,” which wasn’t what I meant to say at all. Even though it was exactly what I was thinking.

  “Well, ma’am,” said the heavily-built fireman called Joe with the searching brown eyes, “we aren’t allowed to wear the protective gear unless we’re on duty and, when, you know, when something’s on fire.”

  That afternoon, I made the house look as nice as I could and I fussed in a fluster, fretting about what to wear. The two gorgeous firemen would certainly have their pick of women, and neither of them would be remotely interested in an older, suburban housewife like me. Nevertheless, I’d go a long way to get an admiring glance or the tantalizing, momentary flash of possibility from a man’s eye.

  Technically, I wasn’t even a housewife, since I regrettably didn’t have a husband anymore.

  I had money, security, and comfort, but I had no status. No title other than the thing that means un-husbanded. Previously a wife. That wasn’t a position at all, that was a lack of position. It meant that I was nothing but the person who had a position, and doesn’t have it any more. It’s more a matrimonial CV than a mark of status.

  So, pushing all that to the back again, I tried on sexy skirts, slinky sheath dresses, soft, revealing blouses and even some of my more thrilling Agent Provocateur and Intimissimi lingerie.

  The almost weightless sheer tulle bra, garters, and panties set, with scarlet elastic and floral embroidery felt wonderful with the rustle of fine, seamed stockings. I settled on a simple gray raw silk dress that flattered my curves without being showy, and set it off with my pink Manolo Blahnik high-heeled pumps. Well, stockings are wasted in flat shoes.

  Checking my look in the mirror, I was both excited and nervous at the same time. The men would see right through me at once, and they’d be laughing about me all the way back to the firehouse. They’d probably tell the rest of the watch about the silly, ridiculous women on this street, who fling themselves at firemen.

  Well, it was too late now and anyway, I wasn’t going to fling myself. I would simply have a pleasant afternoon in their company, share some of the Black Forest gateaux that I’d finished off with raspberry sauce and thick cream and left to cool in the kitchen.

  The doorbell rang shortly after four, and my heart was in my mouth as I opened the door. The two firemen both wore nicely pressed, and wonderfully filled jeans and plain t-shirts. Clint was tall and very obviously strong, and big, black-haired, almost shaven-headed Joe, who was built like a quarterback. Maybe he was a quarterback. Maybe I’d find out. Nervously, my fingers reached to touch my neck, and my stomach. But it was Clint’s smoldering eyes that took my breath away, and Joe’s husky, almost shy voice.

  “Wow, ma’am, you are looking fine.”

  “Now, Joe,” Clint said, “Don’t go embarrassing Mrs. Harper before she’s even invited us
in. She could change her mind, and I’ve been looking forward to this pleasant visit with our lovely and gracious hostess and a piece of cake all afternoon.” Clint flashed his smile at me and I felt my cheeks prickle and flush.