by Alison Tyler
I’m not one to believe in fate, but sometimes when you least expect it, life gives you exactly what you need—even if you didn’t realize you needed it.
Up until last year, my life was going according to plan. I’d checked off every milestone my twenty-two-year-old self had detailed years before on her list of must-have accomplishments: MBA, marriage to a lawyer and a swanky apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. But somewhere along the way, things changed. I changed. And suddenly “the list” didn’t matter anymore.
For more than a dozen years, my husband, Brandon, and I had been working sixty-hour weeks and spending more time with our personal trainers than with each other. Of course, we’d penciled in weekly “sex dates,” but I was dissatisfied. When I finally stopped speeding through my days, I realized I was always on the go because I was too scared to admit that I wasn’t happy. It was at the start of one of our sex dates that I kept my panties on and confessed to Brandon that I didn’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t the life I’d been leading. After a few moments of silence, he admitted that he felt the same way. There was no yelling or dish throwing, just a realization that we were through. Our divorce was a simple contractual arrangement, much like our marriage had been. I was closing in on forty years old, and I realized that a sensible life full of proper choices had left me feeling hollow.
I wanted—no, I needed—something more.
I felt as if I’d woken up from a multidecade nap. The world seemed fresh and new, and I decided to do all the things I’d been too meek to go for but had always wanted. I gave up my corporate job, got a position working for a small nonprofit and set up a new home across the river in a Brooklyn brownstone. Living in Cobble Hill was nearly like being in the country. It was the best of both worlds for me, the convenience of the city nearby and a house on a peaceful, tree-lined street.
I was happy living by myself, so I had no intention of opening up my home—especially to a couple of strangers. But one day, a business associate mentioned that a couple of her interns needed a place to stay. They would be starting their senior year in college in the fall and hadn’t been able to sublet a place for the summer. Right after she inquired about my three empty bedrooms, she began the hard sell about how they were such good, industrious boys. And while I wasn’t eager to give up my solitude, I agreed to do this one good deed. After all, it was only for three months.
When Jake arrived on my doorstep, I could hardly believe my eyes. After hearing about his dean’s-list grades, I was expecting more of a geek. But Jake looked like nothing of the sort. Tall and muscular, his black curls rakishly disheveled, he strode into my living room with a large duffel bag tossed over his shoulder, looking like a strapping sailor heading to shore for leave.
Jake greeted me shyly and stuttered a sheepish thank-you. His cheeks flushed adorably, and he seemed barely able to meet my gaze. That was just as well because I was unable to stop my eyes from roaming over his beautiful physique. I stared at the muscles in his arms, which flexed as he shifted the weight of his bag from one shoulder to the other. And when he bent over to drop his belongings in the corner, I nearly swooned from how tempting his ass looked cradled in the broken-in jeans. Fortunately, I regained my composure before he turned around, feeling my face heat with embarrassment. I showed him to his room and left him to settle in. Meanwhile I headed for a warm bath and a glass of wine, wondering what had gotten into me. He was a gorgeous young man, but there was no way he’d be interested in a woman my age—or would he? In those fleeting seconds that our eyes actually met, I saw something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was a look laden with admiration, appreciation and a certain eagerness that I found endearing.
While I was shocked by Jake, the next morning I received yet another surprise when his friend Rick arrived. Blond, fair-skinned and lanky, Rick perfectly complemented Jake. His peaches-and-cream complexion looked delicious, and I was having a hard time not imagining eating him up. Rick was bolder than Jake. He wasn’t shy about looking me in the eye, even as he deferentially expressed his gratitude to me for giving them a place to stay.
During the first two weeks, I barely saw the boys. We kept drastically different hours. But on the weekends, they were constantly underfoot. My house was in livable condition, but there were a host of home-improvement projects that needed to be completed, and the boys were quick to offer their assistance. But they wanted to do more than simply help. From the beginning, they insisted that I sit back, relax and tell them what to do.
At first, I felt uneasy about the situation, but they were so full of energy and eager to please that I easily found myself falling into the role of mistress of the house. We started with the backyard garden, and they followed my landscaping redesign to the letter, while I sat in the shade, sipping lemonade and admiring their shirtless torsos glistening with sweat as they labored in the July sun. While I enjoyed the sight, what surprised me most was how much I enjoyed telling them what to do. It seemed to give me a little charge, and I began micro-managing their household chores.
As the weeks passed, I sensed an erotic vibe growing between the three of us. At first I thought it was my imagination, but Jake began giving me a warm smile whenever he saw me, and Rick had taken to having my coffee waiting for me in the morning. Their schedules gradually changed, so that they both were in the house to greet me in the evening when I arrived home from work, and consequently we began having dinner together. While I appreciated their attention, I wondered where this was headed. Well, I finally got my answer at summer’s end—and it was hotter than any fantasy I could have dreamed up on my own.
I was sitting in an easy chair in the corner of the living room, dealing with office paperwork. The day before, I’d had the boys spackle and sand the walls, which were ready to be painted. Jake had just finished taping up the edges of the ceiling and was descending a ladder. As he jumped off the last rung, he knocked over an open paint can, and the cinnamon-hued liquid quickly spread into a large puddle at his feet. Before he could grab the can, an ocean of gooey color spread across the tarp and seeped into a patch of unprotected carpet.
I jumped up in alarm. It was a knee-jerk reaction because I’d already made the decision to tear up the cream-colored wall-to-wall and purchase a deep-pile throw. “Oh, Cassie,” Jake said, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
Rick wandered in from the kitchen in time to hear Jake’s apology. “That’s one big mess, Jake.” Then he turned to me with a twinkle in his eyes. “That was awfully clumsy of him. I think someone needs to be punished.”
I gasped at Rick’s unexpected words and saw Jake flush, his handsome face quickly going from pink to crimson as his eyes stayed glued to the spilled paint. I immediately got the impression that these boys had lived a lot more than I’d initially given them credit for. Without thinking, I instantly slid into their game.
“I think you’re correct, Rick. Punishment is in order,” I said slowly. Jake looked up at me, his brown eyes filled with a delicious mixture of fear and desire. His breathing was coming in quick little gasps, and his erection was tenting his jeans. The sight of his hard cock made my mouth water, but I forced myself to stay in character and play the game—to not give in to my hunger.
“But, Rick,” I added, “you’re the one who left that open paint can near the ladder. You’re just as much to blame. You stay where you are until I’m ready for you.” Rick tried hard to hide his smile, biting the corner of his lip, but I could still see how thrilled he was.
Feeling bold, I strode over to Jake and grabbed his belt. I quickly unfastened the buckle and slid the leather from around his waist. Jake licked his lips but said nothing. He just kept taking those deep breaths and staring at me. Holding the smooth black leather in one hand, I used the other to deftly pop open his button fly and yank down his jeans. Now it was my turn to bite my lip. Jake wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his thick erection sprang up from his jeans in indecent invitation, sprouting from a nest of d
ark hair. I resisted the urge to stroke his cock and ordered him to turn around. Acting as though he’d done this a thousand times before, Jake grabbed the arm of the couch and bent over, presenting his bare ass.
As for me, I’d never done anything like this before, but suddenly the situation felt right. I doubled up the belt and placed one hand at the small of Jake’s back to steady my target. I slapped the leather against his ass, and he let out a little moan that caused a twinge in my pussy. I lashed him again, and he whispered, “Harder, please.” His urgent begging increased the ache in my sex, and with Jake’s words ringing in my ears, I whipped him more soundly. As his skin blossomed, turning from lily-white to carnation-pink to rose-red, I felt my panties grow damp and my arousal skyrocketed.
After a dozen strokes, I stopped lashing him and told him to remain in position. Jake didn’t move a muscle, although I could hear his ragged gasps for air as he struggled to maintain his composure. I looked over at Rick, who, as ordered, had remained in the same spot I had left him. I pointed to the opposite arms of the couch, and Rick mirrored Jake’s position. I wandered over and worked my hand beneath him to open his cargo pants. When I reached for his zipper, my hand grazed his cock, and he exhaled loudly. Using two hands, I tugged his pants and boxer briefs down to his knees. His ass was even more pale than Jake’s had been, and I couldn’t wait to give it some color.
Whipping Jake had gotten me seriously worked up, and I’d already found my stroke, so to speak, so I had no problem laying into Rick. After all, this scene had been his idea, and I didn’t want to leave his expectations unfulfilled. With rapid-fire precision, I delivered a dozen solid lashes, which only served to make me hotter. As I stared at Rick’s striped ass, I squeezed my thighs together, feeling desire and hunger swell inside me. I’d never been more turned on in my life than I was at that moment, having had these two strong, handsome men so readily submit to me.
“Now, Jake. You’d said something about making it up to me?”
Jake looked up, still clutching the couch.
“Come here.”
He rushed over to me, stripping off his clothes in a mad haste. He knelt before me and placed reverential kisses on each of my high-heeled shoes before reaching underneath my skirt. He paused, his hands on my thighs, and looked at me for approval. When I nodded, he pulled my panties down my thighs. The silky garment was so wet, it left damp streaks along my flesh. Jake helped me out of my undies, and then dived underneath my skirt. He grabbed my ass, palming my cheeks roughly as he slurped up my juice. He trailed his tongue along my slit, and I jumped every time he grazed my swollen clit. I began grinding my sex down against his lips and chin. He responded to my motions by zeroing in on my button, and I tangled my fingers in his hair and held him in place. I was lost in my own world as he teased and flicked my clit until he took me over the edge. I cried out loud, shivering as I came, and glossing his face with my juice.
Once I caught my breath, I pulled away from Jake and told him to sit on the couch. He readily obeyed, and I couldn’t hide my smile when I saw him wince as his well-whipped bottom hit the velvet cushion. His erection was as hard as stone, and this time I reached out to stroke it, imagining what it was going to feel like inside me.
Rick was still in position, watching us. I leaned over and rummaged around in the pockets of his pants, which were still banded around his knees. I found his wallet and was grateful to find a condom inside. I tossed his wallet to the floor and then opened the little foil package and rolled the condom over Jake’s shaft. Once it was in place, I straddled his hips and slowly lowered myself onto his cock, sighing with satisfaction. I kissed him, our tongues tangling wildly, and I tasted my own musky flavor on his lips. I rose up and slammed down, repeatedly filling myself with his dick. Once I got a good rhythm going, I turned toward Rick. “Come,” I gasped, waving him toward us.
Rick kicked off his pants and rested one knee on the couch. I grabbed his cock and brought it to my parted lips. I circled my tongue around the head of his dick, and Rick closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth. I slowly slid my lips down his shaft, swallowing his entire length and savoring his flavor. By this point, Jake had grabbed my hips and was pumping upward into my pussy. Each time he hit bottom, I groaned around his friend’s dick. Rick kept his hands at his sides and let me suck him at my own pace. I felt so deliciously dirty to be enjoying these two young men. As always, they followed my lead and were looking to make sure I was satisfied. That realization sparked my second orgasm of the night. It came on me suddenly in an explosion of pleasure. As I felt the ecstasy course through me, my cunt fluttered around Jake’s shaft. His hips rose off the cushions one last time, and he groaned loudly. I felt his shaft pulse inside the condom as he reached his own peak seconds after me.
Moaning around a mouthful of cock, I redoubled my efforts on Rick. His groans blended into one long, erotic chant as he struggled to reach his climax. To help him out, I reached around and scratched my nails over his ass. He jerked his cock from my mouth, and with a shout, shot his load across the tarp on the floor and then collapsed next to us on the couch.
They never did paint the living room that night; they were far too busy with an entirely different set of tasks.
Who knew? It took tossing away all my carefully detailed plans to find my own happy ending, and I trust my boys to come up with plenty of bedtime stories to keep me satisfied.
Wolf’s Tavern
Bella Dean
I barely rolled into the parking lot. Barely. And though I was totally grateful to the Big Guy in the sky for making it to “civilization,” I was also letting a long string of very bad words fly. This was not the first time Father Bill had broken down recently, just the most inconvenient. That’s right, Father Bill. Yes, my car is a boy.
“You couldn’t have made it twenty-five more miles, you piece of shit?” I barked. I slammed my open palm against the dashboard and fought the urge to scream. Gravel crackled under my barely moving wheels until we finally came to a complete halt. Guilt got the better of me. “Fine, fine. I am sorry, baby. You’re not a piece of shit. You’re old. I’m not being fair.”
Father Bill was over forty, in fact. A 1966-and-a-half Mustang coupe. Ash-gray. Black interior. Left-right-quarter panel a lovely primer gray for accent. The engine ticked and popped and I ran my hands through my short red bob. My bangs stood up in spikes, and when I tried to tame them, they stood right back up.
“Lovely,” I muttered, and put him in Park. The dark wooden sign that swung over my head was so dirty and faded I had to squint to read it. “Wolff’s Tavern. Well, I’ll say this for you, Father Bill, you know where to break down. At least I can have a drink while I wait for my tow.”
Another soft click from the engine. I swear, the car was laughing. I grabbed my cell phone and checked again. No luck and NO SERVICE. Beautiful. Dead car, dead cell phone, out in the middle of nowhere. A strange place, no, a strange bar that could possibly be full of all kinds of crazed lunatics who would see a single woman alone and—
“Enough of that bullshit, Ruby. Jesus. It’s a tavern, not the state correctional facility.” I flung open the car door and the wind caught it. The rusty hinge let out an ear-splitting shriek, and I snagged the handle before the frigging thing ripped off and sailed away. “And what bonus is this? A storm!” I chirped and stomped noisily to the huge wooden tavern door and wrenched it open.
The inside of the tavern was cavernous and dark. Black wooden bar, black wooden stools, black ceiling beams. I felt like I was in the Black Forest. Four heads turned to regard me. Four! The place could house a 747 and there were three patrons. Also, the bartender. He had shaggy blond hair, a face full of stubble and was roughly the size of a tree.
“Yo, Red, what can I do for you?”
Red. Ah, so original. When he leveled his azure-blue gaze my way, my breath stopped. It froze the pithy comeback halfway up my throat. I nervously tried to paste my bangs down with my fingers. I felt them spring up and I sighed. �
��Got a phone and a martini? Not necessarily in that order.” Good for me, my voice only wavered a touch. Not normal for me. Normally, I don’t get flustered, but the bartender was looking at me like I was on the menu and I liked it. A lot.
“You don’t have a cell phone? City girl like you?” he said. His voice was deep and raspy and I felt my skin tighten into goose bumps. He handed me a phone. It was quickly followed by a martini. Three olives. The glass was opaque from the chilled liquid.
I picked up the glass, knocked back half the drink, then ate all three olives at once. Fortified, I picked up the phone and punched in the number I knew by heart. She answered on the third ring. Her voice was strong but not as strong as usual. There was an underlying exhaustion and frustration that only a few would notice.
“Grandma? It’s me, Ruby. Father Bill broke down. I’ll be there soon. I have to call for a tow. You okay until I get there? Should I call someone else to come?”
“Ruby, darling, I’ll be fine. I’m tougher than you think. I have my remote, my medicine, and don’t tell anyone, but I have a glass of wine.”
“You rebel.” I laughed. I could breathe a little. She sounded pretty good and she’d be fine. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get a truck to get me there.”
“Don’t drive yourself crazy and be careful!”
“I will, I will. How’s the hip?”
“The hip is a pain in my ass but I’ll live now, God willing, another twenty years just to drive you all crazy. Now, I have to go, Jeopardy! will be on any moment and I feel lucky tonight.”
I grinned. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I know you will, Ruby. Be careful!” she repeated.
